Written and directed by Ken Russell
For something to really ruffle feathers, it can’t merely depict scandalous things or denigrate institutions held in high regard by toppling them into the mud and rolling them around. If you’re just an unruly child running crayons over white walls, the reaction will only amount to brief shock followed by a sigh, leaving your wrongdoing not long for this world.
No, it requires confidence and intent. You have to unleash termites in the basement, turn the gas burners on full, jam a newspaper down the toaster and then walk away.
Ken Russell’s The Devils, scandalous and controversial upon release, is a dramatized account of a real event, donning a cloak of historical facts to smuggle in a whole bunch more, which in my opinion is the only way to use the “Based on a true story”-disclaimer.
It tells the story of Urbain Grandier, a Catholic priest in 17th century France who was accused of witchcraft in the wake of women falling under spells of possession. In Russell’s hands, however, the forces of his undoing are political, as the Catholic church sees the city of which Grandier serves as de facto leader as a threat to their authority, with its high walls and tolerant view of subreligions like Protestantism. No evil spirits here, just evil men abusing their power.
In the guise of Oliver Reed, Grandier is charismatic, vital, powerful. He’s also an unrepentant horndog with no regard for his vow of celibacy, seeing it merely as a measure of religious interpretation. Many women pass by his bedside, and he sends them on their way with a sermon absolving both, but mostly himself, of anything that might threaten their heavenly afterlife.
A seclusive convent operates in this stronghold town of Loudon, overseen by an austere hunchbacked mother superior played by Vanessa Redgrave. Unknown to most, her stern face and withering looks is a face for something covetous and lustful, because she’s obsessed with Grandier.
Trembling with desire for this manly man, her hump becomes a metaphor for this deep shame she feels because of her ungodly wants. In her, the Catholic Church finds the loose brick to bring the walls of Loudon tumbling down, twisting her shame into an accusation at Grandier and commencing a literal witchhunt where every accusation is a confession, the avarice as plain as the political machinations.
There’s also nudity, sexual imagery involving religious figures, frolicking nuns, and a broadside against those in power, depicting the Catholic Church as wannabe gods in small shoes, and the French monarchy as a kindergarten. The only pious man in The Devils is the one admitting to being sinful.
Ken Russell produces one of those mercurial mad things with The Devils, a movie that’s part horror, part drama, part comedy, and something undefinable, a biting satire that spits on its subjects too, a fox in a hen house.
Irreverent, aggressive, almost belligerent, Russell’s movie is a gleeful fire and you’ll have to commit yourself to a lot of hooting, hollering, and carrying on in this open hate letter to the powers that be, with their hypocrisy, corruption, and thinly disguised power grabs.
Using more than just provocative imagery, Russell stress tests his audience by subjecting you to plenty of the grotesque, often taking the shape of sexualized violence towards women, even if there’s plenty of hurt to spare for men as well. There are plenty of not-nice things put on film in The Devils, but they happen in the shadow of the wider abuse being perpetrated, the more sinister attack being carried out on a societal scale.
The Devils reveals its true cynical face as it goes on, and it’s easy to understand why, as it seems aware its excoriating critique would not be heeded. Take it from Grandier, speaking of the Church’s talk of a unified France: “Every time there’s a so-called nationalist revival, it means one thing: somebody is trying to seize control of the entire country.” Feels familiar, more than 50 years on.
There’s clearly a method to Russell’s madness that upgrades the provocations from infantile transgressions and makes an actual movie out of things. More than just a keen writer, he also proves himself a filmmaker with an eye for opulence, a keen sense for composition and an eye for directing at scale, with massive sets and heaving crowds turned into a roiling sea rather than crashing waves. Even when dozens of extras fill the screen, you never feel lost in what Russell’s trying to show you.
Far too considered to be a facetious affront and far too organized to be a crazy accident, The Devils is genuine and bold satire, able to shock you to make a point, and then construct a bitter treatise on sexuality, morality, shame, politics, and integrity.
Mikkel Frederiksen 