The New Eve in the New Garden: Reimagining Humanity and Transformation in Poor Things PDF Free Download
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SLEZSKÁ UNIVERZITA V OPAVĚ
Filozoficko-přírodovědecká fakulta v Opavě
DIPLOMOVÁ PRÁCE
Opava 2024 Bc. Anna Janoštíková
SLEZSKÁ UNIVERZITA V OPAVĚ
Filozoficko-přírodovědecká fakulta v Opavě
Bc. Anna Janoštíková
Obor: Anglický jazyk
The New Eve in the New Garden: Reimagining Humanity
and Transformation in Poor Things
Diplomová práce
Opava 2024 Vedoucí diplomové práce:
doc. PhDr. Michaela Weiss, Ph.D.
Abstract
This thesis explores the convergence of art, literature, and cinema to examine
the concept of a new human in a new garden. Focusing on Yorgos Lanthimoss 2023 film
Poor Things, Hieronymus Bosch’s The Garden of Earthly Delights, and Walt Whitman’s
Song of Myself, the study investigates the interplay of innocence, agency,
and transformation. Bella, a re-imagined Eve, represents a radical departure
from traditional depictions of femininity and autonomy, embodying the freedom
to transcend societal norms. Drawing on themes of rebirth, abjection, and the sublime,
the work juxtaposes Bosch’s triptych with Lanthimos’s visual language, situating Bella
as a creator of a garden of boundless potential. This thesis argues that Bella’s journey
reflects the emergence of a new human—a figure unrestrained by convention, inhabiting
a new garden—a dynamic, transformative landscape that redefines identity, morality, and
pleasure.
Keywords: Bosch’s The Garden of Earthly Delights, Lanthimos’ Poor Things, new
garden, new human, Walt Whitman’s Song of Myself
Abstrakt
Tato práce zkoumá, jak se prolínající světy výtvarného umění, literatury a filmu
spojují ve vizi „nového člověka“ v „nové zahradě“. Zaměřuje se na tři klíčová díla: film
„Chudáčci“ Yorgose Lanthimose z roku 2023, triptych Hieronyma Bosche „Zahrada
pozemských rozkoší“ a báseň Walta Whitmana „Zpěv o mně“ (1892). Boschova ikonická
malba zachycuje lidské touhy, hříchy i nevinnost, Whitmanova poezie oslavuje
individualitu a propojení člověka s přírodou, zatímco Lanthimosův film moderně přetváří
témata emancipace, tělesnosti a objevování světa.
Postava Belly, novodobé Evy, spojuje myšlenky Boschova symbolického světa,
Whitmanovy filozofie a Lanthimosovy vizuální estetiky. Její cesta představuje nový
pohled na lidskou autonomii, nevinnost a odpor vůči společenským normám.
Lanthimosův vizuální styl čerpá inspiraci z Boschovy zahrady, vytvářející prostor, kde se
stírají hranice mezi nevinností, zkušeností a přirozenou lidskou touhou. Whitmanova
poezie poskytuje hlubší filozofický rámec, propojující lidskou zkušenost s radikální
svobodou a oslavou individuality.
Tato práce odhaluje motiv zahrady jako místa proměny a znovuzrození, kde je
možné redefinovat identitu, morálku i estetiku. Bellina cesta symbolizuje vznik „nového
člověka“ – bytosti nezatížené konvencemi, která vytváří a obývá „novou zahradu“ –
dynamickou a transformativní krajinu, jež mění způsob, jakým nahlížíme na identitu,
morálku a rozkoš.
Klíčová slova: Chudáčci od Yorgose Lanthimose, nový člověk, nová zahrada,
Píseň o mně Walta Whitmana, Zahrada pozemských rozkoší Hieronyma Bosche
Prohlašuji, že jsem tuto práci vypracovala samostatně. Veškeré prameny a
literaturu, které jsem pro vyhotovení práce využila, řádně cituji a uvádím v seznamu
použité literatury a internetových zdrojů.
V Opavě dne ……………. …………………………..
Anna Janoštíková
Acknowledgment
I would like to cordially thank my supervisor, doc. PhDr. Michaela Weiss, Ph.D., for
her valuable advice, professional guidance, and patience during my studies and her
support during the process of writing the thesis.
Obsah
Introduction ...................................................................................................................1
1 The Visual and Symbolic World of Bosch’s The Garden of Earthly Delights ........5
1.1 Paradise, Earth, Hell ......................................................................................5
1.1.1 Left Panel (Paradise) ..................................................................................5
1.1.2 Central Panel (Garden of Earthly Delights).................................................8
1.1.3 Right Panel (Hell) .................................................................................... 10
1.2 The Legacy of the Garden of Earthly Delights in Modern Art ...................... 11
1.3 Conclusion ................................................................................................... 13
2 Poor Things ........................................................................................................ 15
2.1 Poor Things: Alasdair Gray (1993) or Yorgos Lanthimos (2023) ................. 16
2.2 Visual world of Poor things ......................................................................... 17
2.2.1 The house ................................................................................................. 19
2.2.2 Lisbon ...................................................................................................... 26
2.2.3 The Ship ................................................................................................... 29
2.2.4 Alexandria................................................................................................ 32
2.2.5 Paris ......................................................................................................... 35
2.2.6 The Return ............................................................................................... 41
2.3 Conclusion ................................................................................................... 44
3 Bella Victoria – a lovely victory? ........................................................................ 46
3.1 Bella’s Garden ............................................................................................. 51
3.2 Godwin Baxter............................................................................................. 53
3.3 Conclusion ................................................................................................... 56
Conclusion .................................................................................................................. 58
Reference .................................................................................................................... 59
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Introduction
This thesis reflects a journey toward understanding and embracing ideals
of transformation, rebellion against rooted beliefs, and the epitome of “nature
without check with original energy” (Whitman 3) as these concepts converge
in Bella, the central protagonist of the novel Poor Things by Alasdair Gray and
its cinematic interpretation by Yorgos Lanthimos. Through the convergence of art,
literature, and cinema, this thesis examines Bella as a conceptual new human,
creating a new garden where original energy flourishes without fear or shame.
Focusing on Yorgos Lanthimos’s 2023 film Poor Things, Hieronymus Bosch's
The Garden of Earthly Delights, and Walt Whitman’s Song of Myself, the study
investigates the interplay of innocence, agency, and transformation.
Hieronymus Bosch’s The Garden of Earthly Delights is a masterpiece
of extraordinary depth and complexity, painted between 1490 and 1510; this
triptych remains one of the most enigmatic works in the history of art. The triptych’s
three panels present a dynamic narrative of creation, indulgence, and damnation,
exploring the interplay between innocence and corruption, freedom and
consequence. This thesis seeks to unravel the symbolic intricacies of Bosch’s work
while drawing parallels to its enduring influence on contemporary art and media.
Lanthimos’s film draws heavily on the visual and thematic elements of Bosch’s
masterpiece, reimagining its symbolic layers to engage with contemporary issues
of liberation, identity, and moral ambiguity.
The association of Bosch’s medieval theological framework
with Lanthimos’s feminist and existential narrative underscores the versatility and
relevance of The Garden of Earthly Delights. This study investigates how Bosch’s
allegorical work serves as a lens through which contemporary art and film can
critique societal norms, question moral boundaries, and reimagine the human
condition. By analysing the triptych and its modern adaptations, the thesis reveals
a shared concern with the tensions between freedom and restraint, innocence and
corruption, and humanity’s persistent quest for meaning and fulfillment.
This thesis also explores how Bosch’s layered symbolism invites diverse
interpretations, ranging from theological to psychological and from moralizing to
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liberatory. Lanthimos’s film exemplifies how these interpretations can be
recontextualized in a modern framework, where themes of agency, power, and
liberation take centre stage. The intermedial nature of The Garden of Earthly
Delights makes it particularly suited to adaptation in contemporary media, offering
a bridge between historical art and modern storytelling. By examining Bosch’s
work alongside Poor Things, this thesis highlights the timeless nature of Bosch’s
vision and its capacity to inspire and challenge audiences across centuries.
Poor Things (2023), as seen from the perspective of critics, such as Samira
Ahmed, presenter of Front Row on BBC Radio 4, is denounced as a “heterosexual
middle-aged man’s fantasy about nymphomania, with the flimsiest covering
of ‘satire’ and a tagged-on message about female genital mutilation being ‘bad’”
(Kermode). Leslie Felperin of The Guardian criticized the film for presenting “one
of the oldest abuser myths” by portraying Bella’s insatiable desire for sex as
a “voyage of self-discovery” despite her having “an infant’s brain” (Kermode).
Others, like Viv Groskop, underscore the grotesque ambiguity of Bella’s depiction,
highlighting that “two seconds ago, she was supposedly a child who could barely
talk or walk” (Kermode). Even the film’s opening scenes, where Bella is discussed
as a sexual entity while still non-verbal, prompted critics like Zoe Williams to argue
that it creates “a pretty high-stakes ambiguity” that could be interpreted as “straight
wish-fulfillment of a toxic patriarchy” (Kermode). Some dismiss the work entirely
as a modern retelling of the stereotype of La Belle Juive.
However, these critiques frequently overlook the film’s deliberate subversion
and manipulation of the audience’s expectations. As Jess Cartner-Morley, Guardian
fashion editor, observes, “when Bella discovers sex, she doesn’t transform into a
pouting coquette and insatiable seductress. Instead, she carries on being her ‘gawky,
hilarious, mischievous self, just with lots of enthusiastic shagging. Marvellous.’”
Cartner-Morley further notes that even the costumes in Poor Things refute
the aforementioned claims that the film primarily caters to male viewers: Bella’s
brothel scenes feature pastel-coloured underwear, free from the “male-gaze filter”
of stereotypical black or red lace (Kermode). Similarly, Charlotte Higgins,
Guardian chief culture writer, posits that Bella’s character represents “a vision
of a sexually free woman who fearlessly, without guilt, without negative
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consequences, quenches her appetites, utterly unconscious of Judaeo-Christian or
patriarchal shame” (Kermode) rather than serving as a male fantasy of innocent
virginal beauty transformed for his gratification. After examining Mark Kermode’s
meticulously curated collection of the film’s reviews for The Guardian,
a determination arose to analyse Bella—a character capable of inciting such
tension, friction, and diverse opinions.
Bella, the reimagined Eve of Lanthimos’s Poor Things, offers a radical vision
of life unshackled by societal expectations. Her unapologetic exploration
of pleasure, agency, and identity challenges traditional notions of morality,
femininity, and autonomy. The new garden in Poor Things is presented as
a reimagined Eden, free from the burdens of Judeo-Christian guilt and repression.
The Garden of Earthly Delights has been interpreted as a meditation on hedonistic
excess and its consequences, echoing the fleeting nature of pleasure and the perils
of indulgence. Similarly, Bella has been read as a celebration of Cyrenaic
hedonism—the immediate indulgence of the senses without restraint or regard
for the future. This thesis argues, however, that Bella aligns more closely
with the Epicurean definition of hedonism: the pursuit of sustainable pleasure,
tranquillity, and a thoughtful life free from fear of death or divine punishment
(Moore). Bella creates a metaphorical new garden—a space where boundaries
between the sublime and the abject dissolve, enabling new modes of existence.
Through the study of Bosch’s The Garden of Earthly Delights, various
interpretations emerge, including those found in Michael Micael’s monograph
The Garden of Earthly Delights: The Senses and the Soul in Dream and Awakening
(2018). Michael references St. Augustine’s plea: “Let us return to ourselves and
leave aside what we have in common with plants and animals” (65). This quote
encapsulates the dualistic perspective within Augustine’s thought, advocating
the transcendence of instinct and physical nature. An alternative approach,
however, might involve rejecting such detachment and denial, embracing instead
the primal connections that bind humanity to the natural world, potentially leading
to a renewed understanding of existence.
This thesis bridges Bella’s narrative and Whitman’s poetics as a reflection
of personal growth and a broader, transformative ideal: the emergence of a new
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human in a new garden. Through the convergence of art, literature, and cinema,
this work seeks to define what it means to exist as a creature of original energy,
unafraid to embrace the sublime chaos of existence. In Bella, and in the worlds
of Lanthimos, Bosch, and Whitman, there emerges a profound challenge
to Augustine’s call: an invitation to reclaim the joys, freedoms, and transformative
power of shared human nature.
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1 The Visual and Symbolic World of Bosch’s The Garden
of Earthly Delights
Hieronymus Bosch’s The Garden of Earthly Delights, a triptych renowned
for its enigmatic imagery, was created between 1490 and 1510, though its precise
dating remains a topic of scholarly debate. This masterpiece, rendered in oil on oak
panel, is currently housed in the Museo del Prado, Madrid. The triptych measures
220 cm in height, with a width of 97 cm when closed and an expansive 390 cm
when fully opened. The exterior panels, painted in grisaille (a monochromatic
palette of grey tones), are widely interpreted as depicting the Third Day of Creation.
If this interpretation holds, the scene portrays the separation of water from land and
the formation of the earthly Paradise. In the upper left corner of the exterior, a male
figure holding an open book is generally identified as God the Father, the Creator.
This identification is supported by Latin inscriptions found on each panel.
The inscription on the right reads, “For he spoke, and it was done” (Psalms 33.9),
while the left panel states, “For he commanded, and they were created” (Psalm
148.5).
When the triptych is opened, it reveals three distinct panels. The left wing is
commonly interpreted as a depiction of Paradise; the central panel illustrates
a fantastical and expansive landscape known as the Garden of Earthly Delights, and
the right wing is associated with the nightmarish realm of Hell. These interior
scenes, painted in vivid and dynamic colours, contrast harshly with the passive
grisaille of the exterior panels, highlighting the thematic and visual contradiction
of the work (Silva Marato).
1.1 Paradise, Earth, Hell
1.1.1 Left Panel (Paradise)
Hieronymus Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights continues to captivate
scholars with its layered symbolism and intricate visual narrative. The left panel
of the triptych, often called the Paradise or Eden panel, represents the creation of
Eve. This scene, set in a lush and complex environment, is a profound meditation
on theological and philosophical themes, offering insights into humanity’s
relationship with divinity, nature, and sin. Drawing on interpretations by Meinhard
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Michael, Sullivan, and Jucan, this chapter examines the Eden panel's symbolic
intricacies, focusing on Adam and Eve’s positioning, their relationship to God, and
the prefiguration of sin embedded within the idyllic tableau. In the centre of the
Eden panel, Bosch portrays Eve’s creation with striking compositional choices. As
Michael (2018) elucidates, God is depicted as a youthful, Christ-like figure, guiding
Eve—semi-kneeling and emerging from Adam’s side. Adam, seated and gazing
upwards, embodies a “visionary” stance, his gaze focused on God rather than on
Eve. This arrangement underscores the theological hierarchy and Adam’s spiritual
connection to the divine. Michael interprets Adam’s pose as foreshadowing Christ’s
passion, suggesting that Adam’s “dream” includes his immediate reality and the
cosmic plan of salvation (Michael 27).
The panel’s compositional dynamics emphasize Adam’s privileged spiritual
state. As Michael notes, Adam’s gaze “cannot bypass God” (Michael 30).
This divine orientation contrasts with Eve’s lowered eyes, symbolizing her less
direct connection to God (Michael 35). These visual elements reinforce traditional
gendered interpretations of spiritual hierarchy, a theme that resonates
with the writings of St. Augustine and William of St. Thierry, where the soul is
masculine and feminine aspects are linked to its proximity to divinity (Michael 86-
87). A comparable scene is observed in the film Poor Things at the 31-minute mark.
