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'Safe’ (R)

By Rita Kempley
Washington Post Staff Writer
August 04, 1995

With "Safe," artist, semiologist and filmmaker Todd Haynes takes what might have been a deadly disease-of-the-week movie and turns it into a chic postmodern chiller. This spooky film's ostensible subject—an environmental illness known as multiple chemical sensitivity—is merely a starting place for this mesmerizing horror movie, feminist tract and medical mystery.

Julianne Moore, so ignobly underused in "Nine Months," brings seemingly endless shadings to the part of Carol White, a mousy redhead who imagines she has found safety as a trophy wife. Aside from satisfying her sexually demanding husband, her life consists of aerobics classes, lunches with other wives and the supervision of the Hispanic maids who really care for the Whites' manse, with its glacially stylish decor.

Unbeknown to Carol, it is a veritable haunted house of invisible chemical residues and choking fumes. Silver polish, her husband's deodorant, hair spray, fumes from the new couch—a black velvet monstrosity—all are quietly slipping into Carol's pores and poisoning her immune system. Her debilitation begins with a polite, girlish sneeze, progresses to headaches and nosebleeds and finally culminates in bone-rattling seizures.

Her husband, Greg (Xander Berkeley), suspects that the headaches are of the "not tonight, dear" variety. But he becomes caring and concerned in his awkward way as her symptoms become more alarming. A consultation with the family doctor is fruitless, for the physician, like Greg, is a well-meaning chauvinist. When he can find no medical explanation for her ailments, he suggests a psychiatrist.

While it would be tempting to attribute this diagnosis to sexism, Carol is played with such convincing ambiguity that there does indeed seem to be a psychological component to her illness. It's a topic that intrigues Haynes, who explored the subtext of anorexia in his first film, 1988's brilliant "Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story," which he made with Barbie-like dolls.

Then again, Carol's illness seems to offer her a way of getting out of her suffocating marriage, just as the Barbie Karen's anorexia offered her a respite from her controlling family. Whatever the reason, a trip to the dry cleaner finally leaves Carol bedridden. With plenty of time to watch TV, she discovers multiple chemical sensitivity in an infomercial about Wrenwood, a new-age retreat outside Albuquerque.

Greg, increasingly frustrated by his uselessness and his wife's frailty, readily agrees to send her to the facility for a rest cure. And nobody blames him for being a little relieved to see her go.

Wrenwood is run by a charismatic therapist (Peter Friedman) and his happy-faced minions, and it presents an entirely new menu of creepy possibilities. Infected with the AIDS virus, the doctor is either a quack or the David Koresh of the 12-step self-help set. It's true that after a few weeks at Wrenwood, Carol begins to look more like a vampire's consort than a trophy bride. Drained though she may be, she is nonetheless happier than ever when she moves into a germ-free igloo.

Happy at last? Or addicted to a new madness?

Haynes doesn't offer the answers, but he doesn't really leave us with questions either. Instead, he invites us to consider the possibilities. "Safe"? Not really.

Safe is rated R for sex and language.

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