Rivals movie review with Zendaya

You can also listen to the review in an audio version.

There’s only one thing Hollywood fears more than artificial intelligence today – sex. While still in the 90s, erotic thrillers and other “adult” genres ruled the cinemas, in recent decades, big producers are betting more on asexual entertainment for teenagers or the whole family. Due to this, Rivals can rightly be called one of the most sensual studio films of recent years. And this despite the fact that all erotic scenes in them begin and end with foreplay.

Italian director Luca Guadagnino and Thai cinematographer Sayombhu Mukdeeprom know how to shoot human bodies so you feel like you’re touching them. They already demonstrated this in the fragile queer romance Give Me Your Name and the horror remake Suspiria. Their third joint film is once again intoxicated by the beauty of bodies in motion. The release of the built-up sexual tension in Rivals occurs during tense tennis matches, when drops of sweat spray from the heckling characters in slow motion.

The entire film is framed by one such match. Two old friends, Patrick and Art, face off in the finals of a local tennis tournament. Patrick (Josh O’Connor) isn’t going through the happiest of times. He has $70 in his bank account, his shorts are pulled up. He sleeps either in the apartments of men and women he just picked up on a dating site, or in a broken-down car. He no longer dreams of a brilliant sports career. He sees tennis primarily as an opportunity to make quick money.

Art (Mike Faist) could still be the champion in contrast. In addition to a number of sponsors whose products the film openly advertises, his partner and trainer Tashi (Zendaya) also puts their trust in him. However, he has not been doing well lately and is considering ending his sports career. From the flashbacks that intersperse the finale, it gradually emerges that the most important thing the two men are competing for may not be money or participation in the US Open, but Tasha’s attention.

Their paths first crossed thirteen years ago. She was a rising tennis star, they two suckers admiring her backhand and dance moves. After one championship, they spent a night together that started with friendly chats on the beach and continued with passionate kisses in the hotel room. As Tashi enjoys power over the men she has wedged herself between, Patrick and Art become rivals. The rest of the movie basically just varies this relationship pattern.

The heroes can play tennis, but honesty and responsibility are not very good for them. Instead of going to therapy, they discuss who slept with whom in endless dialogues. Alternatively, they have comparatively boring conversations about tennis, which serves as a not-so-decent metaphor for other, more exciting games. As much as Guadagnino doesn’t shy away from adult sexuality, the banality of the central love triangle is more in line with teenage shows like Beverly Hills 90210.

But Guadagnino has always been a better choreographer than a psychologist, and this time he also does the former the latter to turn Justin Kuritzkes’ repetitive script into a sexy spectacle. Glances, gestures or the triangular arrangement of the actors in the space are worth a dozen half-pathetic lines. The film comes to life the most during the tennis duels, which become more and more intense and subjective as the minutes pass. The camera rises, falls, runs over the player or takes the view of the tennis ball.

The restless dynamics of the relationship, in which everyone tries to be the central player, is also reflected by the non-linear narrative with constant jumps back several years, weeks or hours. Submission and return. Again and again. Every now and then we watch events from someone else’s perspective. The cuts are as violent as the smashing of the players on the court, which although gives the impression that the whole film is one long tennis match, but at the same time leads to the growing frustration of the audience.

Repeatedly it happens that a promisingly played scene, in which something exciting is about to happen, is suddenly cut. In addition to the fluidity of the narration and the atmosphere of the film, the actors also pay for it, as they have to get straight to the point and fit a lot of emotions and smashed tennis rackets into a short fragment. Therefore, the actions of lightly sketched characters seem short-handed and inconsistent. Also, the erotic tension between Patrick and Art is provided by the details of the lips, knees and shoulders rather than their chemistry. But it is still the most convincing relationship.

Art and Tashi may have a daughter together and have been married for several years, but their intimate scenes feel as detached as two televised sportsmen with electronic pencils dissecting a game record. Even Tashi and Patrick’s love encounters are empty and cold. With minimal interest in the inner worlds and non-relational existence of the characters, we can only speculate as to why Art lost his motivation to play, why Patrick became a loser with no prospects, and if Tashi is really as cold-blooded as her reaction to her partner’s “I love you” suggests.

The missing tension as if the pulsing synthesizers of Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross should have provided the dialogues. They are able to give a great kick to the sports scenes, giving them an impact that the narrative lacks. However, when the 90s techno starts to drown out even the words of the actors during the partner’s argument, you hesitate for a moment whether there has been a technical fault and it is not the sound from the next hall, where they are playing some loud action blockbuster.

Guadagnino’s attempt to elevate the barren, superficially clinging relationship with all sorts of post-production interventions is often counterproductive. The commercial-like stylistic subtleties are most satisfying in scenes where there is no philosophical or psychological depth at stake, but purely the physical performance of sweaty, yearning bodies on the tennis court. Unfortunately, most of Rivals is just an unexciting prelude to these flashes of cinematic genius.