A rich submissive dude and a brilliant dominatrix get caught in a game of cat-and-mouse, in new erotic thriller Sanctuary. Eliza Janssen found the characters fascinating, even when the film’s visuals get in their way.
Sanctuary (2023)
Playtime can teach us a lot about ourselves. As kids, playing with dolls and action figures establishes our understanding of gender: board games bond us in low-stakes competition with our friends. And for certain grown-ups, a much more transgressive, kinky kind of play might spill out of the bedroom and inspire our mundane adult lives.
That’s the case for hotel heir Hal (Christopher Abbott), who takes his S&M penchant very seriously: scripting out elaborate power play fantasies that only skilled dominatrix Rebecca (Margaret Qualley) can fulfil. Throughout act one of this slippery, imperfect erotic thriller, it’s delightfully unclear whether there’s real drama in their dominant-submissive dynamic…or if it’s all part of the pleasure.
Sanctuary is a chamber piece, contained almost entirely within one of the hotel rooms Hal will soon be running, after the recent passing of his mega-rich father. Whirling ombres of colour act as ambient interludes, breaking up each bout between the rich client and his cruel mistress. Just when it seems they may come to an agreement, Rebecca will tread into the neutral space of the hotel’s elevator hallway—but is always dragged back to Hal’s room by some new complication.
The kink they’re trying to work out? He thinks it’s time to end this twisted thing they’ve got going on, despite clearly finding the double act therapeutic. Perhaps feeling rejected, she demands compensation for her part in his boardroom ascension. Without her carefully-performed bullying, she argues, he would never have hardened into the right man for the top spot—and she’s willing to blackmail him with supposed hidden camera footage if he doesn’t think so too.
At first Hal tries to brush off the threat (“Nobody cares what I shove in my dick in my own time”). But as their last evening together plays out, with murky tonal shifts and sometimes vague character motivations, the line between professional and romantic becomes ever more complex.
Qualley is a viper, spitting out her dialogue in a speedy screwball patter and giving us one indulgent dance scene. The twisty script keeps us guessing as to whether she’s just nuts, actually has this guy’s best interests at heart, or may perhaps have true, softer feelings for him. Abbott expands upon his kinky work from the quite similar 2018 film Piercing, a much darker tale of carnal fantasy versus the rigidity of the real world.
Both actors can get stifled, however, by director Zachary Wigon’s fussy stylistic choices: reaching a conversational climax, their momentum will often be thwarted by a pointless upside-down shot, or a weirdly ill-timed slow motion sequence. The movie’s intimate cast and setting is captivating enough: the bells and whistles are unnecessary. One camera pan down to an inappropriate boner did get a laugh out of me, I’ll admit.
The dynamic between the two leads is inherently fascinating, revealing a tricky binary between their “scene” selves and their more vulnerable, human real identities. After Hal’s gotten that first self-loathing load out of his system, they talk about his commissioned sex work like it’s a performance art collab between the pair: “I love how committed you are to it”, Rebecca praises, “how much it means to you”. It’s more than a gig, and less than a healthy romantic connection, leading to an ending that feels refreshingly zany if also a little unbelievable.
Put away your fluffy handcuffs and shades of grey: Sanctuary is something a little harder, and much more compelling. Especially when Wigon gets out of Qualley and Abbott’s way, letting them do their own, scandalous sort of play.
