" The Devils" (1971) d/ Ken Russell

Before the inevitable influx of knee jerk religious zealotry comes raining down on this post, I've scheduled some flagellation in my personal fornicatory at the hands of twin raven-haired Wop-ettes in nun costumes for myself, having allowed such a blasphemous and incendiary piece of cinematic filth to slither it's evil way among my list of all-time favorite movies. Yea, though I greatly admire the powerful visual style of directorial conspirator, Ken Russell, who also hath writ the screenplay ( based upon the Aldous Huxley novel, The Devils of Loudon),  I shall also give thanks and praise to the dramatic contributions of those actors who would bring these shocking images to light, specifically Oliver Reed, though Michael Gothard, Dudley Sutton, Gemma Jones, and a hunchbacked Vanessa Redgrave all compliment Reed in supporting roles here. Riveting, disturbing stuff whose punch has lost very little, if any, potency, despite the passing of forty-plus years and countless censor's cuts, though one should pay heed to the poster's warning, as this is definitely not a film for every one...


I had a hunch that Sister Jeanne (Vanessa Redgrave) would be back...
The time is the seventeenth century, the place is France. At one of King Louis XIII's less masculine get together's, Cardinal Richelieu is buzzing about uppity protestants, suggesting the country's city fortifications all be torn down, to which the monarch agrees, excluding the town of Loudon, of course, as he had made a promise not to do such a thing, to it's governor, in the past. Only the governor has since turned his toes up, leaving the city's control in the hands of Urbain Grandier(Reed), a priest who's as insatiable for political power as he is for snug cunny, as evidenced by the number of Loudon women who daydream about receiving the holy in-out from him (even hunchbacked women of the cloth like Sister Jeanne(Redgrave) wouldn't mind drying his feet after a lengthy water walk with their scarlet tresses), and the growing number of rival priest's daughters suddenly pregnant at his doing is nothing to sneeze at, either.


"Take this spear wound, all of you, and lick obscenely at it, as though it were a vagina.", whispers dream-Jesus(Ollie Reed).
When an elitist Baron's (Sutton) attempt to carry out orders to bring down Loudon's walls are thwarted by a steadfast Grandier, backed by the city's army, he joins forces with Father Mignon (Murray Melvin), whose pregnant daughter has been rejected by Grandier. Meanwhile, Grandier has secretly married another woman (Jones), the news of which bodes ill upon the fragile psyche of Sister Jeanne, who implicates the priest in all manner of blasphemous charges to Mignon und Baron, who, in turn, enlists the services of a lanky drink of water inquisitor named Father Barre (Gothard) to get to the bottom of it all, even if it means pumping foul enemas up the asses of every nun at the convent in doing so.The King shows up in disguise during an exorcism, claiming to have a relic containing the blood of Christ to use in the cleansing spiritual rite, but after Barre appears to have used it successfully to clear the sisters of demons, the monarch flips it open to reveal it was empty in the first place. Good one, Louie. The still-"possessed" sisters pull the crucified statue of Christ from the wall and rape it in every conceivable manner, to celebrate. Grandier and his wife return just in time to catch the party, and are subsequently taken into custody by the Baron's soldiers. All that follows, you should really experience for yourselves.


Q: How many of these women are committing blasphemy? A: Nun.
Religious faith is a funny thing. Some people are content to believe what they believe and carry on their lives in a relatively normal fashion, while some treat their faith as an elitist badge of authority over others who don't share them, and some commit unspeakable crimes against their fellow man within the protective umbrella of their religious teachings. Who's wrong? Who's right? Let 'em scrap it out among themselves until the end of time if it's so important to them to find out what's waiting for them after they're gone. I'm more focused on enjoying the finer things in what life I've got left to live, with the people I care about, that care about me. I think if everybody gave that a shot,  we might be alright, after all. But we're just humans, hahaha. So we won't. I'd be more worried that you didn't give The Devils a shot, though, as it really is an extraordinary film, worth all the discourse and analysis one could possibly invest in it, and then some. Once you have, let me know what you think. Obviously, four wops.


"Is it too late to pass on martyrdom for the five quid and what's behind curtain number two?"

"Altered States" (1980) d/ Ken Russell

Time to tune in, turn on, and drop out here at the Wop with tonight's review, a sometimes dazzlingly perceptive inward journey into man's baser self through the abuse of heavy hallucinogenic drugs and sensory deprivation tanks, as documented through the artful lens of Ken Russell, no stranger himself to bizarre visuals. I walked down to the American Theater for this one, upon release in 1980, and though I was expecting something more from the production, the one sheet still ended up on display in my room for years, as the black sheep of my collection ( long since been replaced  by 'Student Bodies' and 'Poliziotto superpiu', if you're keeping score at home).FX god Dick Smith provides some unforgettable work, as usual, in supplying amorphous face-trippers, cracked bodysuit bitches, schitzy proto-humans, and more, for a game cast headed by William Hurt and Blair Brown, .

"...now cue that copy of "Burnt Weenie Sandwich", maaan, I'm peaking balls!"
Ed Jessup (Hurt) is the local college's Abnormal Psych professor extraordinaire, and as such he's the envy of his colleagues, Arthur and Mason (Bob Balaban, Charles Haid) and the love object of fellow brainiac, Emily (Brown), who somehow convinces him to marry her amid his exhausting studies on schizophrenia and much sweaty couch sex. While grooving his days away in a sensory deprivation tank he surmises that even sleep states of consciousness can be brought to the surface, and pisses off to Mexico to partake in a hallucinogenic Indio mushroom party to prove his point. After tripping his face off in the middle of the jungle (hard, bro), the violent fungal roller coaster ride awakens a sudden desire to devolve into a naked, howling caveman in the prof. His desire quickly becomes obsession, as he ignores the pleas of reason from his assistants, and his now ex-wife and kids in favor of a canning jar fulla the stuff the tribe's medicine man must've let him bring home(!).


