I can only say that the scenes of Emma and Adèle in bed, overlong and arguably cheesecakey as they were, captured for me the intensity of that stage of a love affair when the boundaries of your entire world end and begin with your lover’s body. (The camera unquestionably lingers on their curves and surfaces, but if liking to look at beautiful young women naked is a crime, we’re all in trouble.) The question of whether the scenes of these two in bed together are realistic depictions of lesbian sex (however that might be defined), is not in my ken to answer.
#Blue is the warmest colour hot scene skin
And of course, unlike all but a small slice of real-life women, they are both movie-star hot, with creamy skin and slim, toned bodies. (Seydoux herself has said that filming these scenes made her feel like a prostitute.) Emma and Adèle appear to be doing consensual, harmless, and mutually highly enjoyable things-even if they do proceed from one sculpturally perfect position to the next with the precision of figure drawings in a how-to-please-your-lover manual.
#Blue is the warmest colour hot scene movie
The sex scene that follows is nothing like what I expected from the description of the author of the graphic novel on which the movie is based, who called the depiction of sex between the two women “a brutal and surgical display” akin to pornography. A couple of flirtatious conversations later and the two young women are at Emma’s place, eagerly pulling off each other’s clothes. But she doesn’t really know what she wants until she locks eyes in the street with Emma, an out lesbian in her early 20s who runs with a more educated, artier crowd than Adèle is used to (and who, for the film’s first half at least, dyes her hair a fetching shade of the titular color). Adèle perks up when a female classmate plants an experimental kiss on her (only to reject any possibility of reciprocation down the line). Adèle doesn’t quite fit in with her group of girlfriends as they sit and strategize about boys a cute guy (Jérémie Laheurte) likes her, but she submits to his physical attentions with an absent gaze that makes her indifference plain to us, if not him. In that respect, it’s like Adèle, whom we first meet as a working-class high school student in the city of Lille, clomping glumly to the bus stop, her permanently unruly hair bunched into a hasty ponytail. Kechiche (who, along with Ghalia Lacroix, adapted the screenplay from a French graphic novel by Julie Maroh) may not get everything about lesbian sex right, but he understands something important about the way people fall in and out love.īlue Is the Warmest Color can be exquisitely tender at moments, but it’s also undisciplined and messy, always on the verge of flying apart. (Can you at least buy me a drink first?) But what’s most memorable about Blue Is the Warmest Color is the emotional openness with which it tracks the expressive young faces of its two heroines as they discover, exult in, change, betray, and eventually damage one another. I’ll get to those-including the much-discussed 10-minute-long one that earned the film its NC-17 rating-further on. Notice I said love scenes, not sex scenes.