The science fiction of the day, reacting to the sexual revolution, took matters to extremes. The novel chillingly posited blind promiscuity as a tool of social control. But because of AIDS, open marriages don't flourish as they once did, even though the subject of open marriage is used by tabloid talk shows to make audiences froth. Cronenberg courts spookiness with the bed games the couple plays, but the resonance isn't as strong as it once might have been. Crash 's visions of scarred lovers is far more timely, however.
Scars make a love object hard and wounded at the same time.
When self-inflicted, as in piercing and tattoos, the scars frame that sexually irresistible state of being young and doomed. Almasy is, like Vaughan, so scarred that he doesn't feel any pain anymore. Crash isn't as much of a good time as, say, the other strange and sexually twisted signpost of 1997, Lost Highway . David Lynch's heavy, beautifully composed surfaces conceal a sense of passion and choler. Lynch's fury and trepidation are something of a comfort when you're out having your mind probed at an art movie.