Sanctuary (2022)
Directed by Zachary Wigon
Six months ago I would’ve suggested that Zachary Wigon’s Sanctuary was sexy and an interesting exercise in sexual politicking and male/female power dynamics, filled with little nods of recognition to my storied past. Now? After some post-traumatic grimaces (with little nods of recognition to my storied past), I felt unease at the grossly manipulative and co-dependent relationship that defines the film. It’s a two-hander involving Hal and Rebecca (Christopher Abbot and Margaret Qualley), confined to a posh hotel room. Donning a blonde wig, Rebecca plays the role of an attorney, asking Hal some questions that escalate in intensity. We get a lot of expositional details piled on here, where we learn about how Hal has taken on the role as CEO of a hotel chain, a position gifted to him by his father. But we soon learn that this is all an act. Rebecca, a dominatrix, is adhering to a script of Hal’s design. Eventually this leads to Hal nude, scrubbing a toilet with a toothbrush, jerking off while Rebecca humiliates him. He asks for requisite permission to cum. Service rendered. End of scene one.
Room service is delivered and the two catch up in a manner that colleagues would before Hal delivers some disappointing news. With his new position, Hal doesn’t think it’s ethical to continue utilizing Rebecca’s services. He gifts her an expensive wristwatch as a parting gift and she heads for the elevators before turning back. It’s not over and it’s not enough. What Rebecca has done for Hal through the years is cultivate a backbone and inspire him to take control of his own life and she’s not going to permit him to abandon their relationship. Think George Costanza trying to break up with a partner who refuses to let him. What follows is a series of blackmail attempts, wherein Rebecca demands half of Hal’s salary (2-3 million) and a position within Hal’s newly acquired empire. She threatens him with leaking details about their sexual escapades and even suggests that a video was recorded, which would be shared with the Board of Directors and even his mother (here I imagine my exes furiously taking notes). Hal initially scoffs at the attempt at blackmail before taking Rebecca’s threats seriously. He indulges. But the question, as established by the film’s first act, is whether or not any of this is actually real or merely another scripted exercise in humiliation and self-destruction.
Problem is that I didn’t care either way. It’s not the actors, who are both exceedingly convincing. Nor is it necessarily the direction, which is measured with just enough formal acuity to give this thing a pulse. Instead, it’s the lineage of screwball comedies (and surprisingly, Paul Thomas Anderson’s Punch-Drunk Love) that it attempts to pull from while also modernizing their temperament. Maybe it’s the curmudgeon in me but none of this clicked in a compelling way and came across as flat. The effect would seem to be to edge the audience to its eventual conclusion, but Micah Bloomberg’s screenplay sputters prematurely, left in its own filth for far longer than I had the endurance for. The film’s winks and nudges suggest that Bloomberg’s screenplay is subversive or transcendent of its genre, but so much of this reads as past its expiration date, with nods to weaponizing therapy speak and self-help culture that will age like milk. I may have asked too much from Sanctuary, but ultimately there’s little here beyond what’s clearly stated. Which is to say: a film involving two sexy people in a dominatrix/cuck situation should probably not be this boring.