On Friday, I continued my Ken Russell odyssey
with The Devils.
The Devils takes place in France during a
period of détente in the religious wars of the 17th century.
Oliver Reed stars as a priest, sexual libertine, and sometimes
cad who has convinced himself that sexual indiscretion is the
ticket to real communion with God. His physical beauty not only
works up the lust of an order of Ursuline nuns (who indulge
themselves in an elaborate sexual pantomime in his honor), it
also intensely itches the repressed desires of the hunchbacked
Mother Superior, played by Vanessa Redgrave. When Reed takes a
wife (performing the ceremony himself and perhaps consummating
the union in his own church), Redgrave goes nuts with jealousy,
at which point all hell breaks loose with a string of sinister
deeds by a unified Church and State. Redgrave contrives a story
alleging that Reed seduced her and several nuns into a sex filled
simulation of the crucifixion and then repeats this allegation
while submitting to a gruesome exorcism, which causes Reed to be
indicted as an agent of the devil. These events are presided over
by a sadistic inquisitor working under the aegis of the French
Cardinal and with the acquiescence of the King, and ultimately
they combine to bring about the true objective of the State and
Church: namely, to defeat Reed's pacifistic influence on his
parish (at Loudon) and to insight its RC populace against the
Protestant minority.
Russell doesn't merely meditate on the role of
sexual repression, dishonesty, and exploitation in the
machinations of Church and State, but, instead, throws his camera,
cast, and crew into an uncompromising incantation of age-old
religious and political horrors as the plot unfurls in a series
of disturbing and highly controversial images: Reed is tortured
and burned at the stake, the Mother Superior is forcibly douched
with heated holy water, and nuns galore run about naked in an
orgiastic frenzy . . . among other things. And herein lies The
Devils' admirable strengths and weaknesses. Russell's lack of
restraint is alternately gutsy and garish. You can't help but
admire the chutzpah he employs to paint his picture of the
diabolical apparatus of Church and State in 17th century France.
At the same time, however, you must concede that his portrayal is
didactic and heavily lopsided to boot. As Russell's shocking
images roll forth, you nod your head and acknowledge each point
being made without fully forming an emotional attachment to any
of the characters or content involved in the events portrayed. As
a result, you are left somewhat indifferent to the film and not
overly inclined to use it as a touchstone for further
contemplation of the issues raised by it.
Still, The Devils was a landmark achievement
that should be of interest to fans of 1970's film.
