I've made no secret of my affinity for historical dramas, just look back at my review of City of Life and Death, or even my rather forgiving review of Kinski Paganini for evidence of that. For that reason alone, my interest was piqued about the opportunity to see Russell's version of the events that occurred at Loudon in the 17th century when the conniving Cardinal Richelieu was at the peak of his attempt to consolidate the Catholic church's power in France. The story runs the gamut of corruption, both political and religious, and paints a not so pretty picture of the church's practices in days gone by.
The Devils is based on a true to life story, documented by Aldous Huxley in his book The Devils at Loudon and playwright John Whiting in his stage work, The Devils. The local priest, Urbain Grandier, was accused of making a pact with Satan and contributing to the demonic possession of the entire convent of Ursuline nuns within the walls of Loudon. As a result, he was tried and convicted of commerce with the Devil and burned at the stake. According to Huxley, the entire event was a contrivance of Richelieu, who sought to destroy small, self-governing localities like Loudon in order to corral power centrally with the King of France, who he held in sway. The conspiracy drove the city into a fit of madness, and the public exorcism of the Ursuline nuns of Loudon became a tourist attraction and the stuff of blasphemous legend.
The story in and of itself is quite compelling, and apparently the description of the public exorcism itself was pretty graphic in nature in the texts, but there is nothing like a good film to truly bring history to life. Ken Russell's production of The Devils is one of the great historical dramas, and he managed to take an interesting and outrageous story and breathe emotional life into it without compromising the spectacle.
One integral part of The Devils' success on screen was the art direction of a young Derek Jarman (Caravaggio, Jubilee), who did his first film work on Russell's masterpiece, and what a spectacular job it was. Jarman created what is among the first post-modern architectural cities on the backlot at Pinewood, and it is striking from the very first frame. Shining white stone towers and walls protect Loudon from the outside world, and the outside world from Loudon, and the design of these buildings is unforgettable. Jarman's work on The Devils is truly among the finest art design I've ever seen. Between his sets and Shirley Russell's costume design, Ken Russell had every advantage going into this production.
All that Russell needed to put his grand plan into play was a cast that could understand and bring life to these characters who'd been dead for hundreds of years. Oliver Reed as the libertine priest Urbain Grandier is a pulsating mass of powerful charisma who commands the screen even from afar throughout the film. Playing in opposition to him is the legendary Vanessa Redgrave as the nun Sister Jeanne of the Angels, whose forbidden sexual obsession with Grandier collapses inward on itself in a black hole of corruption and opens the door for Richelieu's agents to destroy Loudon and its sovereignty.
These two powerhouses turn in career best performances, and form the core of an acting company rich with talent and understanding for Ken Russell's vision. While Reed's performance as Grandier at times both massively powerful and remarkably tender, Redgrave's performance is absolutely fearless and every bit as commanding as Reed's. Her Sister Jeanne is a wretched, hunchbacked creature, for whom the sisterhood is an escape from a society in which she would only be a burden to her family and a person to pity and mock. Her ability to commit to the excesses that Russell's film demanded is equal in every way to Reed's contribution to the film, and both are spellbinding.
The controversy that met this film before it was even released is no surprise, even in this mildly truncated version that matches the original UK cinema release it is quite shocking. The fact that a major studio, Warner Brothers, put up the money to produce it at all is perplexing, but I suppose Hollywood believed itself to be a braver place back then. In spite of the artistic license taken, and the spectacle of The Devils, Ken Russell always insisted that he stuck to the facts, and I tend to believe him. It is these kinds of stories that often go untold because they are too outrageous to be believed, but whatever position you take on the validity of the facts, the power of The Devils cannot be denied. This is a film that demands your attention, it demands your submission, and it rewards both with a sublime experience unlike any other.
The Discs:
BFI have released The Devils on a two disc DVD special edition. Many people, including myself, had hoped for a Blu-ray release, but alas, it isn't in the cards. The film's rights are with Warner Brothers, who find the film so distasteful in any form that they put a number of stipulations on BFI contract which disallowed the release of a Blu-ray or the film in it's most complete 2004 reconstruction. Be that as it may, this is the definitive release of The Devils that we are likely to see for a long time, the film in its original X certificate form from 1971 is here and it looks fantastic. Many of us have come to expect miracles of older features, and I can't help thinking that The Devils would have looked incredible in high definition, but this looks better than it ever has on home video and I'm happy to have it in my collection. The detail is as good as you can get in SD, and the colors are remarkably bright, I see very little in the way of any kind of distracting print damage, and overall the visual presentation is very beautiful. The original audio is equally effective, with the score from Peter Maxwell Davies often taking center stage in a powerhouse performance of its own. I could not have asked for a better DVD presentation of the film, and it is one I'll revisit often.
The Devils is a film that has often been written about and discussed in its absence from the home video market, and BFI have wisely collected several choice bits for this incredible edition. On the discs we have four different video pieces that address the film from different angles and one Russell short film from very early in his career.
The first is a documentary titled Hell on Earth, directed by Paul Joyce and hosted by eminent UK critic, Mark Kermode. This is the most complete look at production of The Devils and its travails at the hands of the studio and the BBFC. Hell on Earth provides a wonderful look at the film and its place in history by interviewing Ken Russell and several members of his principal cast as well as critics and theologians. This is required viewing for anyone with an interest in the story behind both the tale of Urbain Grandier and The Devils itself, remarkable stuff. Sadly, the footage (Rape of Christ) that Warners wouldn't allow to be released as part of the film is also missing from this documentary and they wouldn't allow its dissemination in any form, BFI tried, though. There are snippets, but the most controversial bits have been excised.
Next up is a vintage featurette titled Director of Devils, which talks with and about Ken Russell as he and his team were in production on The Devils. This featurette is a spectacular document of a team of artists in their primes. Featuring contemporary interviews with the composer, director, editor, and others, it is a wonderful look at the creation of this masterpiece. Following that is some 8mm set footage from editor, Michael Bradsell, who narrates the 7 or so minutes of silent footage. Last is an interview between Russell and Kermode following one of the extremely rare showings of the 2004 reconstruction of The Devils, which treads much of the same ground as Hell on Earth, though Ken Russell is quite feisty, even in his old age, and makes for a wonderful interview.
Last, but not least, is the magnificent booklet that BFI have compiled for this presentation. We get writings from Mark Kermode, Michael Brooke, and others on the significance of the film and Russell as a whole. There are also essays detailing the minutiae of the censorship battle between the unholy trinity of Russell, the BBFC, and Warner Brothers. There is also a nice little piece on Oliver Reed by Michael Brooke, as well as a brief synopsis and analysis of the short, Amelia and the Angel, which was the early short that got Russell noticed and hired for the first time. I love booklets, and anyone who has read any of my reviews of BFI's other releases should know that they are right up there with Criterion and Masters of Cinema in their curation of quality materials for their releases.
If it wasn't evident already, this is a hearty recommendation of The Devils on DVD from BFI. I know that there are a handful of diehards out there who insist on holding their breath until the film is released in its 2004 version on Blu-ray. Don't be foolish, prying this edition from the jaws of WB was apparently not an easy feat, and the film deserves love. Buy The Devils on DVD, do it now.