At this moment, a newly created Bella, symbolising Eve, stands in a garden setting
with hybrid animals just as in the triptych. Her counterpart, Max McCandles, who
serves as an Adam-like figure, approaches her and proposes marriage. Bella,
however, suggests engaging in sexual relations, a suggestion that Max declines,
stating that she is “too special” and emphasizing that they must first marry
(Lanthimos 31:00).
While the left panel presents an Edenic vision, its details subtly hint at the
fallibility of this perfection. As Sullivan (2014) argues, the idyllic scene is disrupted
by unsettling elements—a devilish face hidden in rocky outcrops, hybrid creatures,
and a two-legged dog prowling near a pool. These visual anomalies signal the
“intrusion of evil into this idyllic scene” (Michael 32), suggesting that Eden was
never truly insulated from corruption. Sullivan claims that Bosch’s unconventional
portrayal of Eden reflects an apocalyptic worldview, where evil often masquerades
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as good (Sullivan 185). This duality is further evident in the portrayal of animals.
Realistic depictions of lions, deer, and cats coexist with fantastical hybrids,
embodying the tension between the natural and the unnatural. For Michael, these
creatures symbolize “the potential for corruption” inherent in creation (Michael 32).
The devil’s rock face, described as appearing “asleep” compared to Adam’s
“sparklingly awake” expression, foreshadows the eventual awakening of sin
(Michael 31). This subtle position of light and darkness amplifies the panel’s
thematic complexity.
Adam’s placement in the lower left corner of the panel carries significant
allegorical weight. Jucan (2021) interprets Adam as representing the idea
of responsibility. Unlike later humanity, which succumbs to chaos
by misinterpreting freedom, Adam’s focus on God characterises the virtues
of discipline and moral integrity (Jucan 229). In this sense, the Eden panel becomes
more than a biblical illustration; it is a meditation on the human condition and
the fragile balance between divine order and human agency. Sullivan expands
this argument by suggesting that Bosch’s Eden defies conventional religious
iconography. The youthful, bare-headed, and serene depiction of God contrasts
sharply with traditional portrayals of an authoritative, aged divinity. This departure
from tradition underscores Bosch’s innovative approach, presenting Eden not
as a static paradise but as a dynamic, precarious state reflective of human fallibility
(Sullivan 167).
The portrayal of Eve in the Paradise panel invites further reflection
on the gendered dimensions of spiritual hierarchy. According to Michael, Eve’s
lowered gaze and physical posture signal her weaker spiritual connection to God.
This interpretation aligns with medieval theological notions that equate femininity
with earthly distraction and imperfection (Michael 35, 87). According to Michael,
William of St. Thierry claims the transition from anima to animus reflects the soul’s
spiritual ascent, with Eve embodying the lower, feminine aspect of the soul that
must be transcended to achieve divine union (Michael 86-87). On the other hand,
Michael fails to acknowledge the possibility of the feminine soul not being
condemnable. Bosch’s depiction of Eve thus becomes a site of tension, embodying
both the purity of creation and the vulnerability to sin. Sullivan suggests that
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this duality mirrors societal anxieties about the role of women and the potential
for moral corruption. The interplay between innocence and foreboding in Eve’s
portrayal encapsulates Bosch’s broader commentary on the fragility of human
virtue (Sullivan 185).
1.1.2 Central Panel (Garden of Earthly Delights)
The central panel of Hieronymus Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights is
an expansive, intricate tableau that has provoked diverse interpretations
from scholars. Filled with surreal imagery, naked figures, and fantastical
landscapes, the panel is a striking representation of earthly pleasures
and indulgence. While some interpretations frame the scene as a paradisiacal vision
of innocent pleasure, others emphasize its allegorical warnings of humanity’s moral
failings and eventual downfall. This chapter explores the multifaceted symbolism
of the central panel, focusing on its themes of innocence, indulgence, and ambiguity
while situating the work within the broader moral and theological context
of its time.
The central panel presents a vibrant garden with hundreds of nude figures
engaged in playful, sensual, and communal activities. Surreal oversized fruits,
exotic birds, and bizarre hybrid creatures dominate the scene, creating a surreal
environment that blurs the line between reality and imagination. As Michael (78)
notes, the composition is precisely organized with geometric forms, such as circles
and triangles, subtly guiding the viewer’s interpretation. The background's
fantastical blue and pink towers further heighten the otherworldly atmosphere,
suggesting a realm that defies conventional depictions of paradise. The circular
pool, surrounded by men on the backs of animals and its central group of women,
is a particularly striking feature. According to Gibson (11), this arrangement
symbolizes the sexual attraction between men and women, a theme underscored
by the lively antics of the acrobatic riders. The ring formation of the men circling
the pool may also reference (Psalm 11.9), which states, “the wicked walk around
in a circle,” thereby hinting at the underlying moral ambiguities of this otherwise
idyllic scene (Gibson 12).
The interpretation of the panel oscillates between two poles: an innocent
celebration of human pleasure and a cautionary tale of tolerance leading
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to corruption. Franger (38) argues that the panel reflects the beliefs of the Brethren
of the Free Spirit, portraying a paradisiacal vision of humanity in a state
of vegetative innocence and spiritual freedom. He rejects the notion that Bosch’s
imagery conveys disapproval, instead suggesting that the figures frolic in a state of
harmonious unity with nature (Franger 1-2). Conversely, other scholars perceive
the central panel as a “false paradise” that veils humanity’s inherent flaws. Gibson
(14) contends that the garden’s beauty and vitality mask a latent danger, leading
humanity toward destruction. Jucan (224) expands on this view, suggesting that
the panel represents humanity’s blissful ignorance before divine punishment.
The depiction of chaos and indulgence contrasts with traditional notions of purity,
instead highlighting the mingling of innocence and sin—a prelude to the fall.
Gender dynamics and their moral implications are central to the allegory
of the central panel. The circular pool, with women at its centre, underscores
women's power over men, a motif frequently depicted in medieval art to illustrate
male folly (Gibson 12). Jucan (227) interprets the cavalcade of men as a “ring
of vices,” symbolizing male sinfulness and the domination of women. Bosch’s
recurring motifs, such as strawberries and other oversized fruits, further enrich
the symbolic texture of the scene. Michael (49) identifies the strawberry
as a symbol of the vagina, representing both the allure and danger of carnal desires.
This association emphasizes the dual nature of the pleasures depicted—
simultaneously enticing and perilous.
It resists a single, definitive interpretation, reflecting a deliberate ambiguity.
Jucan (224) highlights that morality in Bosch’s work is not rigid; the painting’s
imagery is intentionally left open to multiple readings. Calas (184) supports
this perspective, suggesting that Bosch’s attitude may have been one of mockery
rather than moral judgment, as he plays with the boundaries between virtue
and vice. Rooted in the moralizing tradition of the 13th century, The Garden of
Earthly Delights aligns with contemporary manuals on virtues and vices (Gibson
20). Nevertheless, Bosch’s treatment of these themes transcends didacticism,
offering a nuanced meditation on human behaviour. The garden’s depiction
of indulgence may serve as both a reflection of a lost Edenic innocence
and a warning of humanity’s susceptibility to sin.
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1.1.3 Right Panel (Hell)
The right panel of Hieronymus Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights offers
a jarring conclusion to the triptych’s narrative, presenting a nightmarish vision
of Hell. In stark contrast to the lush landscapes and vibrant activity of the left
and central panels, the right panel is a chaotic, dark realm filled with hybrid
creatures and scenes of punishment. This chapter examines the symbolic and moral
dimensions of Bosch’s depiction of Hell, focusing on the consequences
of indulgence and the themes woven throughout the composition.
Bosch’s depiction of Hell is a masterful union of chaos and imagination.
As Michael (145) observes, this panel showcases Bosch’s uncontrolled creativity,
depicting creatures—part human, part beast—inflicting torment upon damned
souls. As seen in the central panel, these figures and surreal landscapes amplify
the horrors of damnation, embodying the ultimate consequences of ‘unchecked
indulgence’. The punishments in Hell are supposedly tied to the pleasures indulged
in during life. Gibson (19) emphasizes that the damned are “punished by the very
means which brought them pleasure during life,” reinforcing the moral keystones
of the triptych. This ironic justice underscores the inevitability of divine retribution,
where the tools of earthly delight become instruments of eternal suffering.
The nakedness of the figures takes on a new meaning in the right panel. Glum
(45) introduces the concept of “eschatological nakedness,” suggesting that
the exposed state of the figures signifies vulnerability and judgment. In Hell,
this nakedness strips away any pretence of innocence or pleasure, revealing the raw
consequences of sin. As Glum notes, the right panel’s symbolism and composition
align with themes of judgment, offering a stark contrast to the “carnival
of pleasures” in the central garden. Thematically, the panel reinforces the moral
trajectory of the triptych. Where the central panel represents a state of indulgence
and ignorance, the right panel manifests the result: a descent into chaos and eternal
torment. This progression echoes medieval beliefs, where the path from temptation
to damnation was both inevitable and instructive.
The right panel serves as a potent allegory of divine justice. Bosch’s intricate
details—figures impaled, devoured, or tormented in surreal machines—convey
the inevitability of judgment. Glum (45) concisely captures the moral lesson “Man
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damns himself by his own bad deeds, which in blind folly he considers beautiful
pleasures.” This perspective underscores humanity’s role in its downfall,
as the pursuit of fleeting joy leads to eternal consequences. The panel's hybrid
creatures further emphasize the distortion of the natural order, symbolising
the corruption of the soul through sin. Their monstrous forms reflect the inner
degradation of the damned, where the boundaries between human and beast blur,
mirroring the moral degradation caused by indulgence. Moreover, Bosch’s Hell
resists a simplistic reading as a literal depiction of divine punishment. Instead, it can
be understood as a psychological and spiritual landscape, where the external
torment reflects the internal anguish of separation from God. This duality enriches
the panel’s meaning, offering a multifaceted exploration of sin, judgment,
and redemption.
1.2 The Legacy of the Garden of Earthly Delights in Modern Art
The enduring influence of Hieronymus Bosch’s The Garden of Earthly
Delights lies in its capacity to transcend its historical origins and inspire
reinterpretation across artistic mediums and eras. Rebekah Rhodes’ Contemporary
Adventures with The Garden of Earthly Delights: Open Worlds and Hieronymus
Bosch (2023) and Ágnes Pethő’s The Garden of Intermedial Delights: Cinematic
‘Adaptations’ of Bosch, from Modernism to the Postmedia Age (2014) both explore
the triptych’s adaptability to contemporary and multimedia art. This chapter
investigates how Bosch’s work functions as a dynamic narrative and proto-
cinematic experience, examining its enduring relevance in the digital
and intermedial age.
Rhodes conceptualizes The Garden of Earthly Delights as an open, interactive
space that invites personal exploration and narrative construction. She describes
the triptych as “an artistic labyrinth, drawing viewers into a space where fantasy
and reality intertwine” (Rhodes 333). This labyrinthine quality is rooted
in the work’s fragmented and layered design, which Rhodes likens
to the storytelling techniques prevalent in contemporary media. “The triptych’s
fragmented and layered design aligns with the digital age’s penchant
for interconnected storytelling,” she asserts, emphasizing its resonance with non-
linear, immersive formats (Rhodes 343). These qualities of Bosch’s triptych align
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closely with the aesthetics of modern multimedia art. Its segmented scenes and
densely packed details create a visual complexity that mirrors the open-world
experiences found in contemporary gaming and virtual reality. This quality, Rhodes
argues, transforms the viewer into an active participant, reinforcing the work’s
enduring adaptability and relevance.
Pethő’s analysis extends Rhodes’ argument by examining Bosch’s work
through the lens of cinematic adaptation. She highlights the central panel’s “in-
betweenness,” describing it as both an allegorical and performative space that blurs
“boundaries between reality and fantasy, life and art” (Pethő 472). Pethő further
argues that Bosch’s dynamic visual syntax anticipates modern cinematic
and multimedia storytelling. “Bosch’s use of a dynamic, visual syntax surpasses
the static nature of traditional art and transitions into the realm of motion
and performance,” she writes, framing the triptych as a precursor to multimedia art
forms (Pethő 473). This proto-cinematic quality is particularly evident in the central
panel’s intricate composition and surreal imagery. The interplay between fantastical
elements and human activity mirrors modern film and digital media's narrative
complexity and fluid transitions. Pethő’s assertion that “Bosch’s visual allegories
have inspired a new wave of cinematic and digital reinterpretations” (Pethő 475)
underscores the painting’s capacity to engage with and influence contemporary
artistic practices.
Both Rhodes and Pethő identify disobedience as a central theme in Bosch’s
work. Rhodes emphasizes the tension between the sacred and the wicked, noting
that the triptych “creates a tension that reflects a contemporary fascination with
moral ambiguity” (Rhodes 337). This interplay invites viewers to navigate the
blurred boundaries between virtue and vice, indulgence, and consequence.
Similarly, Pethő interprets the triptych as embodying “continuous transitions
between innocence and indulgence, suggesting a narrative that challenges
conventional artistic and moral boundaries” (Pethő 471). This theme of moral
ambiguity resonates with contemporary audiences, who often grapple with complex
ethical dilemmas in a fragmented, postmodern world. Bosch’s imagery, full of
collocations of purity and corruption, offers a timeless exploration of these tensions,
making it a fertile ground for reinterpretation.
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The adaptability of Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights extends beyond its
thematic richness to its structural innovation. Rhodes observes that the triptych’s
design mirrors digital media's non-linear, interconnected nature, where fragmented
narratives converge to form immersive experiences (Rhodes 343). Pethő
complements this view, highlighting how Bosch’s visual allegories continue
to inspire cinematic and digital reinterpretations (Pethő 475).
These reinterpretations, from film adaptations to virtual art installations, underscore
the painting’s enduring influence and relevance in contemporary artistic discourse.
1.3 Conclusion
The left panel of Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights is a rich tapestry
of theological, philosophical, and artistic symbolism. Through its intricate
composition and unsettling details, the panel invites viewers to contemplate
the nature of creation, the presence of evil, and the responsibilities inherent
in human freedom. By comparing Adam’s visionary gaze with Eve’s subdued
posture and embedding subtle foreshadowing of sin within the idyllic landscape,
Bosch constructs a narrative that transcends mere biblical illustration. The Paradise
panel is not merely a depiction of paradise but a profound meditation on the human
condition, resonating with apocalyptic and philosophical thought. In this way,
Bosch’s masterpiece continues to challenge and inspire, offering insights
into the enduring complexities of the human soul.
The central panel of Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights remains a powerful,
enigmatic exploration of human desire, morality, and spiritual freedom. Its vivid
imagery oscillates between portraying innocent pleasure and cautionary excess,
inviting viewers to navigate its symbolic complexity. Whether interpreted
as a paradisiacal vision aligned with the Brethren of the Free Spirit or as a false
paradise leading to destruction, the panel exemplifies Bosch’s mastery in creating
works that challenge and engage, leaving the boundaries of interpretation
intentionally blurred.
The right panel of Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights is a powerful
culmination of the triptych’s moral and theological themes. Through its vivid
imagery and intricate symbolism, it starkly portrays the consequences of indulgence
and the inevitability of divine justice. The grotesque figures, eschatological motifs,
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and allegorical punishments create a vision of Hell that is both terrifying and
thought-provoking. In this way, Bosch’s Hell transcends its medieval context,
offering a timeless meditation on the human condition and the fragile balance
between sin and salvation.
Rhodes’ and Pethő’s analyses collectively illustrate the dynamic
and intermedial nature of The Garden of Earthly Delights. By framing the triptych
as an open, interactive narrative and a precursor to multimedia art, Rhodes
and Pethő highlight Bosch’s prescience in crafting a work that defies confinement
to a single medium or era. Themes of exploration, transgression, and moral
ambiguity resonate across time, inviting ongoing engagement and reinterpretation.
