The Devils

It felt pretty special to be watching the uncensored, director’s cut of Ken Russel’s 1971 classic The Devils on the big screen – especially with a packed audience. You could feel a shared sense of enthusiasm and discomfort. Painting a fascinating portrait of 17th century France – in which Protestants are being slaughtered, Catholicism is gaining power and clashing with that of the state – the film’s focus is on the figure of father Urbain Grandier (Oliver Reed). Yearned for by seemingly all the women in the town Loudun. In a career-defining performance, Vanessa Redgrave plays Sister Jeanne des Anges who becomes tormented by the biblical sexual fantasies she has involving Grandier.

The story becomes one about power and the many ways in which it can be wielded. We witness power being gained and manipulated through religious practices, sexual guilt, patriarchy and superstition. If you’re a fan of horror, 70s cinema, maximalist cinema or even British cinema and have not watched this movie, now is the best time to do so.

The Devils is a heightened work on every conceivable level. And because of this, no other movie operates at this level of emotional emphasis, sexual terror, opera. It’s a stunning movie even without the addition of its most controversial sequences. But to bear witness to the full vision in all its purity was thrilling. Shocking would be too gentle a word to describe the viewing experience. And what might make it even more shocking, especially to modern viewers, is that the film also has a real sense of humour – a cruel and strange one.

The dialogue, to use as an example, strikes the perfect balance of sounding like a conceivably spoken dialect, whilst also being acidic and darkly humorous. There are many aspects of the filmmaking, such as this, that encapsulate Russell’s tendencies for formal rebellion. Yet crucially, part of its staying power is that it functions so well as a historic epic in addition to its studio Surrealism and pointed transgression. Every element goes hand in hand.

Having just rewatched it, I couldn’t help but come away with an unusual question: is this movie fun? I ask because, despite the viscera and the constant bombardment of brutality, every performance is big and every directorial decision elevated. It’s also, of course, camp and colourful. Frankly, no other movie is speaking this film’s maximalist language, and to me, that’s invigorating.

And yet somehow, in spite of this maximalism, every shot feels completely deliberate and every edit predetermined. There’s a tactility to the sequencing and blocking that is frankly lacking from many movies being made today. The 4K restoration is doing wonderful things for images that were already some of the most striking in British cinema. For instance, Derek Jarman’s heralded production design feels as ingenious as ever.

Broad, overwhelming and completely sadistic, nothing can prepare you for the experience one has with a first viewing of The Devils. I shouldn’t really count it in my overall ranking of this year’s LFF since it is definitively a 1971 release – but I will say that there’s only been one or two other contemporary movies at the festival that rival it on a level of craft.