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Quills
***1/2
Rated on a 4-star
scale
Screening venue: Odeon (Liverpool City Centre)
Released in the UK by Fox on February 2, 2001; certificate 18; 124 minutes;
country of origin USA; aspect ratio 1.85:1
Directed by Philip Kaufman; produced by
Julia Chasman, Peter Kaufman, Nick Wechsler.
Written by Doug Wright; based on his play.
Photographed by Rogier Stoffers; edited by Peter
Boyle.
CAST....
Geoffrey Rush..... Marquis de Sade
Kate Winslet..... Madeleine
Joaquin Phoenix..... Abbe Coulmier
Michael Caine..... Dr. Royer-Collard
Billie Whitelaw..... Madame Le Clerc
Amelia Warner..... Simone
"Quills" presents a Marquis de Sade
who knows his mind is warped, comments on it and jokes about it; he's smarter
than any of his opponents and even, oh yes, less twisted. It's doubtful this
was the case, but that's not the point -- this toned-down Marquis is a symbol,
and the film is not a biopic but a parable about censorship. I am reminded
of last year's best picture, the Sex Pistols documentary "The Filth and the
Fury", also about art winding up the establishment by breaking ludicrous
taboos, exposing hypocrisy, pushing the right buttons, and doing it with
perverse humour. Okay, so the Pistols were not genuinely depraved, and the
Marquis was, but the anger of authorities is usually less to do with justice
than with preserving stuffy propriety.
The film takes place in the Charenton mental
institution in 1804, where de Sade (Geoffrey Rush) writes his graphic works
of lurid sexuality and sneaks them out to publishers with the aid of a helpful
and curious young laundry girl (Kate Winslet). The Abbe Coulmier (Joaquin
Phoenix) disapproves of his patient but sympathises with him, talking to
him in a manner that respects his intelligence while attempting to calm him
down.
This is not good enough for Napoleon, who, offended
by de Sade's latest publication, "Justine", sends the callous Dr. Royer-Collard
(Michael Caine) to take charge. It is not without irony that I almost used
the adjective 'sadistic' to describe Royer-Collard, a word that was named
for de Sade. Royer-Collard rants about the sick mind of the Marquis but his
own fetishes are just as perverted -- his curative methods include mutilating
patients and chaining them to a rack that dips in and out of hot water; his
sexual practices involve forcefully shafting a 16-year old convent
girl.
"Quills" contains a lot of humour, with the Marquis
running circles around everyone he speaks to with great constructions of
ironic banter, and in one classic scene we see him stage a none-too-subtle
play starring his fellow inmates that satirises Royer-Collard's medical methods
and bedroom behaviour; the contrasting looks of glee on de Sade's face, seething
rage on that of the doctor and shock on every onlooker is expectable but
nonetheless priceless. This aspect of the movie is what draws us in, and
then its power comes in the second half, when emotions get more serious,
and repression leads to grand frustration on all sides -- at one point de
Sade's writing privileges get taken away and he resorts to writing over his
clothes in his own blood. Royer-Collard's final action regarding the Marquis's
writing, which I will not reveal, is a huge shock that nonetheless rings
of absolute truth -- after all, nobody who favours censorship has much capacity
for analytical thought, and so ultimately it's more to do with trends in
moral guardianship than genuine ideological conviction.
Kaufman here reminds us why he was once one of
the most high profile directors; he lets Doug Wright's beautiful, witty dialogue
snap back and forth in such intelligent, engulfing rhythms that we forget
we're watching actors at all, let alone actors playing figurative roles --
"Quills" never feels preachy or contrived because the drama moves along so
naturally and energetically. The performances are constantly interesting
-- Caine, dressed like Ebenezer Scrooge, has the constant expression of someone
arrogantly proud of being part of the system; Phoenix is heartbreaking as
a man who becomes torn disastrously between loyalty to his religious oaths
and his heart's liberal tendencies; and Geoffrey Rush enjoys himself a lot
as the Marquis, with a malevolent glint in his eye as he luxuriates in wicked
tomfoolery and ignores the pain of his madness for as long as he can by turning
it into sick prose. I should also note that no movie featuring Kate Winslet
in a tight, sweltering corset can ever be all that bad -- an observation
the Marquis de Sade would no doubt respect.
COPYRIGHT© 2001 Ian
Waldron-Mantgani
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