Bosch’s genius lies not only in his ability to capture the complexities of his era
but also in creating a masterpiece that continues to evolve, offering fresh
perspectives and inspiring new artistic ventures in the digital and intermedial age.
For the purposes of this work, a key remark would be that in the end, there is
folly and much that is visceral, but there is no real vice depicted in Bosch’s work.
Our reading of the triptych is overshadowed by centuries of indoctrination by
Abrahamic Tradition and their notions of sin and indulgence an their inherent
believe in a ‘faulty’ nature of man. The notion that nature, especially human nature,
is beastly and condemnable. In opposition to this believe, this work will examine
how a character in Poor Things exposes this indoctrination in the ‘civilised world’
and opens the door for the belief that human nature, when stripped from inherent
shame, is in fact the least condemnable.
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2 Poor Things
Poor Things by Alasdair Gray is a provocative and darkly humorous
reimagining of the Frankenstein mythos, situated within the socio-historical setting
of 19th-century Scotland. The novel chronicles the resurrection of Bella Baxter
by the eccentric and ethically ambiguous surgeon Godwin Baxter, who implants her
with the brain of her unborn child. Bella's reanimation catalyses a narrative of self-
discovery, resistance, and defiance against the restrictive values of her time.
Through its intricately layered storytelling—mixing elements of romance, satire,
and Gothic intrigue—the text interrogates themes of identity, morality,
and the fluidity of human nature. Gray's inventive narrative approach dissolves
distinctions between reality and fantasy, compelling readers to question
foundational notions of humanity and the social constructs that govern it.
A question immediately arises: who or what are the "poor things" in the tittle?
Drawing on Dimitris Vardoulakis's theorization of this concept (139), the "poor
thing" resists reductive classification, neither reducible to the animal nor seamlessly
elevated to the status of the "political animal." It inhabits an interstitial space where
freedom and mechanistic instinct interweave, destabilizing conventional
frameworks that separate the mechanical from the free, the biological from the
political. The "poor thing" emerges as a liminal figure that disrupts rigid oppositions
between autonomy and automatism.
In its refusal to conform to definitive categories, the "poor thing" symbolizes
life's inherent ambiguity—unsettling yet liberating in its challenge to structures that
demand clarity and division. Within Poor Things (Gray) and its cinematic
adaptation (Lanthimos), this concept finds thoughtful articulation in Bella, a figure
who embodies innocence, radical self-determination, instinct, and intellectual
curiosity. Bella helps us to reevaluate prevailing assumptions about agency,
freedom, and the essence of life itself, suggesting that true vitality resides in
embracing the unbounded and the uncontainable.
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2.1 Poor Things: Alasdair Gray (1993) or Yorgos Lanthimos
(2023)
The dynamic interplay between autonomy and restriction emerges as a central
theme in Poor Things—both in Alasdair Gray’s novel and Yorgos Lanthimos’s
cinematic adaptation. While the novel delves deeply into themes of colonialism and
the complex tensions between Scottish and British identity, my analysis focuses
on Yorgos Lanthimos’s adaptation, which consciously shifts away from these
specific political undertones. This choice is informed by my recognition
of the novel's vast and intricate engagement with such weighty sociopolitical
themes—topics I do not feel adequately positioned to address in full depth. Instead,
this study focuses on the film's more contained yet equally compelling exploration
of the tension between a liberated woman and the men around her, as this aligns
more closely with its thematic lens. By concentrating on the film's depiction
of gender dynamics, the analysis highlights how Lanthimos reinterprets the source
material to foreground questions of agency, power, and liberation. This thesis
further explores why this story resonates so profoundly in our contemporary context
and why Bella’s narrative—a woman composed between innocence and radical
self-determination—serves as a cultural touchstone. Perhaps it is because humanity,
like Bella, currently stands at a crossroads, increasingly willing to interrogate
the frameworks of control that have historically shaped and controlled. We might
be dangerously situated on the brink of confronting the structures we have
constructed to uphold a surface of civility—edifices that, while ensuring societal
functionality, have left us disconnected from vitality and collective well-being.
By stripping the narrative of the novel’s specific historical and cultural
context, Lanthimos’s adaptation shifts toward a universal meditation on liberation,
curiosity, and the fraught costs of self-realization. As the personification
of the “poor thing,” Bella's journey confronts the viewers with disturbing truths:
genuine freedom demands a confrontation with systemic and psychological
mechanisms that limit and define. In choosing to engage with the film rather than
the novel, the thesis explores how its release mirrors contemporary societal
transformations.
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2.2 Visual world of Poor things
Thematically rich discussions and philosophical debates surrounding
the enduring questions posed by Poor Things could be pursued endlessly
without reaching a universal consensus. However, one aspect of Yorgos
Lanthimos’s film adaptation garners near-unanimous approval: its visual
and stenographic brilliance. Stunning, intricate, and captivating, the visual world
of Poor Things (2023) invites audiences into an unusual, multi-layered universe
that enhances the narrative's thematic complexity. Scenographer James Price, along
with collaborators Shona Heath and Zsuzsa Mihalek, who collectively earned
an Academy Award for their contributions, has noted the film's aesthetic inspiration
from a diverse range of artistic references, most notably Hieronymus Bosch’s The
Garden of Earthly Delights. Lanthimos initiated the design process by sharing
details from Bosch’s triptych alongside an Egon Schiele painting of a pale-skinned,
dark-haired woman with bony limbs, shaping the foundational aesthetic for Bella’s
character and the surreal world she inhabits (Mitchell).
Lanthimos’s reimagining of Alasdair Gray’s 1992 novel positions Poor
Things as a gothic, feminist fairy tale infused with surrealism. The narrative follows
Bella Baxter (Emma Stone), a woman resurrected by the eccentric scientist Godwin
Baxter (Willem Dafoe), on a journey of self-discovery, renewal, and rebellion
against society. The visual parallels to Bosch’s The Garden of Earthly Delights are
not only material but also philosophical, as Bosch’s depiction of paradise, earthly
existence, and infernal chaos echoes Bella’s progression through innocence,
exploration, and eventual liberation.
Production designer Shona Heath has remarked on Bosch’s crucial influence
on the film’s aesthetic. “Yorgos initially showed us several paintings, including
a detail from The Garden of Earthly Delights,” Heath notes (Mitchell). Bella’s
character simultaneously inherits and subverts Boschian symbolism, embodying
creation and destruction within a morally ambiguous world. As a new Eve, Bella
reflects Bosch’s archetypal figures. Robbie Ryan’s cinematography contributes to
the film’s surreal quality, employing wide-angle lenses and picture effects change
reality, mirroring Bella’s subjective experiences. The production design reinforces
this visual strategy by contrasting Victorian-era details with fantastical elements.
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Heath describes the approach as “grounding ourselves in the Victorian era as if it
were a parallel universe… and exploding it” (Mitchell). The result is a heterogenous
and otherworldly aesthetic, seen in settings as diverse as Baxter’s peculiar
laboratory, the bustling streets of Paris, and the opulent cruise ship—a synthesis
evocative of Bosch’s interplay between the earthly and the fantastical.
Holly Waddington’s costume design further accentuates Bella’s narrative; her
evolving wardrobe—progressing from childlike ensembles to empowered, avant-
garde styles—visually reflects her growing autonomy. Waddington highlights
the significance of Bella’s puffed sleeves, describing them as metaphors
for reanimation and liberation, “they felt like lungs full of breath and air that
reanimated Bella” (Whitlock 54). These clothing choices resonate with Romantic
ideals of individuality and the beautiful, presenting Bella as a vulnerable, innocent,
and an elemental force of nature. Bella’s exploration of sexuality, central to her
narrative, is depicted with humour, candour, and a liberatory character. Lanthimos
underscores her sexual awakening as “essential to her freedom,” rejecting societal
prudery in favour of an unapologetic embrace of desire and self-discovery
(Matheou). These moments ricochet Bosch’s depiction of understanding in The
Garden of Earthly Delights reinterpreted through a feminist lens that situates
pleasure as a natural, creative aspect of human experience.
Tony McNamara’s screenplay sharpens these themes with irreverent humour
and incisive feminist critique. McNamara frames Poor Things as “a feminist fairy
tale on steroids,” positioning Bella’s defiance of patriarchal norms as a radical act
of self-creation (Whitlock 55). Her journey as a new Eve parallels Bosch’s triptych,
celebrating the fluidity of identity and the transformative potential essential
to human freedom. Bella’s evolving space within Godwin Baxter’s house is
a central motif in the film's visual design. Initially tailored to Baxter’s eccentricities
and later adapted to accommodate Bella, the house is a metaphor for her unnatural
yet transformative environment. Price describes it as barren of smooth surfaces or
right angles, reflecting chaos and imperfection. Bella’s padded bedroom walls,
adorned with scenic landscapes, allow her to safely perceive the outside world,
while the spongy floor of the sitting room underlines her vulnerability and
humorously mirrors her growth.
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This unique setting encapsulates Bella’s paradoxical nature as an adult body
housing the mind of a newborn. As Bella asserts her autonomy, her surroundings
transition from confining to liberatory, symbolizing her evolution from dependence
to agency. In this, the film’s visual and narrative elements unite, creating a richly
textured exploration of identity, liberation, and the unbounded potential of human
experience.
2.2.1 The house
The film opens with a striking scene: a female figure dressed in a blue
coatdress stands on a blue bridge under a blue-tinged, clouded sky. Slowly, she falls
into a dark, swirling river, accompanied by a dissonant violin score. This vivid,
chromatic imagery is shortly interrupted by monochromatic visuals—a depiction of
lungs exhaling, inhaling, and a beating heart—before the viewer is thrust into a grey
world. Upon reflection, this visual shift signifies the perceptual experience of an
infant whose undeveloped vision initially perceives the world in shades of grey.
This framing device situates the audience within Bella’s perspective: a newborn
mind inhabiting the body of a 25-year-old woman. Bella’s early life unfolds under
the observation of Godwin Baxter, his housekeeper Miss Prim, and Max
McCandles, a medical student bound to Baxter. These figures collectively shape
Bella’s formative experiences during her infancy and toddlerhood, which occur
within the walls of Baxter’s house.
Within this domestic setting, Bella’s behaviour aligns with that
of a developing child—curious, impulsive, and exploratory. Yet the incongruence
of her adult body performing toddler-like actions creates a disconcerting
atmosphere, marked by an unsettling interplay between innocence and abjection.
Bella smashes plates, strikes McCandles in the face until he bleeds, and urinates
on the floor—actions consistent with toddlerhood but rendered strange by her adult
form. This dissonance reflects what Julia Kristeva identifies as the abject, a state
where meaning and boundaries collapse, “what is abject is not my correlative... but
what I permanently thrust aside in order to live. These body fluids, this defilement,
this shit are what life withstands, hardly and with difficulty, on the part of death”
(Kristeva 3).
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This conflict is further heightened by her guardians' reactions or lack thereof.
They neither scold nor impose boundaries; they allow her unregulated freedom to
explore and experience. This permissiveness undermines conventional pedagogical
norms, emphasizing the necessity of boundaries and discipline to produce socially
compliant individuals. Bella, however, is permitted to navigate her environment
with curiosity, even in contexts that evoke discomfort. She explores a medical lab,
handles knives and corpses, and interacts with hybrid animals—goat-ducks, dog-
roosters, chicken-goats—without hesitation. Her excited exclamation of “Squish!
Squish!” as she damages cadavers highlights the unsettling association
of her childlike wonder and the adult-like body (Lanthimos 12:00).
This seemingly anarchic and grotesque behaviour reflects a critical stage
in Bella’s development that mirrors what Julia Kristeva describes as the process
of separating from the maternal entity. Kristeva writes, “The abject confronts us...
with our earliest attempts to release the hold of the maternal entity even before
existing outside of her” (Kristeva 10). Bella’s interactions with abject elements such
as corpses, hybrids, and raw death suggest a developmental phase where traditional
boundaries between self and other, or pure and impure, have not yet solidified.
Much like an infant’s early exploration of the world before fully understanding
societal taboos, Bella engages freely with the abject, challenging the audience’s
comfort with these primal and often unsettling scenes.
This connection to the maternal, as Kristeva highlights, ties the abject to early
pre-symbolic states where the individual is still navigating the process of subject
formation. Bella’s lack of hesitation in engaging with objects associated with death
and impurity—such as corpses—evokes this primal stage. In contrast to societal
expectations, which often demand a strict separation from the abject, Bella’s
unregulated engagement suggests that she inhabits a liminal space where life, death,
innocence, and abjection blur together. This freedom from the constraints
of socialized behaviour creates dissonance, forcing viewers to confront their
boundaries of tolerance for the abject.
Bella’s actions, though consistent with her developmental stage, are reframed
through the lens of her adult body, creating a spectacle that some viewers find
intolerable. The initial sequences of the film, which foreground Bella’s unfiltered
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interactions with life and death, provoke an instinctive reaction, particularly among
those who prefer to avert their gaze from the unsavoury realities of human
existence. Such discomfort underscores a more profound tension: the desire
to inhabit a sanitized, Edenic vision of life rather than confront its inherent
messiness of life. Alas, as Kristeva explains, “The corpse upsets even more
violently the one who confronts it as fragile and fallacious chance. Refuse and
corpses show me what I permanently thrust aside in order to live” (Kristeva 13).
Bella’s increasing curiosity drives the narrative forward. Her desire to “look
at the world” (Lanthimos 14:30) is met with resistance from Baxter, who frames
the external world as dangerous. Despite constructing what he describes as
a “perfectly entertaining and safe world” (Lanthimos 15:45) for her, Baxter
ultimately capitulates to her demands. Their initial outing becomes pivotal as Bella
encounters both life and death in their raw forms. Her impulsive command
for McCandles to kill a frog, followed by her physical enforcement of the act,
exemplifies her unmediated engagement with the transition from life to death—a
phenomenon she has not previously observed despite her exposure to corpses.
McCandles mirrors the audience’s probable reaction of shock and disgust, yet
according to Kristeva, this should not be a surprise: “It is thus not lack of cleanliness
or health that causes abjection but what disturbs identity, system, order. What does
not respect borders, positions, and rules? The in-between, the ambiguous, the
composite” (14). Bella’s journey within this liminal world positions her as “new”
unchained by conventional societal constraints.
This excursion out of the house also illuminates Baxter’s personal history,
further complicating his role as Bella’s guardian. When Bella questions his “funny
thumbs,” Baxter recounts the traumatic experimentation conducted by his father,
presenting this formative experience as the foundation of his scientific activities.
While Bella reacts with detachment, McCandles’s horror reveals the ethical
tensions that underpin Baxter’s methods. This contrast underscores the film’s
broader exploration of innocence, morality, and the consequences of intellectual
ambition. Bella’s interaction with the external world reveals the extent of her
nascent autonomy and the limits of Baxter’s control. Her developmental trajectory
challenges traditional notions of protection and authority as her guardians grapple
22
with the implications of fostering her independence. The film thus situates Bella as
a liminal figure—neither child nor adult, neither wholly innocent nor entirely
worldly—whose experiences invite the audience to confront their preconceptions
about agency, curiosity, and the unsettling realities of life.
Baxter hastily rushes Bella back to the carriage as an approaching storm
looms ominously. McCandles, observing Baxter’s urgency, questions his motives:
“Why must you scare her so?” Baxter’s response is clinical and detached: “She is
an experiment, and I must control the conditions or our results will not be pure”
(Lanthimos 21:00). This justification exemplifies the persistent trope of protecting
women through imposed isolation and limitation. During their return journey, Bella
glimpses children and ice cream from the carriage window and desires to stop.
