If sex makes you squeamish — or if you believe that depiction equals endorsement — stay far, far away from the bizarre, enchanting allure of “Poor Things.”

Directed by Yorgos Lanthimos, “Poor Things” follows Bella Baxter (Emma Stone), a young woman in a fantastical Victorian London resurrected, a la Frankenstein, after her suicide by Dr. Godwin Baxter (Willem Dafoe) as she discovers self-determination and sexual liberty. 

There is a dark kicker, though: Bella, pregnant at the time of her death, returns to life thanks to the brain of her unborn fetus, which is implanted into Bella’s adult body. Bella’s new brain develops rapidly as a result, with Bella going from speaking half-baked sentences to existential, philosophical musings in the blink of an eye.

Eventually, Bella discovers self-pleasure — and “furiously jumping” with another. As Bella travels the world with an insatiable appetite for knowledge and learns to love philosophy, she discovers that the world is not all it is made out to be. 

The intentionally provocative and subversive premise is undoubtedly uncomfortable when sex and prostitution are thrown into the mix. The online discourse around the film is frantic, with many unsure whether to qualify the film at worst as sexist child pornography written and directed by men or at best as a voyeuristic fetish piece.

The beauty of “Poor Things,” however uncomfortable the context, lies in the setup’s moral grayness. To investigate the socio-political context of the film is vital — what does consent look like when the mind and body do not develop parallel to one another? — but the core of “Poor Things” is the exploration of how the Other navigates the world in a place not built for them. 

To reduce “Poor Things” solely to a discussion of sex, of which there is admittedly a lot, is reductive. The film engages in a murky hypothetical, but that setting gives way to more interesting conversations about liberation and meaning that transcend traditional notions of gender. Sex, and the amount of sex the film depicts, is a vital vehicle for conversations about how the patriarchy and neurotypical societies ascribe purpose to bodies.

Take, for instance, Bella herself. Stone delivers a once-in-a-lifetime performance as Bella, played with ingenious heart and fervor. Stone nails with uncanny ability each stage of Bella’s mental life: her speech and body slumps as a child; her body prances and contorts with a fine dexterity in ballrooms as an adolescent; and her speech develops bite and wit as she gains full control of her body by the end of the film. 

Stone gives herself completely to Bella, effortlessly outshining all of her past performances with ease. Only Stone could communicate Bella’s sensitive and wonderful ethos, giving way to thoughtful interpretations that Bella is an analogy for transness and autism in a world that constantly fights against self-agency and discovery. 

Bella’s peers further color and complicate her journey. Dafoe gives another memorable performance as Dr. Godwin — complete with makeup that makes his face look slashed through and put back together like a confused Jenga tower — and Mark Ruffalo shines with a frustrated and fragile male ego as Duncan Wedderburn, an English lawyer obsessed with Bella.

Even those with the smallest of roles devour the screen. Ramy Youssef melts as Max McCandles, a sensitive and misguided assistant to Dr. Godwin; Jerrod Carmichael unveils a dark interior as Harry Astley, a pessimistic intellectual who pushes against Bella’s optimism; and Christopher Abbott threatens to steal the entire show in a delicious and secretive third act role.

The entire film is held together with an uproarious screenplay by Tony McNamara, filled with insults and ironic humor so outlandish it is hard to imagine how he invented the material or adapted it from Alasdair Gray’s titular novel. The comedy is often physical — and best experienced blind with one hand over the mouth in shock — but the wordplay is on another level.

When a character calls Bella a “whore,” for instance, Bella responds that she “is the means of her own production.” Perhaps this humor will not land for some — and goes to incredibly dark places facing censorship in some countries — but the wit is relentless if you give yourself over to the dark corners of the mind.

Lighting everything is a lush and imaginative production design effort by Shona Heath and James Price. As Bella travels to different cities, including Lisbon, Paris and Alexandria, each city is represented by tiny dioramas that explode in color. Instead of using CGI, the background landscapes are virtual screens that paint the entire film in a dreamlike haze.

The score, too, adds to the sets. Jerskin Fendrix’s composition grates the ears like a lab experiment gone wrong or a malfunctioning church organ, but it still charms with a hypnotic flare. Each string and cord feels like it is getting plucked from the flesh of your brain, perfectly situated within the created world.

Tying everything together is Lanthimos’ magnificent direction. His signature wide angle and fish lens shots survive under the supervision and long-time collaboration of Robbie Ryan, yet to a tasteful extent compared to his past films. Handheld and static shots flesh out the experience, creating a visual feast for the eyes. Paired with an excellent transition mid-film from black-and-white to color, Lanthimos asserts that he is at the height of his directorial prowess.

If you look past the strangeness of this world and its devices, you will be greeted with an undeniable and unforgettable masterpiece from the best working talent today. This tale is a story that only works in the visual format, a powerful reminder of why entertainment has something to tell us about the human experience.

The last frame of “Poor Things” — not to be spoiled here — is more than a home run finish. It is a triumph of the power of the spirit, a celebration of irony as a form of storytelling. 

Perhaps the poor things in life are not our situational circumstances, or people themselves, but the inability to see the world as a source of joy in the face of all its darkness.