What sense would you do without? (Assuming you had to let one go, that is) My first thought would be hearing, although I love music. I truly envy those who are able shut out random cacophony. Damn, that comes in handy in cubicle prison. Then again, my movie consumption and appreciation would curtail considerably without the sound. I think in the end, smell has to go first, and not because I don’t appreciate or find it useful, but because, let’s face it, the array and acuteness of unpleasant smells outweighs the magnificence of global bouquets, does it not?
Earth is undergoing a sensory epidemic in Perfect Sense. And, no, you don’t get to choose. Smell is, indeed, the first to go. Without warning, the victim will immediately feel a surge of melancholy –which must look very odd on some people, especially politicians—and then *poof* the nose is there, but doesn’t work. Michael the chef (Ewan McGregor) is immediately in less demand; Susan the epidemiologist (Eva Green) is, like everybody else, looking for answers. But being an epidemiologist, she’ll probably get closer than average folks.
Michael’s restaurant is next to Susan’s flat. Their meet-cute is bumming a cigarette out the window. Both of these self-described “assholes” are bad at relationships; is this exactly the right time or exactly the wrong time to get together? And the focus of Perfect Sense is somehow right where it ought to be – on Michael and Susan. Yeah, suddenly nobody can smell. Oh well. Maybe it will come back. For a planetary tragedy … for empirical evidence that the human species is horribly flawed … Perfect Sense wants us to know that, huh, maybe Susan is starting to fall for Michael. Hmm, maybe not.
The loss of taste comes with the ugly reiterated rejoinder: “fat and flour.” That’s all humans need, really. If taste doesn’t matter, fat and flour (and water) is all you need to stay alive. The orgy of ravish that heralds this loss of taste is as bizarre as any scene you may indulge in your lifetime. Just like loss of smell was preceded 
by melancholy, loss of taste is preceded by the ultra-munchies. Anything that is edible is fair game; manners, societal taboos and class be damned. And when it’s over, we still have Susan and Michael. Are they a couple yet, or just having sex?
The focus on the romantic pair in Perfect Sense brought a strange optimism to a thoroughly depressing plot. Perfect Sense could easily have been as depressing as The Road or Blindness or Requiem for a Dream (all films I respect but have no desire to see again). And yet, there’s no question we feel more for the couple and their resolution than for, say, all of humanity. I don’t have a problem with that. Yes, it seems like Perfect Sense missed the bigger picture, but when senses are slowly restricted, the picture (i.e. your world view) narrows as well. I’m not sure I want to see this one again any more than the three mentioned in this paragraph, but it got me to feel in an entirely different way than I’d have guessed.
Without smell
Not so swell
Burnt popcorn?
Meh, oh well
Without taste
Food replaced
Soda, candy
Ne’er more be faced
Without sound
Look around
The age pre-talkies
Once more found
Without sight
Think I might
Skip out on film
Pfft, yeah, right.
Without touch
Don’t feel much
Movie seat
Now lifelong crutch
Rated R, 92 Minutes
D: David Mackenzie
W: Kim Fupz Aakeson (When your middle name is “Fupz,” is that information we all gotta know?)
Genre: Now you taste it, now you don’t
Type of person most likely to enjoy this film: Upbeat doomsayers
Type of person least likely to enjoy this film: The fearful