Baxter, however, refuses, citing his scars as the reason for avoiding public attention:
he claims his face scares people, rendering him the object of mockery. Bella’s
response, characteristically candid and devoid of judgment, is both humorous and
poignant: “God lovely. Like dog face. Woof, Woof, Woof!” She then reaches for
the carriage door handle. When Baxter denies her request with a resolute “no,” Bella
persists, asking, “no now, no never?” His reply, “just no” (Lanthimos 22:30),
triggers a violent and inconsolable tantrum. Unable to pacify her, Baxter resorts to
chloroforming her, which horrifies McCandles and further highlights the extent of
Baxter’s control over Bella.
McCandles, increasingly sceptical of Baxter’s motivations and methods,
confronts him in a dimly lit study. His voice trembles with both anger and curiosity
as he demands answers. Baxter, unfazed by McCandles’s threats of calling
the police, reclines calmly in his chair and delivers an unsettlingly composed
response: “I shall tell you, for it is a happy tale.” He recounts the circumstances
surrounding Victoria’s suicide, explaining that while he could have saved her, he
refrained: “I knew nothing of the life she had abandoned, except that she hated it so
much she had chosen not to be, and forever. What would she feel about being
dragged from her carefully chosen blank eternity and forced into one
of our understaffed, poorly equipped madhouses, reformatories, or jails? For in this
Christian nation, suicide is treated as lunacy or crime. Who was I to decide her
fate?” His rhetorical question underscores the ethical complexities of his scientific
23
pursuits. Baxter continues, revealing the rationale behind his decision to reanimate
Bella: “But then there was also, on my part, a recognition. All my research has led
to this moment. Fate has brought me a dead body and a live infant. It was obvious.”
The audacity of this revelation shocks McCandles, who recoils as Baxter plainly
articulates his process: “Take the infant’s brain out and put it in the full-grown
woman, reanimate her, and watch.” As McCandles grapples with the enormity
of this revelation, Baxter poses a haunting question that reframes the discussion:
“Would you rather the world did not have Bella?” (Lanthimos 23:45-28:00).
As the conversation shifts to Bella’s future, Baxter scrutinizes McCandles
with an almost clinical curiosity. “I believe I see love between you and Bella,” he
observes matter-of-factly. McCandles, caught off guard, stammers in response.
Baxter, undeterred, presses further: “Perhaps you should marry her.” While initially
hesitant, McCandles eventually concedes, “I do have feelings for her.” Satisfied
with this admission, Baxter continues with a precise and measured tone: “So, you
would?” Though seemingly straightforward, the question carries significant weight,
prompting McCandles to avert his gaze momentarily. Sensing McCandles’s tacit
agreement, Baxter establishes the conditions of this potential union: “There is one
condition,” he begins, his voice firm yet composed. Before Baxter can elaborate,
McCandles interjects: “She must desire it also. I understand.” Baxter pauses
momentarily before amending his statement: “Two conditions, then. That one you
said, and she must live here with me. Always.” This unexpected requirement
provokes a sharp reaction from McCandles, whose furrowed brow reflects his inner
conflict. Yet Baxter remains resolute, concluding with an air of finality: “I will have
a legal document drawn up.” Though conflicted, McCandles agrees, recognizing
that this arrangement represents the only way of preserving his connection to Bella.
McCandles enters the garden to communicate the news to Bella, leaving behind
Baxter’s dim study and enigmatic figure (Lanthimos 29:00-33:00).
Bella’s innocence and increasing curiosity manifest in unexpected and often
shocking ways. In one striking scene, she sits at the dining table, experimenting
with an apple and her own body, her expression alight with discovery. “Bella
discovers happy when she want,” she declares to Miss Prim, who reacts
with outrage and flees the room after Bella attempts to instruct her on self-pleasure,
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grabbing what Miss Prim indignantly refers to as “her hairy business.” When Max
intervenes, his response reflects the imposition of societal propriety “cease working
yourself immediately,” he commands. Bella, genuinely perplexed, asks, “why?”.
His explanation is brief and normative “in polite society, that is not done.”
(Lanthimos 33:50-36:05).
This moment characterises the collision between Bella’s unfiltered
exploration of her body and a society governed by the restrictive norms of “polite
society.” Her curiosity aligns with what Hélène Cixous describes as “a passionate
and precise interrogation of her erotogeneity” and a refusal to conform to a tradition
that has “kept [women] in the dark about [themselves], led into self-disdain by the
great arm of parental-conjugal phallocentrism” (Cixous 876). Though Max’s
reproach momentarily stifles Bella’s joy, her curiosity remains undiminished,
embodying what Cixous identifies as the “force in women that resists death, that
makes trouble” (Cixous 876).
Bella’s exploration of her desires continues unabated, culminating
in her seduction by Duncan Wedderburn, the lawyer invited by Baxter to draft
the legal agreement for Bella and Max’s wedding. Wedderburn, a self-proclaimed
libertine and womanizer, is as captivated by Bella’s uninhibited nature as his casual
charm. In a moment symbolic of his lascivious character, he “pinches her to see if
she is for real,” choosing to pinch her in a deliberately provocative location.
This encounter catalyses Bella’s decision to pursue her independence, culminating
in a bold confrontation with Baxter. “Tonight, at midnight, I secretly run away
with one Duncan Wedderburn,” she announces, her voice filled with excitement
and determination. Baxter protests, attempting to dissuade her by proposing
an alternative: “We can travel. You, me, and Max, whom I will remind you, you
are betrothed to.” Bella, however, remains steadfast. “I will marry Max, as he seems
right for that, but first, I shall adventure on Duncan Wedderburn, who, I think, cares
little of damage to me but will be interesting as well,” she declares. Her words blend
innocence with burgeoning self-awareness, signalling her determination to embrace
life’s risks and rewards on her terms. Cixous’ observation that “her libido is cosmic,
just as her unconscious is worldwide” (Cixous 889) is brought to life in Bella’s
journey, where her desires are expansive and unrestrained by societal boundaries.
25
Bella’s plea to Baxter, “Kiss me and set me forth. If you do not, Bella’s insides shall
turn rotten with hate,” underscores her desperate need for autonomy. This moment
reflects Cixous’ assertion that “a woman without a body, dumb, blind, can’t
possibly be a good fighter,” and Bella’s insistence on reclaiming her freedom is
an act of rebellion against the structures that would confine her (Cixous 890).
Baxter, visibly shaken, responds to the word “hate” with disbelief. Baxter
agrees in a deeply emotional moment: he stitches money into her coat, kisses her
farewell, and departs without protest. This act of silent, unconditional release is
a deep gesture of paternal love, granting Bella the freedom she craves. Bella’s
journey embodies Cixous’ call to “write your self,” reclaim the body and inhabit
the vast, unsealed territories of desire and selfhood (Cixous 880). It is perhaps
Baxter’s greatest gift, his silent understanding of the necessity of her journey
into the unknown (Lanthimos 36:50-38:35).
In the wake of Bella’s departure, the consequences of her autonomy ripple
through those she leaves behind. Max, awakening from unconsciousness after being
chloroformed by Bella, confronts the reality of her absence with despair and guilt.
He challenges Baxter, demanding an explanation for his inaction, “why didn’t you
stop her?” Baxter’s response is deliberate and principled, “she is a being of free
will.” Max’s protestations, concerned with Bella’s vulnerability, reflect his struggle
to reconcile his protective instincts with her independence, “she is now out there.
Alone.” Though Baxter maintains an outward calm, his assurances, “she will be
fine,” ring hollow, betraying his underlying anxiety.
As Max fights with the implications of Bella’s choices, the tension between
Baxter’s scientific detachment and his unspoken emotional confusion becomes
evident. “We are men of science, Max. This emotionality is unseemly,” Baxter
states, striving to reaffirm his rationalist ethos. Yet the following silence, heavy
with the weight of Bella’s absence, reveals the depth of their shared unease. Bella’s
departure, an act of fierce independence, leaves those who seek to define and
contain her in a state of introspection and uncertainty, mirroring the uncharted
nature of her journey.
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Bella’s house exploration underscores her developmental stage, where
boundaries between the abject and the self-remain undefined. This liminal phase,
marked by unrestricted curiosity, sets the stage for her next journey in Lisbon—a
city that will challenge her burgeoning autonomy through its vibrant, chaotic, and
sensual world.
2.2.2 Lisbon
When Bella flees to Lisbon, the transition from monochrome to vivid colour
immediately captions attention. This shift in visual aesthetic is unexpected and
confusing, paralleling the film’s narrative shock: a series of explicit, unapologetic
sexual encounters between Bella and Duncan. This transition can be understood as
a liminal space, where Bella’s sensory and emotional transformation merges
with the visual explosion of colour. Bella’s sexual awakening and the audience’s
reaction to the sudden sensory shift may provoke disbelief and adrenaline, with
laughter and discomfort blending seamlessly as colour and sounds overwhelm the
senses.
Following Bella’s on-screen orgasms, the narrative shifts to the hotel bar,
where an oyster shell motif appears prominently on the wall (Lanthimos 41:30).
This visual sign invites a symbolic reading, recalling Bosch’s Garden of Earthly
Delights. In the central panel, the “mussel bearer” symbolizes the intersection
of sensual pleasure and spiritual consequence, as described in the earlier discussion:
The couple is the sum of the frivolous commotion in the Wheel of Senses as
conceptio, or also as procreation; and the crucial ingredient in this is the imaginatio.
While the influences of the outer senses are coming together in the dark
compartment of the dangerous imaginatio, often stigmatized as being prone
to satanic insinuations, the wonder of the pearl’s mystical birth in the mussel
transforms into its ironic counterpart: a sexual act. The result of the abuse
of the senses in the wrong way is clear (Michael 13).
Here, the term conceptio signifies the beginning of a transformative journey,
whether spiritual or intellectual. In Christian theology, it aligns with the doctrine
of the Immaculate Conception, wherein Mary conceives free of original sin. Bella’s
creation, though monstrous, mirrors this paradoxical purity—achieved without the
filthy need for fleshy pleasures, just a dead body and a murder of a living child. De
Lauretis’ concept of feminist semiotics can provide further depth to this
27
interpretation, framing Bella’s actions as reclaiming traditional gendered symbols,
like the oyster, and reinterpreting them through her own agency (De Lauretis 103).
Throughout the film there are dividing animation segments that introduce
location shifts to the audience. These surreal moments parallel modernist artistic
strategies. The animations serve as ekphrastic mediators, blending narrative and
visual art to emphasize Bella’s transitions and instances of liberation (Fernando
146). Right after the first bout of sexual extasy followed by the juicy refreshment
at the bar, Bella’ life in Lisbon is introduced in a black and white animation of her
riding astride a giant predatory fish, hair in the wind as if charging to battle. It might
be suggested that she comes in gorging on divine conceptio while riding Jesus’s
tail.
According to her companion Duncan, the traditional Portuguese pastries they
enjoy after the oysters “should be inhaled with gusto, like life itself” (Lanthimos
42:30). This moto is something Bella really takes to heart during their stay
in Lisbon. With no inhibitions and no inherent shame, she passionately enjoys more
and more “furious jumping” as Bella starts calling sex. As Kerner notes, sexual
liberation in cinema often intertwines with humour and excess, creating both
discomfort and joy that challenge viewers’ expectations (Kerner 284). There are
varied opinions on the need and form of sex scenes in the film. However, Flattery
briefly captures their significance, stating, “Poor Things is a good illustration
of why sex scenes should exist because they are filthy, joyous, and occasionally
funny, and they illuminate something strange and sad about human experience”
(Flattery). Teresa de Lauretis provides a critical framework for examining such
dynamics in cinema in her monography Alice doesn’t. She acknowledges that
mainstream filmic narratives traditionally cast women as “spectacle-body to be
looked at, place of sexuality, and object of desire,” (4) female characters on screen
are immobilized, and passive, radically contrary to Bella who is as an active agent
of her own sexual exploration. What is more, according to de Lauretis, unlike Bella
female characters on screen often invite female viewers to identify with these male-
coded gazes, complicating their agency and subjectivity. This process leads
to a duality, where women are both the objects of male desire and the structural
foundation upon which visual representation is constructed. As de Lauretis
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elaborates, women are reduced to “the negative term of sexual differentiation,
spectacle-fetish or specular image... constituted as the ground of representation,
the looking-glass held up to man” (De Lauretis 15). Bella’s and Duncan’s sex scene
align with a need De Laurentis has previously expressed “the present task
of women's cinema may be not the destruction of narrative and visual pleasure, but
rather the construction of another frame of reference, one in which the measure
of desire is no longer just the male subject” (de Laurentis 8).
One crucial element during their strenuous activities that needs to be
highlighted is the fact that a dove flies in through the window and sits
on the wardrobe watching (Lanthimos 43:10). The dove—symbol of the Holy
Spirit—calmly observes the furious coupling outside of wedlock. What more
approval would a harden opponent of the indulgence of the senses need? After Bella
reaches climaxes several times on screen and the couple is lounging in post-coital
bliss on the bed a conversation follows Bella’s statement that she is rested and ready
to go again. Duncan needs to explain that even he, an accomplish bed sportsman
has his limits, that men cannot keep coming back for more. This intrigues her,
asking if it is a physiological problem, “a weakness in men?” (Lanthimos 43:30).
Duncan is visibly shaken by Bellas’s questioning. These scenes highlight Bella´s
disruptive role in questioning established norms of gender and power.
Due to Duncan, falling asleep as soon as this conversation is over, Bella
decides to venture outside on her own. Bella faces the fantastical land of Lisbon
in the colours of pink, baby blue and pale yellow of Bosch’s landscapes, with
similar flying objects and shapes. And she inhales as many pastéis de nata as she
can with gusto and subsequently is passionately sick on the pavements of this
fantastical land. Upon her return, she concludes her outing with these words: “I
have adventured and found nothing but sugar and violence.” (Lanthimos 47:30).
Her immediacy can also be seen in her reaction to a crying baby in a restaurant, “I
must go punch that baby” (Lanthimos 50:00). Lisbon stops being just fun and
adventure, Duncan becomes a jealous, controlling and frustrated man. Bella,
on the contrary, wants to continue adventuring and discovering all there is. Duncan
begins to dislike Bella for the reason he found her fascinating at the beginning. He
hates her spontaneity and immediacy, her venturing outside and outside his bed, her
29
passion and her freedom. He admits to her “you like me are a creature of freedom
in the moments,” (Lanthimos 55:10) but the truth is he plays the role of a creature
living a moment well enough, but he still tiptoes the line of societal acceptance.
Bella has no line as she truly lives in the moments.
The film’s first hour culminates with Duncan’s calculated plan to stifle
Bella’s independence. In a moment of dramatic irony, he declares, “I haven’t been
very supportive of your adventurous spirit. So, I have a surprise for you” before
instructing her to climb into an empty traveling chest (Lanthimos 1:01:00). This act
summarises his ultimate failure to reconcile Bella’s boundless spirit with his own
limitations.
2.2.3 The Ship
The chest opens, and Bella emerges as Venus being born from the sea.
Duncan has taken her on a cruise. Bella is not happy. She remarks: “You aim to trap
Bella at sea” (Lanthimos 1:01:40). He claims he only means to give her a new
adventure, trying to regain the wild, funny, ecstatic Bella he experienced at the start
of their trip. Believing he can charm her back into compliance, he tells her
to “disrobe me and ride me.” But Bella is not feeling it; she locks herself
in the bathroom in protest and looks out the tiny bathroom window, noting: “Blue,
blue, blue, blue” (Lanthimos 1:02:30).
