Poor Things.

       

     In Hollywood, it happens that an artists receive Oscar but not for the work they deserved it. For instance, Guillermo del Toro received "the bugger" (P. O'Toole's word) for the "Shape of Water" but did not -- for much more coherent and innovative "Pan's Labyrinth". 

    Equally, Emma Stone got it for pathetic "La La Land". But she is unlikely to get it for her brilliant performance in "Poor Things" if anything for absurd dozen or so sexual acts during the movie (obviously Yorgos Latimos loves filming E. S. naked). 

    The movie itself is a happy-end Frankenstein meeting Pygmalion by the way of the "Island of Dr. Moreau" further garnished by steampunk and even Fado. 

    Latimos tried to inject some verity in the sordid Belle Epoque prostitution with the question by the jilted fiancée: "Did you get checked for the disease?" and oddly repulsive characters of clients. Yet the model-looking hookers -- compare with the depictions by Degas and Toulouse-Lautrec -- in designer costumes remain. Also remains a caring brothel madam. In all-cash society brothels had to be guarded by burly characters despising and abusing working girls. Alcoholism and drug addiction ran rampant and otherwise powerless girls had to vent their abuse on each other.