<p> The prostitutes in <em>House of Pleasures</em> are working on the high end of their profession in Belle Époque Paris. The house is a marbled mansion and the clientele is well shod and wealthy. And yet the series of vignettes framed by intimations of changing times in director Bertrand Bonello's film are sinister as well as glamorous. </p> <p>The girls and the customers form a cross-section of a barely concealed fin de siecle underground of desire. “Last night was a real freak show,” one of the women says as they laugh among themselves. At least one of them is being escorted by a gentleman outside the house's walls (and she hopes this is her ticket out); another girl is butchered by a wealthy maniac. Sadism and sympathy mingle with boredom, but the customer has the last word: “I pay, I decide.” </p> <p>Beautifully visual with a poetic rhyme and rhythm of imagery, <em>House of Pleasures </em>unfolds in an Alma-Tadema twilight of pre-Raphaelite faces, colors and textures. The occasional burst of James Brown and the Moody Blues at first seems an anachronistic jolt, but helps tie together with the film's climactic theme: things change, things remain the same. <em>House of Pleasures</em> is out on DVD. </p>