This is a crucial moment for Bella’s growing autonomy. Her emergence
from the chest aligns with Ann Heilmann’s assertion that water becomes a site
of feminine self-creation: “Like waves, [Bella] is ever-shifting, returning
from beyond culture” (Heilmann 90). The vast blue sea, which Duncan intends as
a form of confinement, symbolizes Bella’s expanding horizons. Julia Kristeva’s
concept of the abject helps illuminate Bella’s repetition of “blue” as a confrontation
with the infinite, destabilizing boundaries between herself and the world:
“Abjection confronts us... with the fragility of the boundaries between self and
other” (Kristeva 150). Bella’s repetition of “blue” is an act of reclamation, turning
Duncan’s stage into her space for exploration.
The colour palette dramatically shifts from pastel Lisbon to dark blue, green,
black, maroon, and mustard yellow of the ship. The ship is also mysteriously empty.
The sky is beautiful yet dark and tumultuous. Bella wanders the empty halls,
30
dressed in white but wearing a yellowish robe with puffy sleeves, until she emerges
onto a deck. There, she witnesses a sailor twisting the neck of a seagull. She visibly
flinches, and the sailor hides the cadaver behind his body. She asks him, “When
will we stop?” After he answers her, he throws the bird’s body over the railing. She
stays alone on deck. The music is gone; we only hear the hum of the boat. The mood
has darkened significantly. This scene contrasts with Bella’s earlier detachment
toward death when she observed the toad’s demise with God and Candle. Jesse
Stommel’s exploration of decay frames this moment: “Decay threatens
contamination, even as it demands a playful mingling, bodies expanding,
softening... inviting us to be undone” (Stommel 333). Bella’s flinch signals her
shifting understanding of mortality and cruelty, no longer viewing death as
a curiosity but as an intrusion on life’s potential. The sailor’s casual disposal
of the seagull symbolises the violence of the world she is beginning to question.
The traditional dividing animation for the ship features what appears to be red
blood cells. The stark black-and-white palette contrasts with the colourful vibrancy
of earlier transitions, signalling a shift in tone again. In the left corner, Bella, dressed
in a white nightrobe, walks across the fingers of a palm-facing-up hand toward
the thumb. The hand is sliced open, revealing a mechanical foundation instead
of flesh and bones. This animation evokes a surreal tension between organic life
and artificial constructs. The robotic interior of the hand suggests the mechanical
constraints of societal systems, while Bella’s confident steps across the hand
symbolize her defiance of those systems. Jesse Stommel’s exploration of decay as
a site for transformation is relevant here: “Decay makes visible the structures
holding us together, allowing us to remake them anew” (Stommel 333). Bella’s
navigation of the hand reflects her ability to challenge and redefine the artificial
boundaries imposed upon her.
Their time on the ship is not going according to Duncan’s expectations. Bella
is lonely and has turned to reading; she does not appear without a book in hand.
This frustrates Duncan further. He tries to tie her by proclaiming, “I love you,”
while touching her chest. Bella questions him, “Describe the elements I should be
looking for within myself to be sure. How can it be tested empirically?” (Lanthimos
1:05:00). Her question, blending sincerity and critique, reflects her growing
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intellectual independence. Anna Freud’s insights into emotional development
resonate here: “Behavior is governed by wishes and fantasies, integrated through a
search for understanding” (Freud 154). Bella refuses to accept Duncan’s shallow
declarations, challenging him with her demand for empirical proof. They argue this
while Bella doodles a figurine of a naked woman overshadowed by a bird, covering
her nakedness. This small yet poignant act summarises Bella’s growing self-
awareness. Ann Heilmann’s analysis of feminine creativity highlights creating as a
self-possession: “Writing is a return to the body—a reclamation of identity through
acts of expression” (Heilmann 37). Bella’s drawing functions as an assertion of her
autonomy. The presence of the bird shadowing the naked figure suggests both
freedom and protection, aligning with Bella’s evolving understanding of her place
in the world.
Bella ventures among other travellers, noticing an older lady. She insists upon
touching her hair and does so. The lady replies that she has also noticed Bella’s hair
and describes it as “silk on a translucent glowing egg.” They bond over a discussion
of teeth and cocks. Bella concludes by saying she wishes “to dash his (Duncan’s)
body, form, cadaver, into the sea” (Lanthimos 1:06:45). We can observe Bela’s
language evolution clearly throughout the events of the ship; she starts to use as
many synonyms in her sentences as possible. As we learn, Martha has not been
bedded for over twenty years, which is shocking to Bella. Bella asks if she at least
“uses her hand between her legs to keep herself happy,” for which she is
admonished by Duncan, who still manages to look horrified at Bella’s boldness.
Bella remembers that such talk is “not for the ears of polite society,” to which a
young black man says, “polite society will destroy you” (Lanthimos 1:07:55). Thus,
we are introduced to Harry Astley, a “cynic,” as described by Martha. Bella is
overjoyed at making “friends, companions, comrades” and proclaims they shall all
dine together. Duncan tries to say they have different plans, but Bella reminds him
that they are all on a ship and cannot escape, and there is a “world to enjoy, traverse,
circumnavigate.” Harry confronts Duncan with, “or can she not have friends, Mr.
Wedderburn?” Duncan resorts to: “Delighted” (Lanthimos 1:08:45). This moment
demonstrates Bella’s ability to assert independence in social settings. It also marks
the beginning of her engagement with broader critiques of societal norms as Harry
becomes a crucial influence on her intellectual journey.
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Bella’s following late-night confrontation with Harry reveals her deepest
fears and increasing aspirations, leaving her restless and consumed by conflicting
thoughts. She bursts into his cabin, confessing, “I can’t sleep from all the thoughts
I have due to you. You said we are all cruel beasts. I fear it is true—I feel the cruel
bubbling up when I am with Duncan. I do not want to be that way. I must improve
that aspect of myself.” Harry’s calm yet cutting reply— “You don’t know the world,
and you fear it”—challenges her idealism, forcing her to confront the cruelty she
observes in others and the potential for cruelty within herself. Bella straightens, her
voice trembling but resolute: “I do not fear it.” Her rebelliousness underscores her
determination to seek answers and transformation, even in discomfort. This tension
sets the stage for her next journey, where Harry’s promise to show her the “real
world” (Lanthimos 1:15:40).
2.2.4 Alexandria
Bella wears white when going to see the “real world” with Harry. The sky has
a dust-reddish hue, the sea is colourless, almost black, and the disquieting brooding
music is back. They travel in what seems to be a copy of the pod where a couple
sits in Bosch’s The Garden of Earthly Delights, within the so-called Wheel
of Senses in the central panel. It is said they represent Sight, as a bright shining light
illuminates their faces. Bella’s eyes will also be opened. The dividing animation
in black and white portrays Bella lying sprawled across what could be an iris or
a drop of water covering a flower head, as if after a fall. The object she is lying
on causes a rippling effect on the sandy body, forming the background and creating
a ring of stormy, cloudy waves. This further insinuates a fall (Lanthimos 1:16:30).
These black-and-white animations usually provide critical insights into Bella’s
journey. In this transition to Alexandria, the imagery of Bella sprawled across
a flower-like surface evokes Bosch’s work, where beauty and decay coexist.
This visual comparison reinforces Bella’s position as a liminal figure navigating
the boundaries between innocence and experience, life and death.
The visual references to Bosch’s Wheel of Senses align Bella’s journey
with an allegorical transition from naive pleasure to critical sight. In Bosch’s work,
the illuminated shell signifies perception, which here parallels Bella’s awakening
to the harsh realities of the world. Meinhard Michael asserts that “perception is
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more than sight; it is an invitation to see the moral and spiritual implications of what
is observed” (13). The ripple effect in the dividing animation symbolizes the far-
reaching consequences of her awakening—a disruption that cannot leave her
unchanged. Bella and Harry are enjoying afternoon tea, with the faint sound
of wailing audible in the distance. Harry asks her if she hears it, then leads her
onto a terrace. The sky is golden with reddish hues, a bust of an antique emperor
stands toppled on a side table, and the music grows dramatic, pounding, and
relentless. Bella observes a cascading crater of suffering, poverty, and pain
from the terrace. Harry remarks that it must be a hot day because of many deaths.
Bella immediately wants to help them, but Harry stops her with the cold retort:
“How would we do that? If we go down there, they will rightfully rope us, rob us,
and rape us. And if they were here and we were there, we’d do the same to them”
(Lanthimos 1:17:15).
Harry’s cynicism stands in stark contrast to Bella’s idealism. His statement
embodies a Hobbesian worldview, where human nature is considered inherently
self-serving and cruel. Niall Richardson connects this detachment to societal
constructs: “The freak, as an outsider, disrupts the normal, but they are often
commodified or dismissed to uphold systemic hierarchies” (Richardson 45). Harry
is the detached observer, seeking to normalize suffering as a spectacle while
denying Bella’s impulse to intervene. However, Bella emerges as a “freak” of moral
clarity, defying his deterministic perspective. Her immediate desire to act reflects
her growing rejection of contentment and commitment to transformation. Bella is
shaken to the bone. She runs toward the stairway leading down, crying and outright
sobbing. Harry catches her, and she bites his hand while trying to silence her.
Bella’s face is smeared with blood, contrasting with her white dress against
a golden-reddish sky. The camera zooms out, uncovering that the stairway is broken
and untraversable. The rest of Alexandria lies in ruin. The broken stairway becomes
a powerful symbol of systemic barriers. The literal and figurative inaccessibility
of justice prevents Bella’s desire to descend and help. Michael notes that “earthly
light in Bosch’s work juxtaposes the desire for salvation with the inevitability of
decay” (Michael 22). The golden hues evoke divine aspiration, while the broken
structures below highlight the earthly decay that prevents such aspirations from
being realized. The ruins of Alexandria express the societal rot Bella is beginning
34
to understand, reinforcing Jesse Stommel’s observation that “Decay does not
represent an end but invites an expansion—a redefinition of boundaries and
frameworks” (Stommel 333). Bella’s biting of Harry’s hand symbolizes her
rejection of his cynicism, a visceral act of resistance against his attempt to suppress
her moral clarity.
A hysterical Bella returns onboard to their cabin and collects all the money
she can find. When she tries to leave the boat again, sailors stop her at the door,
saying they will embark soon. She insists she must return because she needs to give
the money in the chest to the poor near the hotel “in what they call a slum.” The
sailors take advantage of her, claiming they will distribute the money while staying
ashore. She repeats that the poor need the money. However, the sailor pointedly
replies, “Everyone does” (Lanthimos 1:19:00). The sailor’s comment reframes
Bella’s charity as naive, highlighting the systemic inequality that reduces individual
acts of kindness to uselessness. Richardson critiques the commodification
of suffering: “The suffering of others is transformed into spectacle, a consumable
object that perpetuates inequality rather than addressing it” (Richardson 47). Bella’s
genuine attempt to bridge the gap between privilege and suffering underlines her
moral awakening but also exposes her powerlessness within a system designed to
preserve inequality.
Bella returns to the cabin, where Duncan is furious as he believes they have
been robbed. He tells Bella he “won big time” at the cards table, only for the money
to disappear. Bella explains she took it while lying on the bed, citing enormous
fatigue: “My spirit is tired; my soul has been buckled, crumpled, flattened.” Bella’s
vocabulary has evolved, as has her wardrobe, which now reflects a lady's
“appropriate” apparel. She matures, but Harry’s cruel enlightenment leaves
her questioning life. “Who am I, lying in a feathered mattress, while dead babies lie
in a ditch?” she asks, only to conclude, “I need to offer something to the world”
(Lanthimos 1:21:00). Bella’s questioning of privilege marks a significant turning
point in her moral and intellectual growth. Ann Heilmann’s notion of feminine self-
creation underlines this moment as an act of rebellion against societal apathy: “To
create is to reclaim agency, to reimagine one’s role in the world” (Heilmann 37).
Bella’s maturing vocabulary and clothing reflect her growing awareness of societal
35
expectations, but her moral clarity—her resolve to “offer something to the world”—
positions her as a figure of ethical battle and hope.
2.2.5 Paris
The skies are painted in a mournful blue, heavy yet strangely soothing, as
Bella bids farewell to Harry. His guilt, raw and unguarded, spills out: “Couldn’t
bear to see such dumb, beautiful happiness in someone. It was cruel of me.” Bella
reframes his cruelty, telling him it was not cruel but enlightening: “I couldn’t have
improved the world if I didn’t know it.” Harry articulates his despair; the lesson
was supposed to be that “You cannot change the world,” he begins before adding,
“Don’t believe in religion, socialism, capitalism.” searching for words, he finally
declares, “We are a fucked species”. With a grim finality, he warns, “Hope is
smashable, but realism is not.” Unmoved by his final remarks, Bella’s response cuts
through Harry’s bitterness like a blade: “I realize what you are now, Harry. Just
a broken little boy who cannot bear the pain of the world” (Lanthimos 1:23:45).
With those words, she seals her departure, placing a kiss on his cheek before setting
forth, unburdened by his despair.
Bella’s awakening in Alexandria brings her face-to-face with systemic
inequality and suffering. Shaken but resolute, she begins to reimagine her role
in the world. With its blend of intellectual vibrancy and grotesque spaces, Paris
becomes the setting for her most radical experiments in autonomy and self-
discovery. The dividing animation for Paris shows Bella floating on a slice of brain
in waters that mimic the pulsation of neurons firing, pulsing with light as they ignite.
The scene is black and white. Vapours rise from the waters as Bella dips her hand
in, not fighting the flow. This imagery captures her awakening to new realities
of life instead of the ideals she has studied on the boat and her subsequent surrender
to the new life experiences in Paris.
We meet Bella and Duncan in snowy Paris, where they travelled
from Marseilles, as that is where they were forcefully removed from the ship. The
last weeks of their journey were not easy. Duncan is irritable, threatening to kick
a dog to death, while Bella, dressed in a blue frock topped with a yellow raincoat—
described by Whitlock as a “condom coat,” which “serves as a visual metaphor
for both protection and exposure, aligning with the themes of experimentation and
36
boundary-crossing” dominant in this part of her journey (Whitlock 55)—stands out
vividly against the snowy backdrop of Paris’s fantastical land in light blue, pink,
and gold, lightly dusted with surrealism. Duncan despairs while Bella is intrigued
by this “new experiment”: how to live with no money. She departs in search
of a hotel, wandering through Paris’s many delights until she stumbles upon
a brothel, entirely unaware of its purpose.
Madam Swiney, the brothel’s house mama, a tattooed, creature-like figure,
explains that if Bella needs money: she can “Let [them] cock you a bit and make
some nice francs.” Bella is shocked that someone would pay to lie with her,
to which Madam Swiney responds, “Yes. If you need money, it is the shortest route
to it” (Lanthimos 1:26:10). Bella sees this “congruence of circumstances”—
the merging of her curiosity about experiencing another man and her immediate
need for funds—as “fate-like” and embarks on a new experiment in Room 16
without even removing her raincoat. Bella approaches her first encounter
without fear or horror. Though unpleasant, it is not traumatic, and Bella processes
the event with a pragmatic detachment. Bella recounts later: “A mere three thrusts
was all he could manage. I stifled a laugh, out of polites, of course” (Lanthimos
1:28:50). The experience is anticlimactic but enlightening for Bella, who secures
both money and éclairs au chocolat to share with Duncan. Duncan, however, cannot
believe Bella’s actions. He smashes the éclairs Bella has bought, calling her
a “monster” and a “whore.” He rants, “When I look at you now, I see nothing but
ugliness,” to which Bella, unfazed, remarks, “Your boring odes to my beauty have
been constant, but letting a strange man ride on me erases all that?”. Duncan further
proclaims that Bella was sent from hell to punish him for his “tiny” sins and insists
that she has ruined him. He tries to humiliate her by saying that “whoring yourself
is the worst thing a woman can do.” Bella counters with calm practicality, saying,
“we should definitely never marry,” and adding that she is “a flawed, experimenting
person” who will need “a husband with a more forgiving disposition.” Duncan
comically desperate that he cannot make her “understand” roars “Cunt!” in her face,
to which Bella responds by declaring their adventure over. She takes out the money
Godwin sewed into her coat and offers to book a passage for Duncan back
to London. When Duncan protests that Bella purposely hid the money during their
hardship, Bella retorts that she believed in him, hoping he would “rise to the
37
occasion.” Duncan grabs the money and his suitcase and storms out (Lanthimos
1:29:00).
