Review: The Devils (1971)

Directed by: Ken Russell
Starring: Oliver Reed, Vanessa Redgrave, Michael Gothard
Written by: Ken Russell
Music by: Peter Maxwell Davies
Country: United Kingdom
Not currently available on physical media
IMDb

Ken Russell’s controversial discourse on the insanity wrought by the fear of God is full of sound and fury, signifying a whole lot of stuff. Based on the life and death of Urbain Grandier, a 17th century Roman Catholic priest accused of witchcraft, The Devils is the visual and auditory embodiment of religious ecstasy, political hypocrisy, and the cruel, wanton ends to which each are wielded. Oliver Reed is Grandier, a pious but sinful man who regularly engages in carnal activity yet is beloved in his town of Loudun. Reed’s brilliantly nuanced performance is full of prideful grandstanding cut by quiet moments of reflection and honesty about his flaws, even as they lead to his painful, humiliating end. Vanessa Redgrave is equally sterling as Sister Jeanne des Anges, riddled with pain from a hunched back and a crippling sexual obsession with Grandier. The Devils is a film laden with mad energy, whether channeled via Grandier’s pulpitting, Sister Jeanne’s writhing incantations and moans, witch-hunter Father Barre’s maniacal inquisition, or the cackling sadism of a pair of Loudun’s local “exorcists.” Peter Maxwell Davies provides a shrieking cacophony of a score that’s all metal grinding, brass blaring, and atonal strings and winds. Everyone is enraptured by power, piety, or passion or combination of the three, and it leads to some austere nastiness. This movie was heavily censored and banned in many territories upon release, and to this day there isn’t a truly uncut version available to watch. The version that’s popped up on streaming platforms, though definitely suggestive of cruel acts and blasphemy, isn’t particularly obscene. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t powerful: Russell sharply critiques the perils of both blind servitude to and willful manipulation of the church and the state. This is a masterpiece in all elements of its execution that’s wondrous, harrowing, exhausting, and shrewdly, mournfully affecting.

Overall rating: 9.5 out of 10