Close My Eyes (1991)

Close My Eyes is one of those rare dramas that dares to look straight at forbidden desire without turning it into cheap sensationalism, and that courage gives it a hypnotic, bruised-romantic power. Stephen Poliakoff directs with lyrical intelligence, letting sensual imagery and quiet, melancholy spaces do as much storytelling as the dialogue, while the camera finds beauty even in discomfort. The performances are the hook: Clive Owen and Saskia Reeves bring a raw, intimate volatility, and Alan Rickman, all cool precision and wounded authority, anchors the film with a masterclass in controlled menace. This isn’t for everyone—its central taboo will repel some viewers—but if you can sit with moral unease in exchange for first-rate acting and a haunting, adult atmosphere, it’s unforgettable.

Close My Eyes is aiming for an adult, psychologically thorny romance about desire, class power, and the kind of obsession that corrodes everyone it touches. It’s undeniably well-acted and stylish in that chilly early-’90s British way, but the film leans so hard on its taboo premise that you may feel the shock value doing more work than the emotional insight. The pacing is deliberate and the tone is unrelentingly heavy, so if you’re looking for catharsis, warmth, or even a clear moral framework, this will likely leave you cold and slightly grimy. If you can handle bleak intimacy and want a provocative character study, there’s craft here; if the subject matter or the sustained discomfort is a dealbreaker, skip it and save yourself the queasy evening.