Contrary to Bella’s growing maturity and independence, Duncan becomes
increasingly childlike and emotionally unstable. As Bella’s autonomy strengthens
through experimentation and self-discovery, Duncan clings to outdated notions
of propriety and beliefs he can keep in step with Bella. His tantrums, outbursts
of rage, and inability to process Bella’s behavior reveal a regressive, almost
juvenile response to a woman defying societal norms. By contrast, Bella navigates
her journey calmly and determinedly, showcasing the widening gap between their
emotional and intellectual developments.
Bella approaches Madam Swiney with a new proposition, stating she is
in need of “sex and money.” Madam Swiney is delighted: “A woman plotting her
course to freedom” (Lanthimos 1:31:30). Bella is pragmatic, finding the attention
and emotional labour required of keeping a lover far too demanding for her liking.
As she explains to Madam Swiney, she prefers the efficiency of 20 minutes of her
time, leaving the rest of her day to “study on the word and the improvement of it.”
However, Bella quickly becomes discontent with the brothel’s line-up system,
where men choose their partners. She explains to Madam Swiney that it “makes her
sad” to let men she finds distasteful “furious jump” her. Madam Swiney dismisses
Bella’s objections, telling her: “That is the way it is, my darling” (Lanthimos
1:34:00). Bella replies with optimism:
As God, my father, says, it is only the way it is until we discover the new way
it is, and then that is the way it is, until we discover the new way it is, and so it goes
until the world is no longer flat, electricity lights the night, and shoes are no longer
tied with ribbons (Lanthimos 1:34:50).
Toinette, another worker, agrees with Bella, proclaiming that as a “socialist,”
she feels strongly in accord with Bella’s statements. Madam Swiney, however,
sends Toinette to satisfy the customer for free and takes Bella to her office.
In the privacy of her office, Madam Swiney bites Bella’s earlobes, a gesture loaded
with symbolism of both dominance and affection. Bella tries again to explain that
everyone would be happier if the workers were allowed to choose. Madam Swiney
calls her an idealist and is delighted by it, as she is one as well, yet she tells Bella
that “we must give in to the demands of the world sometimes. Grapple with it. Try
38
to defeat it.” Furthermore, Swiney remains firm, explaining that some men “enjoy
that you do not like it” (Lanthimos 1:35:55). Bella is outraged, and Madam is
empathetic as she agrees that it is “sick.” Yet she follows with, “But good business.”
She shows Bella her sick grandchild, who needs a lot of doctoring. She explains
that her choice of giving Bella her choice would jeopardize the business and her
ability to provide for her grandchild and asks Bella if her choice is worth that baby’s
life. She deepens the conversation, asserting:
We must work. We must make money. But more than that, we must
experience everything, not just the good. But degradation, horror, sadness… This
makes us whole, Bella. Makes us people of substance, not flighty, untouched
children. Then we can know the world. And when we know the world, the world is
ours (Lanthimos 1:37:45).
This philosophy aligns with Bakhtin’s assertion that degradation and renewal
coexist: “To degrade is to bury, to sow, and to kill simultaneously, in order to bring
forth something more and better” (Bakhtin 21). Madam Swiney’s worldview is
a grotesque realism, where confronting horror becomes the pathway
to understanding. Bella’s room in the brothel, as well as her wardrobe in that room,
are in contrast to the cold yet pastel colours of outside Paris. For the first time,
Bella’s attire does not align with the outside world. In the house, she was dressed
in white and blended with the black-and-white world; in Lisbon, she wore bright
yellow, baby blue, and pink and was as fantastical as the landscape, full of vibrancy
and vitality. On the ship, the tones darkened and became more sophisticated;
in Alexandria, her pristine white dress matched the virgin, untouched environment
of the café, both contrasting with the lives of the people of Alexandria visible
from the terrasse— a gilded cage sitting “untouched” by the suffering happening
bellow. Paris returns to this “fake innocence” of pastel, this coldness of polite
society, denying there is blood, bile, and excrement in their bodies. Bella’s room is
exactly in the colours of the visceral—the marron and red of blood, the musty
yellow of morning urine and greenish hues of the bile, the dark wood in the colour
of excrements.
Bella’s reclamation of her body in the brothel can also be read through Silvia
Federici’s lens as she challenges the commodification of female labour. Federici
argues that women’s autonomy is historically undermined by their reduction
to reproductive and domestic roles (Federici 93). Bella’s refusal to conform to these
39
roles and insistence on redefining the brothel’s operations symbolises her rebellion
against unequal systems and her effort to carve out a space for her agency.
The brothel, with its parade of characters—from the crab-playing man, the
leg-humping man, the captain hook look-a-like, the father wanting to demonstrate
sexual encounters for his sons, to the priest with an oversized phallus—becomes
another space of transformation. Surrounded by grotesque bodies, Bella becomes
“the” grotesque body “blended with the world… transgressing its own limits” as
described by (Bakhtin 26). Through Bella’s unique approach to her work
in the brothel, she embodies an entity that cannot be easily categorized, confined,
or contained aligning further with Bakhtin’s view of the grotesque, which he
emphasizes as fundamentally noncanonical, a space where the body is not just
physical but fluid, capable of transformation. As Jordan-Haladyn argues, such
a body is inherently dangerous because it is not static; it is constantly becoming
“non-categorical, non-containable” by its very nature (Jordan-Haladyn 39). Bella,
however, embraces this transgressive potential, acknowledging the ridiculous and
abject forces around her yet persistently insisting on finding her path, one that
allows for sensitivity in even the most “sordid” of spaces.
Whitlock observes that Bella “transforms the abject space
of the brothel into a site of humanity and humour, infusing grotesque encounters
with tenderness and connection” (Whitlock 54). This transformation is not
immediate; it begins with Bella’s careful, methodical approach to her patrons.
Rather than succumbing to objectification or reducing the encounters to mere
transactions, she initiates each interaction with a personal touch—asking
for a childhood memory, sharing a joke, and using lavender oil to ease her clients’
and her discomfort. Through these small acts, she reframes the space as one
of human connection, starkly contrasting its abject nature.
Bella’s need for talk further complicates the transactional notion of her life
in the brothel. According to Jordan-Haladyn, dialogism is rooted in “the mutual
exchange of ideas and the fluidity of embodiment, where the material and
immaterial engage in constant dialogue” (Jordan-Haladyn 4). Bella’s approach
to intimacy and human connection represents this exchange, as she remains fluid
in her understanding of herself, her work, and her relationships with others.
40
The playful yet intimate bond, at times even sexual, she forms with Toinette serves
as a key example of this fluidity as she navigates pleasure and vulnerability. When
Toinette reveals the truth about Bella’s scar—suggesting that it is a “babies’ scar”—
Bella initially defends Godwin, believing his version of events. However,
Toinette’s probing question, “Un homme?” shakes Bella’s faith in her protector.
This moment becomes a turning point that highlights her growing autonomy and
awareness.
As her journey progresses, Bella begins to redefine herself outwardly.
She starts wearing her hair in a tight braid, symbolizing her increasing control over
her body and autonomy. In addition to her experimentation in the brothel, Bella
begins attending medical classes, expanding her understanding of the human body
and reclaiming intellectual spaces traditionally dominated by men. This progression
aligns with Ann Heilmann’s assertion that feminine creativity involves reclaiming
agency through acts of expression (Heilmann 37). Bella’s participation in these
spaces symbolizes her defiance of societal norms, reinforcing her role as a new
human unbound by any constraints. This shift in her appearance and actions mirrors
her transformation. She starts wearing black, incorporating elements of male
couture—specifically, a tuxedo-like coat and a cravat, an outward manifestation
of her refusal to conform to traditional gender roles and societal expectations.
Meanwhile, Duncan is still in Paris, often drunk, tearing his hair out below
her window in fits of madness and despair. Bella’s increasing independence
contrasts his emotional collapse, a reminder of how he remains trapped in old
patterns while she boldly steps into a new, uncharted existence. The culmination
of Bella’s experimentation, degradation, and transformation—reflects the core
of Poor Things. Bella’s journey is one of moral reckoning, where the grotesque
becomes tangled with the potential for renewal. Bella’s journey, as Federici notes,
reflects the reclamation of autonomy, which requires not just rejecting exploitation
but “reimagining the structures that reproduce dependency and control” (Federici
122). Bella’s brothel life is a reclamation of self; by reclaiming her autonomy, Bella
becomes an agent of change, not just within the brothel but within the broader
societal structures that seek to commodify and control women’s bodies. As Federici
argues, “the commodification of female labour and its sexual division must be
41
analysed within the larger historical systems of exploitation” (Federici 93),
and Bella’s evolution exemplifies this analysis. She reclaims her power not by
rejecting her body’s abject nature but by transgressing its boundaries, asserting her
place in a fragmented world, and ultimately becoming a new human—one that
cannot be reduced to the conventions and expectations of society. Ultimately, Bella
receives a letter from McCandless, forcing her to travel back home. This final call
marks the end of her experiment in Paris but symbolizes the next step in her ongoing
evolution, which is still in motion. Bella’s experiences in Paris culminate in her
moral reckoning and transformation. Nevertheless, the letter from McCandless
signals that Bella’s journey is far from over.
2.2.6 The Return
How the letter came to Bella is subsequently explained. A devasted Duncan
wrote to Baxter and accused him of releasing a she-devil on the world. This letter
came to Baxter’s house with an address from a psychiatric hospital. Scared for what
this meant for Bella, McCandless decided to reply in person.
The confrontation between McCandless and Wedderburn in the psychiatric
hospital serves as a mirror of Bella’s lasting impact on those who sought to possess
or define her. The setting—a cell resembling a chapel with high ceilings and light
streaming through oval windows—evokes a warped sanctity, transforming
the space into a ridiculous theatre of confession and reckoning. Duncan
Wedderburn, now psychologically unravelling, accuses Bella of destroying him.
His grotesque physicality— farting, spitting, and disregarding McCandless’s
personal space— mirrors his internal chaos. As Max McCandless interferes: “Well,
we’re all masters of our ship, sir”—Duncan’s frustration grows, and he claims he
is to “save [him] from her” McCandles as he simultaneously tries to attack and lick
him. Max McCandless tries to protect himself and pushes Duncan away with force,
Duncan claims that he cannot be hurt as he has “no insides” because Bella
“hollowed him out”—his soul as well as his bank account. He calls himself a “bug,
a shell”. (Lanthimos 1:49:30). This scene suggests that Bella’s agency is depicted
as both alluring and terrifying to those around her. Duncan’s behaviour is symbolic
because even though he is the hysterical one, this term has always been used only
with women since “hystera” is a Greek word for uterus.
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A striking sequence marks Bella’s return to London: she walks confidently
across a bridge decorated with pillars shaped like disembodied eyeballs, her black
silhouette stark against a backdrop of clouds and smoke. This surreal and haunting
imagery signals her metamorphosis into a living personification
of transformation—one who traverses the liminal space between death and rebirth.
In contrast to the bridge’s foreboding visuals, Godwin’s house offers a contrasting
visual of beauty—pink, covered with climbing rose vines and a blood-red door
signalling an amalgamation of fragile beauty, aesthetic charm and viscerality.
Bella knocks, and Ms. Prim opens the door with “The whore is back” (Lanthimos
1:51:00). Notably, Bella smirks at the insult, a subtle yet powerful rejection
of societal attempts to diminish her.
Bella rushes to Godwin’s sick-bed. She enters and Godwin’s surprised
excitement makes her explain that Max wrote her. She asks if Godwin is ill.
He retorts that he is not ill, “just dying,” a “subtle” difference but one he “takes
seriously as a physician” (Lanthimos 1:51:15). They share a moment of warmth and
gratefulness to see each other. But soon, Bella tells him it is not all “sunshine”
she brings, and she returns with “beady eyes and hard questions” (Lanthimos
1:52:30). They discuss Bella’s “baby.” Godwin tells her that, technically, she is
her baby. Furthermore, he supposes, “You are your mother. And also, neither.
No memory survives. No experiences survive.” The film’s exploration
of womanhood resonates with Cixous, as echoed in this evocative passage:
There always remains in woman that force which produces/is produced by
the other—in particular, the other woman. In her, matrix, cradler; herself giver as
her mother and child; she is her own sister-daughter... The mother, too, is a
metaphor... It is necessary and sufficient that the best of herself be given to woman
by another woman for her to be able to love herself and return in love the body that
was ‘born’ to her. Touch me, caress me, you the living no-name, give me my self
as myself (Cixous 882).
This passage underscores the film's interrogation of womanhood as a site
of continuous creation and relational identity. Bella embodies this cyclical nature:
she is the product of her creation, yet she is also the creator of her future self.
The metaphor of the mother here exceeds biology, gesturing toward the generative
force of self-recognition and solidarity among women. Godwin’s claim that Bella
is simultaneously “her mother, her daughter, and neither” highlights the complexity
of her creation and existence and that of every woman. Bella is confused and asks:
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“What do you mean, I am mother and daughter?” Baxter motions for Max to give
her “her file.” Bella reads through it and accuses him of “knowing and not telling.”
Max defends himself, saying he does not see a good reason to at the time. Bella is
not persuaded and adds he was “too cowardly to.” He does not deny it. He follows
with, “I wanted to be with you. And Baxter kind of makes one a prisoner to him.
And I am… I’m sorry” (Lanthimos 1:53:15).
A slightly shaken Bella follows a noise into the kitchen and discovers Felicity
with Ms. Prim. Felicity is tenderizing meat. She has a mallet, and with every bam,
she sing-song Bell Whore Bell whore. “I see, you’ve introduced me, Prim.”
To which Prim says, “I like this one better” (Lanthimos 1:53:50). Bella turns
to Max accusingly: “Another one?” Max says: “We missed you.” To which Bella
replies: “Monsters.” Bella leaves and takes a walk; she walks to the bridge where
the previous inhabitant of her body committed suicide. She looks into the depths
of the waters, and on the shore, she observes the bodies of dead fish. After calming
down, Bella confronts Baxter again. He asks if she would rather be a “gray slab
of flesh with a fishhook in her nose.” As Bella calls herself and Felicity Baxter’s
creations, Baxter replies: “Neither of you are that. She wanders the halls
with a hammer and a song, and that is not my doing. And I read your cards and
letters home and watched you fearlessly create Bella Baxter with wonder,”
(Lanthimos 1:55:00).
Bella’s reaction reveals her evolving understanding of herself—a woman who
must wrestle with the absence of traditional origins while embracing the infinite
possibilities of self-creation. The moment Bella declares her intention to become
a doctor can be seen as symbolic. She states, “I arrived home, and I smelled
the formaldehyde, and I knew what is next. I will be a doctor” (Lanthimos 1:55:00).
This declaration signifies far more than a career choice; she reclaims her creativity
and the possibility of transformation. Bella re-appropriates Baxter’s surgical room
space as her own, claiming control over her body, future, and narrative.
Her decision symbolises her final act of agency—she is no longer merely
the product of someone else’s creation but the author of her own evolving identity.
Furthermore, Bella’s relationship with Max McCandless evolves
into a partnership of honesty, practicality, and mutual respect. In their exchange,
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Bella confronts the tension between her sexual history, using phrases such as “cocks
for money inside me”, and societal perceptions of ownership. She questions
whether “the whoring thing challenges the desire for ownership that men have”
directly addressing notions of purity and possession. Max’s response— “It is your
body, Bella Baxter. Yours to give freely”— affirms her autonomy and signals his
acceptance of her past as well as positioning him as a more suitable partner to her
than Duncan (Lanthimos 1:56:55). Their dialogue reveals the complexity of their
relationship: Bella’s sharp wit and pragmatism meet Max’s remaining admiration
and moral introspection. When Bella proposes marriage, their exchange is
humorous and affectionate, with Bella critiquing his “tongue use” during their kiss
while acknowledging and admiring the “practical love” they share. This scene shifts
from romantic idealism to a partnership grounded in mutual respect and honesty.
Following, Godwin, doped up on heroin, amphetamines, and cocaine
“because he is partial to cocaine” (Lanthimos 1:59:10), walks Bella down the aisle,
a scene that seems like a happy ending—a Victory!
2.3 Conclusion
Poor Things by Alasdair Gray and its cinematic adaptation by Yorgos
Lanthimos explore profound themes of autonomy, identity, and transformation
through the dynamic and provocative journey of Bella Baxter. Both mediums
challenge traditional frameworks of morality, gender roles, and societal norms,
presenting Bella as a main figure redefining the human experience’s boundary.
Bella’s narrative—rooted in defiance against restrictive structures and a quest
for self-discovery—questions the nature of freedom and the costs of agency.
Her experiences in varied, symbolically rich settings, from Baxter’s house
to the fantastical Parisian brothel, emphasize the complexity of human existence
and the fluid interplay between innocence and empowerment, degradation and
renewal. These spaces and encounters reinforce her journey as both physical and
deeply intellectual and moral, underscoring her evolving identity as both
the creation and creator of her destiny.
Bella affectionately refers to Godwin Baxter as “God,” providing a running
commentary on theological questions surrounding her creator’s dubious morality
and faltering interest in humanity. This layered irony references William Godwin,
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whose daughter, Mary Shelley, gave birth to the Frankenstein mythos. Similarly,
Baxter’s act of creation produces a new form of anarchy reliant on reason. Bella
continues this legacy, embodying the new woman so feared in late Victorian
society, ultimately exulting that in her husband she has “a very good wife” to tend
the home while she gives lectures across the continent (Hawley 176). Bella’s
triumph lies not in conventional resolution but in her reclamation of selfhood,
evidenced by her unapologetic embrace of her choices and her pursuit of becoming
a doctor. Few who follow Bella’s development will find her unnatural; rather, they
will see her as a figure of profound moral clarity. The novel’s Bella envisions
tending her garden, helping those she can, and fostering self-respect in children
(Hawley 177).
The adaptation’s rich visual language and layered storytelling deepen
the exploration of these themes, with Lanthimos’s surrealistic lens amplifying
Bella’s transformative journey. The absurd yet affectionate reimaginings of spaces
and relationships allow the audience to confront their assumptions about agency,
societal constructs, and the fluidity of human nature. Ultimately, Bella’s evolution
summarises the broader narrative’s essence: the unbounded potential of humanity
lies in confronting and redefining the limitations imposed by societal expectations.
Poor Things celebrates this potential, leaving viewers and readers alike to question
and reimagine the structures that govern identity, freedom, and the essence of life
itself.
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3 Bella Victoria – a lovely victory?
The audience believed that the lovely wedding would be the end.
But Lanthimos had a surprise for us all. The wedding is interrupted. The scene
begins with violence, not through physical harm but through the act of intrusion.
A man’s voice ascertains: “Hello, Victoria. You look well”. The sudden disruption
reflects Bella’s confusion, asking the man: “Do you refer to me, sir?”. General
Alfred Bessington declares: “A man does not normally introduce himself to his
wife” (Lanthimos 1:56:20). This statement reframes the space of the wedding as
a battleground for control and identity.
With his intrusion, General Alfred Bessington enters not only the space
of Bella’s life but also the narrative of patriarchal control and violence that seeks
to reclaim her—body and identity. A shocked Godwin coughs up blood onto
a tissue and up from behind the General, Duncan Wedderburn, accusingly points
at Baxter and shouts: “He is the God of it. I do not know if he’s in her power or she
in his. ‘Tis Devil’s work at hand. Look! He coughs not normal air but blood!”
(Lanthimos 1:57:30) Max McCandless tells him “He has cancer, you fucking idiot.”
This, albeit comic relief, does not detract the General. He continues: “As I was
saying, General Alfred Bessington. “Alfie” to you. You really do not know me?
You left in a state of some mental addlement and hysteria over your pregnancy.
On the discovery of your absence, I felt disembowelled. I have disembowelled man
on the field of battle, and I always imagined a dull, hollow throbbing, and that is
what it was like. There’s also a stench but that does not apply as a metaphor here.
But here you are, my darling. Here you are.”
Alfred’s self-description as “disembowelled” due to Bella’s departure
introduces a theme of abjection, as theorized by Julia Kristeva. For Kristeva,
the abject is tied to bodily boundaries and the fragility of selfhood. She writes,
“The body’s inside… shows up in order to compensate for the collapse of the border
between inside and outside” (Kristeva 53-54). The imagery of disembowelment,
with its focus on internal rupture and exposure, reveals Alfred’s reliance on Bella
to maintain his fragile sense of order. Similarly, Duncan Wedderburn’s hysterical
accusations and reference to “Devil’s work” further illustrate the destabilizing
effect of Bella’s independence on their identity. While Duncan and the General
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experience this breakdown of boundaries as a kind of collapse, for Bella, it is
a liberation. The brothel, with its visceral colours and bodily fluids, is not a place
of shame or horror for her; instead, it becomes a space of education and discovery.
The very things that might be seen as abject—bodies, fluids, desires—are, for Bella,
symbols of life, vitality, and growth. Bella is alive in a way that Duncan and
the General cannot comprehend; she is fluid, uncontainable, and free. She embraces
the things they find destabilizing, which unsettle their clean, rigid sense
of the world. Ultimately, their disembowelment reveals how much they relied
on Bella to define themselves. She was never just a person to them; she was the
object that held their identities together. Without her, they’re left exposed, broken,
and unable to put themselves back together again. Bella, on the other hand, doesn’t
need to be held together. She’s already moving forward—alive, vibrant, and free.
That is why they remain trapped in their disembowelled state—hollowed out and
fragile—while Bella emerges as something new—a new human in a world she
creates.
She chooses to take the interruption of her wedding in stride, motivated by
a curiosity about her past. This willingness to confront the unknown forces her
to follow the General out of the chapel. Alfred’s house is depicted as an ominous
and visceral unease, where every detail contributes to a Boschian, hellish aesthetic.
Michael Meinhard’s interpretation of Bosch’s The Garden of Earthly Delights
provides a visual framework for Alfred’s house. In Bosch’s Hell, bodies are twisted,
punished, and consumed in grotesque displays of suffering. Michael writes:
“The soul and senses deform in Hell, tormented by their inability to attain
salvation… This deformity reflects the decay of moral and spiritual order” (Michael
56). The house appears to have emerged from a graveyard: the garden is excavated
and barren, the trees stand lifeless, and the pavements form a grid adorned
with grave-like statues and formations. Red smoke billows ominously
from the chimneys, underscoring the sense that the earth itself resists life. The home
evokes what Julia Kristeva terms as follows:
The abject confronts us… with those fragile states where man strays on the
territories of animal. It is something rejected from which one does not part… It
beseeches, worries, and fascinates desire, which, nevertheless, does not let itself be
seduced. Apprehensive, desire turns aside; sickened, it rejects (Kristeva 12).
48
The perpetually disturbed garden symbolizes Alfred’s inability to impose
order on what he perceives as the chaotic, feminine forces in his life. Far from being
a sanctuary, his home becomes a site of repression where the abject—manifested
through blood, decay, and violence—lurks beneath the surface. The red-stained
floors and walls, etched with rivers of blood-like patterns, collapse the boundary
between physical and symbolic contamination. These elements designate the house
as a site of authority and its ultimate failure. The stains suggest a dual history
of violence: a literal one, implying that something profoundly disturbing has
occurred within the house, and a symbolic one, as the physical environment bears
the marks of Alfred’s struggle to suppress what he deems threatening—Bella’s
autonomy, female sexuality, or the inherent unpredictability of life itself. The house
thus emerges as a haunting testament to Alfred’s unsuccessful attempts to exert
control, showing the tensions between dominance, repression, and the inescapable
presence of the abject.
A dinner scene unfolds as a visceral tableau of excess, control, and simmering
malice. Surrounded by burgundy walls and a grotesque feast of “kippers, goose,
tongue, champagne,” Alfred’s command for Bella to eat underscores his
domineering presence. The blood-red floor and a prowling black hound amplify the
sense of danger, while Bella’s quiet defiance cuts through Alfred’s calculated
cruelty. Their exchange brims with tension—Alfred’s glorification of cruelty cloaks
his fear of chaos, embodied by Bella’s refusal to submit. His invocation of Jesus,
the symbol of forgiveness, only sharpens his hypocrisy as he recounts Bella’s
perceived transgressions with venomous disdain. Bella’s calm inquiries about their
shared history and her mordant wit reveal her resolve, even as Alfred’s threats
escalate from entrapment to violence. The scene captures a chilling power dynamic:
a man desperate to control and a woman determined to resist, set against a backdrop
that feels richly oppressive and surreal.
Bella, draped in a garish orange gown with a burgundy shield on the bodice,
roams the unsettling halls of the house, her untied hair mirroring the disarray within.
The oppressive atmosphere intensifies as she overhears Alfred speaking with
chilling detachment about her body. “The whole infernal packet,” he tells the
doctor, referencing an unspeakable procedure. “It will calm her no end. This time,
49
we’ll get it done.” (Lanthimos 2:03:50). Later, when she confronts him, Alfred’s
words cut deeper. “The root of the problem is between your legs,” he says, his tone
clinical yet disdainful. “I’ll have it removed—it distracts and diverts you. A man
spends his life wrangling his sexual compulsions; it’s his curse and his life’s work.
A woman’s life work is children. I’ll rid you of that infernal packet and plant a seed
in you straight after. If you’re not in possession of the garden, you can’t be the
gardener. You can only plant seeds in cultivated and nourished land.” (Lanthimos
2:05:00). Alfred’s fixation on Bella’s body underlines his deep anxiety about its
seeming uncontrollability. For Hélène Cixous, power is predicated on the myth
of the castrated woman—a construct designed to reassure men of their phallic
dominance. However, Cixous challenges this notion, asserting that what truly
destabilizes society is the recognition that women are not castrated but whole.
She observes: “They riveted us between two horrifying myths: between the Medusa
and the abyss… Isn’t the worst, in truth, that women aren’t castrated? That they are
in fact infinitely more, they are the possessors of something man can never have”
(Cixous 885).
Alfred’s obsessive plan to “remove the infernal packet”—Bella’s clitoris—is
a manifestation of this fear. His need to exercise control over Bella extends beyond
domination to an impulse for mutilation, a symbolic emptying of her body’s
threatening wholeness. The doctor’s detached, clinical language amplifies
the horror: “Do you want just the clitoral hood or the glans as well?” Alfred’s
response— “The whole infernal packet”—conveys a chilling determination to erase
Bella’s autonomy and sexuality. Bella’s response, however, resists this logic
of erasure with sharp defiance. Her sardonic declaration— “I will keep my new life
and my lovely old clitoris, thank you”—rips Alfred’s authority. Through her words,
she exposes the fragility of his power, grounded not in strength but fear. Cixous
elaborates on this terror:
They need femininity to be associated with death; it’s the jitters that gives
them a hard-on! They need to be afraid of us. Look at the trembling Perseuses
moving backward toward us… they order us to veil ourselves, to stay home, to hold
still (Cixous 887).
Alfred’s actions exemplify this dynamic, as his attempts to regulate Bella’s
body and identity are driven by the need to reduce femininity and control them.
“Unlike man, who holds so dearly to his title… woman couldn´t care less about the
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fear of decapitation (or castration), adventuring…into anonymity” (Cixous 889).
Yet Bella’s resistance challenges these assumptions, asserting a vision of female
wholeness that undermines the very foundation of Alfred’s authority.
The confrontation between Bella and Alfred escalates, and Alfred pushes
Bella to drink a concoction of chloroform and gin. Bella reacts decisively, throwing
a drink in Alfred’s face and startling him into accidentally shooting himself in the
foot. She seizes the opportunity, grabbing his gun. When Alfred attempts to pursue
her, he collapses to the ground, incapacitated. Bella drags his wounded body to
Godwin’s house and calls for Max, urging him to assist with surgery as Alfred is
losing significant blood and could die from his injuries. Despite Alfred’s injury and
continued threats to have them all killed, Bella remains resolute. Max cautions her
against saving him, arguing that Alfred “doesn’t seem like a man who would stop.”
(Lanthimos 2:06:30). However, Bella insists she will not stand by and watch him
bleed to death, though she sardonically agrees that “he could do with
improvement.” Together, they haul Alfred to the surgery, leaving a trail of blood in
their wake.
In a moment of foreshadowing, this bloody path recalls the stained floors
of Alfred’s home, suggesting that the blood foretold his downfall, not Bella’s,
as initially feared (Lanthimos 2:08:50). After the procedure, Max informs Bella that
he has successfully removed the bullet and stopped the bleeding. Bella replies,
“And I have the notes,”—referencing her newly acquired file about her own
procedure. She adds, “I am never happier than when I’m in here,” a sentiment
underscoring her comfort in the surgical and scientific space. They share a smile,
glancing at the goat that inexplicably occupies the surgery alongside them.
Later, Bella seeks solace with Godwin, curling up beside him. When he
awakens, he recognizes her presence, saying, “Bella. You’re back.” She reassures
him, explaining, “It was just a story of someone else, not Bella Baxter.” McCandles
joins them, lying on Godwin’s other side. In his final moments, Godwin reflects on
his life, remarking, “All my life people’s eyes looked at me, horror, pity… but you.”
He kisses Bella’s forehead and concludes, “It’s all very interesting… what is
happening.” Before he dies, these are his last words, and Bella tenderly closes his
eyelids (Lanthimos 2:12:10).
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The story finally concludes with Bella preparing nervously for an anatomy
exam. Max reassures her, reminding her that he has quizzed her extensively and
that she is well-prepared. Toinette, seated nearby, winks and comments
suggestively that Bella knows anatomy well. Max prepares drinks as Bella calls for
Prim and Felicity to join them, suggesting someone bring water to the General. Prim
directs Felicity to handle the task. Felicity, now showing progress, plays with a ball
and successfully waters the animals. The group gathers in the garden to share
a drink, basking in an atmosphere of peace and contentment (Lanthimos 2:14:15).
All is well all is peace. A triumph in a well built garden.
3.1 Bella’s Garden
The previous chapter explored Bella’s transformation into a new human,
focusing on her ability to cultivate an internal garden of growth, renewal, and
possibility. As Donna Haraway explains in her book Staying with the Trouble:
Making Kin in the Chthulucene
1
, “Staying with the trouble requires learning to be
truly present, not as a vanishing pivot between awful or Edenic pasts and
apocalyptic or salvific futures, but as mortal critters entwined in myriad unfinished
configurations of places, times, matters, meanings” (Haraway 1). This is precisely
the ability Bella has been cultivating throughout her journey, and it is this ability
that allows her to cultivate a metaphorical garden for others, as will be discussed
further in the following chapter. Now, after her period of exploration and growth,
Bella has returned to the house where her journey began—what is more, after the
death of her creator and father, Godwin, she has fully reclaimed and transformed
this space into her own. The house, with its garden, hybrid animals, and diverse
occupants, reflects Bella’s cultivated ability to create spaces of inclusivity and
regeneration.
We say goodbye to Bella and her journey with her and Toinette toasting while
lounging in the garden. The final scene bears a strong feeling of accomplishment,
achievement, and peace. It is an idyllic frame where Bella is seated in her garden,
1
Chthulucene originates from the Greek root khthon, meaning “earth” or “of the earth.” It
refers specifically to the deep, life-sustaining layers of the earth, emphasizing connections
to the soil, ecosystems, and earthly processes. Donna Haraway intentionally uses this term to evoke
groundedness, rootedness, and multispecies interconnectedness in contrast to human-centered
frameworks like the Anthropocene or Capitalocene.
52
studying to become a doctor. Around her are her closest: McCandless, Prim,
Toinette, and Felicity. Hybrid animals roam freely, including her ex-husband,
whose body remains human but whose brain has been replaced with that of a goat.
This garden encapsulates Bella’s radical ability to “better the world”
and accomplishment of “offering the world something”—a dynamic, collaborative
space that celebrates diversity, hybridity, and interconnectedness.
The physical garden surrounding the house mirrors the conceptual garden
Bella cultivated within herself—a space of continual growth flourishing through
relationships and collaboration. Anna Tsing’s concept of “assemblages” captures
the essence of this dynamic: “Assemblages are open-ended gatherings. They allow
us to ask about communal effects without assuming them” (Tsing 23). Bella’s
garden is not a static or controlled environment but an evolving ecosystem where
each occupant—human, animal, and hybrid—contributes to and is shaped
by the whole. This scene also evokes the central panel of Hieronymus Bosch’s
The Garden of Earthly Delights. Like Bosch’s fantastical landscape, Bella’s garden
is filled with hybrid beings and unexpected connections, blurring boundaries
between species and forms. However, while Bosch’s work is often read as a moral
allegory warning against indulgence and excess, Bella’s garden offers
a counterpoint. It is a space of curiosity and flourishing, where difference and
collaboration become sources of strength and renewal rather than danger.
Walt Whitman’s Song of Myself provides another lens to understand Bella’s
world. Whitman’s celebration of multitudes resonates deeply with Bella’s garden,
where individuality and community coexist without boundaries: “I am large,
I contain multitudes” (Whitman 13). His belief in the unity of all things aligns
with Bella’s vision of a world thriving on interdependence: “For every atom
belonging to me as good belongs to you” (Whitman 7). Bella’s garden embodies
Whitman’s eternal cycle of life and renewal— “The smallest sprout shows there is
really no death” (Whitman 25). Maybe that is why the audience leaves with
a feeling of settlement
Donna Haraway’s concept of “making kin” offers another way to frame
Bella’s garden as a site of connection and collaboration that transcends traditional
boundaries. Haraway emphasizes that “to renew the biodiverse powers of terra is
53
the sympoietic work and play of the Chthulucene” (Haraway 55). Here, sympoiesis,
or “making-with,” underscores how life flourishes through mutual dependence and
shared creation rather than isolated achievement. Bella’s garden exemplifies this
reformative collaboration by bringing together a multispecies community where
boundaries between human, animal, and hybrid dissolve. Haraway’s concept
of “becoming-with” further emphasizes how relationships across differences create
new capacities and possibilities. In Bella’s garden, these connections suggest
a future of continued transformation, where its occupants—McCandless, Prim,
Toinette, Felicity, and even the hybrid animals—will evolve together, shaping and
being shaped by their shared environment.
3.2 Godwin Baxter
In Poor Things, the relationship between Godwin Baxter and Bella represents
a complex interplay of creation, transformation, and mutual growth. Baxter, a man
deeply scarred by his traumatic past, embarks on an audacious experiment that
merges science, ethics, and parenthood. Bella's creation is not merely a product
of his scientific genius but a force that challenges and reshapes his identity. Their
dynamic becomes a profound exploration of autonomy, memory, and the rejection
of societal constraints, offering a commentary on human potential, the limits
of reformism, and the ethical uncertainties of creation.
Godwin Baxter’s identity as a scientist and creator is indistinguishably linked
to his past. His upbringing, marked by violence and experimentation at the hands
of his father, left permanent scars on his psyche as well as his face. In a raw
confession to McCandless, Godwin reveals the extent of this torment: “Do you
think my father could have branded me with hot irons on the genitals the way he
did if he could not put science and progress first?” (Lanthimos 1:00:00).
This admission not only exposes the utilitarian coldness of his father’s worldview
but also sets up a stark contrast with Godwin’s philosophy of care. Unlike his father,
Godwin rejects control and pressure in favour of nurturing autonomy. This shift,
however, does not erase the ambiguity of his motivations: was his act of creating
Bella driven by loneliness, intellectual curiosity, or a desire to transcend
the limitations of his past? As Vardoulakis suggests, “The very act of creation
destabilizes the division between autonomy and automaticity, forcing us to question
54
whether such creations are ever truly free” (Vardoulakis 141). Bella’s
transformation demonstrates this tension, as her autonomy is both enabled and
shaped by Godwin’s interventions.
William Godwin, a radical political philosopher of the Enlightenment and
father of Mary Shelley—author of Frankenstein—this link between Godwin Baxter
and William Godwin provides a philosophical framework for understanding his
actions. As Glendening notes, “The name ‘Godwin’ comes from William Godwin...
whose ideas Baxter reflects: faith in human nature, a belief that people are warped
by flawed environments and educations, commitment to feminism, aversion
to government, opposition to class distinctions, championing of the poor...
and optimism about the future” (Glendening 80). These ideals, rooted
in the transformative potential of education, inform Godwin’s approach to Bella’s
upbringing. He exemplifies this by believing in non-coercive guidance, advocating
“good behaviour and honest work by example. Never be violent, and never preach”
(Glendening 79). In raising Bella, Godwin rejects the deterministic narratives of his
past, creating an environment free of shame, where Bella can explore her humanity
without fear of judgment or punishment. Flattery emphasizes this unique dynamic:
“Every man in Bella’s life tries to have a certain amount of agency over her, except
her inventor, who she refers to as God. At the beginning of the film, he sees Bella
as an experiment which he does not want to control. But he never stops her from
going on her emotional journey, doesn’t attempt to stop her adventuring. He
becomes a loving father figure with a lot of faults” (Flattery).
Bella’s condition—a body with corporeal memory and a brain as a blank
slate—positions her at the intersection of autonomy and automaticity. Her adult
body carries the echoes of its past life, while her unconditioned mind represents
the potential for reinvention. This interplay highlights the dual role of memory
in her development. Vardoulakis argues that memory functions as both a tool
for liberation and a burden that must be transcended: “To ‘forget nothing’ is to
access the history of oppression and, paradoxically, to unlearn the mechanisms that
reinforce subjugation” (Vardoulakis 263). Godwin embodies this philosophy
through his teachings, such as the doll’s house metaphor. At this moment, Bella is
taught to recognize the universal structures of control, where even the scullery maid
55
and the young mistress are similarly subjugated: “Both are used by other people…
they are allowed to decide nothing for themselves” (Vardoulakis 263).
Nevertheless, Bella’s journey toward autonomy is about confronting these systems
and surpassing them. The paradox of “forgetting nothing” lies in its duality: Bella
must remember the systems of oppression encoded in her body while also
“forgetting” how to act as a tool within those systems.
This tension is further explored through Bella’s political transformation.
Vardoulakis notes that Bella’s change “amounts to a form of amnesia” (Vardoulakis
144), whether caused by Godwin’s surgery or his education. This amnesia enables
Bella to access the history of oppression without being defined by it. However,
it also raises questions about the nature of autonomy, as Bella’s freedom is
premised on interventions by Godwin. Her relationship with him oscillates between
respect and critique, summarised in her desire to “convert him to humanity.”
Calling him “God” acknowledges his role in her liberation but also analyses the
power dynamics characteristic of their relationship.
Godwin’s actions reflect a deeply Romantic ambition to elevate Bella beyond
the constraints of human frailty. Glendening describes this act of creation as
“a Romantic gesture... a defiance of conventional morality in pursuit of sublime
possibility” (Glendening 78). Bella is not simply a being reconstructed for survival
but a prototype for what humanity could become—a new human capable
of transcending inherited prejudices and limitations. Blomeley captures this idea,
noting that “Bella represents an identity…doing away with aspects that are no
longer desired…” (Bloomeley 6). In this way, Bella embodies individual and
collective transformation, positioning herself as a cosmopolitan figure—a “woman
of the world.” However, the limits of Godwin’s philosophy become apparent
as Bella’s autonomy grows. His emotional unravelling after her departure reveals
the depth of his attachment. In an uncharacteristically perceptive moment,
McCandless remarks: “The litters of port, the sobbing I hear at night.” Godwin’s
response— “Good God, man! You prattle like an imbecile. She is gone! I am a man
of science”—underscores his internal conflict (Lanthimos 1:00:00). While he
claims to prioritize scientific progress, his grief reveals a more profound emotional
investment in Bella’s development. Compared with his earlier detachment, this
56
vulnerability reflects his transformation from a detached scientist into a deeply
human figure.
The critique of reformism in Poor Things adds another layer of complexity
to their relationship. While William Godwin’s ideals inspire Baxter’s actions, they
also highlight the limitations of such philosophies when confronted with societal
resistance. Glendening notes that “Poor Things balances its reformism... with
awareness of history's resistance to programs for ethical improvement”
(Glendening 79). Bella’s independence and political action represent these ideals,
but her struggles outside Godwin’s care reveal the difficulty of implementing
systemic change. The world she inhabits resists the utopian possibilities envisioned
by her creator. Ultimately, the relationship between Godwin and Bella surpasses
the conventional roles of creator and creation. Godwin shapes Bella into a figure
of radical autonomy by rejecting pressure and embracing freedom. In turn, Bella’s
growth forces Godwin to confront his limitations, reshaping his identity as a creator
and a guide. Together, they form a connection of reform, embodying the potential
for freedom and human growth in a world uptight with constraints. Poor Things
positions their relationship as a profound commentary on transformation, memory,
and the ethical dimensions of creation, offering a vision of humanity unbound by
inherited norms.
3.3 Conclusion
The narrative of Bella’s journey summarises a deep and complex exploration
of identity, autonomy, and the rejection of inherited societal constraints.
Her transformation from a being controlled by men into a figure of independence
and agency highlights the possibility of freedom. Bella’s metaphorical garden,
a lasting symbol of her cultivated self, emerges as a space where diversity, renewal,
and collaboration thrive—starkly contrasting the rigid, hierarchical worlds she
rejects. This literal and figurative garden stands as a testament to her ability to foster
inclusivity and resist structures of oppression, redefining what it means to live fully
and authentically. Bella’s growth is framed against a backdrop of deeply rooted
norms, exemplified by characters such as General Alfred Bessington and Duncan
Wedderburn. Their obsessive attempts to control Bella’s body and identity illustrate
the fragility of these power structures when confronted with the unpredictable and
57
transformative potential of autonomy. Her refusal to submit to Alfred’s violent
vision of domination underlines her repossession of her identity; Bella not only
resists oppression but transforms it into an opportunity for renewal.
The house of Alfred and its Boschian imagery, representing decay and
repression, serve as a striking counterpoint to Bella’s garden. While Alfred’s
domain reflects the abject—the rejection of life’s fluidity and unpredictability—
Bella’s garden embodies the opposite. Bella’s liberation is as much a personal
triumph as it is a rejection of societal norms that seek to regulate and diminish
human potential. The blood-stained floors of Alfred’s home, once symbols of his
oppressive authority, foreshadow his downfall, while Bella’s garden flourishes as
a dynamic, collaborative space that celebrates difference and possibility.
Central to Bella’s transformation is her journey toward understanding and
claiming her autonomy. Her resistance to Alfred’s attempt to erase her sexuality
and individuality is symbolic of a broader rejection of constructs that view women
as objects to be controlled. Drawing on feminist theorists such as Julia Kristeva and
Hélène Cixous, the narrative explores the abject and the myth of the castrated
woman, revealing how patriarchal fear of female wholeness drives systems
of control. Bella’s refusal to relinquish her “lovely old clitoris” is more than
a moment of defiance—it is a declaration of autonomy that shreds the foundations
of Alfred’s power.
Bella’s transformation also invites reflection on the broader implications
of autonomy and identity in a constrained world. Her journey challenges audiences
to envision a future unbound by inherited norms and binaries, where fluidity and
collaboration replace dominance and control. Bella’s final moments, surrounded
by her closest companions in an idyllic garden, encapsulate the culmination of her
growth—a vision of peace, contentment, and thriving relationships. This scene,
reminiscent of the central panel in Hieronymus Bosch’s The Garden of Earthly
Delights, reimagines the potential of human connection and flourishing. Unlike
Bosch’s moral allegory, which warns against excess, Bella’s garden celebrates
curiosity, diversity, and the transformative power of collaboration.
58
Conclusion
The thesis conveys through the interwoven exploration of art, literature, and
cinema a new definition of humanity’s evolving identity. Through the comparative
analysis of Hieronymus Bosch’s The Garden of Earthly Delights, Yorgos
Lanthimos’ Poor Things, and Walt Whitman’s Song of Myself, this work has
illuminated the possibilities of a new human inhabiting a new garden. As the central
figure, Bella emerges as a radical reimagination of agency, morality, and identity,
challenging rooted societal norms and offering a glimpse into a transformative and
liberatory future. The triadic framework employed—comparing Bosch’s allegorical
medieval vision, Lanthimos’ feminist modern cinematic aesthetic, and Whitman’s
poetic embrace of individuality and universality—highlights humanity’s enduring
quest for meaning, pleasure, and self-determination. Bosch’s triptych, with its
layered symbology of creation, indulgence, and damnation, provides a rich
historical and moral canvas upon which modern narratives continue to build.
Bella’s journey—from her inception as a new Eve, her exploration of pleasure
and agency, to her rebellion against confines—symbolizes a reclamation
of the natural human state, untainted by societal shame or theological guilt. Her
narrative reframes traditional dichotomies: innocence versus corruption, freedom
versus restraint, and nature versus civilization. By embracing the fluidity
of existence and rejecting rigid binaries, Bella embodies the essence of the new
human: a figure who transcends conventional definitions and exists in harmonious
chaos with the sublime and the abject. Whitman’s poetic vision, celebrated for its
radical inclusivity and affirmation of life’s intrinsic value, offers a philosophical
bridge to understanding Bella’s transformation. His celebration of the self and
the collective mirrors Bella’s journey as an individual breaking free from societal
strictures to explore her boundless potential and share it with others in her garden.
Together, the works of Bosch, Lanthimos, and Whitman illustrate a continuum
of artistic and philosophical engagement with what it means to be human, urging
us to reconsider our values and aspirations.
In conclusion, this thesis posits that the new human in a new garden represents
a testament to the transformative power of embracing the uncharted, the unbounded,
and the unapologetically human.
59
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