I'm not exactly sure what she's doing here, but I like it a lot.
Before too long, Eddie's running around, screeching like a monkey on bath salts, clobbering campus guards to near-death (Ohhh, that explains how Jessup and Co. are allowed back into the campus lab afterwards, he only nearly killed people in a drugged-out haze, gotcha.) and biting antelopes at the zoo, which naturally leads his wife and assistants to 180° their positions on the potentially deadly experiments, now enthusiastically supporting his decision to go ahead and fuck with his inner chemistry like a mad Russian Roulette player. He begins to lose control of his transformations, leading to a knock down, drag out orgy for the eyes as he becomes a shapeless lump of humanity, while his ex-wife naturally realizes that stripping nude and becoming a neon lightning-being is the only way she can rescue him from the mental abyss...


There's something you don't see every day...
A wee Drew Barrymore briefly appears as Hurt's daughter, and since we've never mentioned her before here and she's clearly too hot for such an injustice to continue, I threw that in. Schizophrenic as Syd Barrett in a cellar full o' psilocybin, States never seems certain of its own identity, mixing appropriately trippy imagery and lengthy moral tirades about the dangers of undertaking such a reflective journey, with mixed results in the end. Normally, reporting on Russell's usual level of artistic flair in the director's chair plus solid performances from Hurt and Brown and the Kafkaesque Smith effects work would merit a higher ratings scale score than the pedestrian deuce, but the meh feeling I'm left with afterwards, even after repeated viewings over the years, demands that I give it such. That said, I'll still watch it again sometime in the future, and you should probably give it a look, as well, if any of what I've just discussed grabs you.


Three decades later, we finally see the devastating long term effects of repeated exposure to Lipps, Inc.

R.I.P. Ken Russell

3 July 1927 – 27 November 2011

"Tommy"(1975)d/Ken Russell

Those of you who've been around here longer than a minute might remember me tackling Russell's other 70's mindfuck "Lisztomania"(1975),so it's only part of a delicate Libran balance to go after rock supergroup,The Who's "Tommy"(1975),next,no?Forget the Broadway musical,forget the 1969 stoner epic double lp parlayed into a groovy live performance at dirty hippie-fest Woodstock,the fact is you've never experienced Tommy,until you've seen it through the eye/lens of visionary kook Ken Russell.It's a feature length music video full of cult cameos that's so brilliantly demented,visually astounding,and so blatantly over-the-top that after seeing it,you may swear off blotter acid for good.Yeah,right.And I'm Meher Baba.All of the familiar anthems off the groundbreaking album were re-recorded,and in some cases drastically reworked especially for the film,both by The Who themselves and by the celebrity-laden cast which includes Eric Clapton,Tina Turner,Oliver Reed,Ann- Margret,and Jack Nicholson.I'll just let that sink in for a second.Oliver Reed and Jack Nicholson belting out Who classics.You can bet that guitarist Pete Townsend's partial deafness/tinnitus must stem from hearing saucy Jack painfully cackle "Go to the Mirror" at close range.In the cable box days,I'm not sure which I sat through more times:"Day of the Animals"(1977),"Meatballs"(1979),Where The Buffalo Roam"(1980),or this.

Nevermind being raped by Uncle Ernie(Keith Moon),Tommy's(Roger Daltrey)obviously catatonic from having to hear Oliver Reed sing.
By the time Nora(sex kitten Ann-Margret)gives birth to her son,Tommy,her husband,a fighter pilot(Robert "Jesus of Nazareth" Powell)is shot down in battle and believed to be deceased.She raises the podgy-faced little bleeder alone until she meets "Uncle Frank"(Oliver Reed) at a holiday camp,a slick talking snake oil salesman who succeeds in seducing the scarlet-haired siren.One particularly ominous,stormy night,Tommy has a nightmarish dream about his scar sporting pop returning home,but when he runs to his mother's bedroom for comfort,he finds Uncle Frank adding the proverbial genetic cream to Nora's cup of gynecological coffee,if you catch my drift.The trauma,paired with an appalling rendition of a classic Who tune "sung" by Margret and Reed,sends the boy into a psychological self-imposed sensory deprivation tank,making him deaf,dumb,and blind to the outside world from that moment on.Kind of the same effect that watching the Last House on the Left remake,beginning to end, would have on your humble narrator over here,but I digress...Years pass by,and Tommy matures into a frizzy-headed thirty-one year old hippie(Roger Daltrey),though Nora and Frank hardly age during that period.Nora is wrought with guilt over her son's inability to react to external stimuli,and turns to several questionable sources for help with his mental problems; a garish Marilyn Monroe-based cult,led by guitarist Eric Clapton,where the service-goers are fed alcohol and pills as a form of eucharist(there's a religion I could wholeheartedly get behind),a crazed black prostitute/witch doctor/acid queen named Gypsy(Tina Turner),who puts Tommy in a psychedelic iron maiden full of hypodermic needles while she quivers,shakes,and frenetically dances in a red mini-skirt(see:bad trip),and a doctor(Jack Nicholson)who's more interested in sheathing his sex weapon inside Nora's panty purse than curing what ails poor Tommy.

Tina Turner as the Acid Queen,the last broad I'd ever drop blotters around.
Nora and Frank,exhausted of hokey cure ideas and eager to get out on their own, leave Tommy first with Cousin Kevin(Paul Nicholas),a nazi biker who tortures the easy prey,and then filthy,perverted Uncle Ernie(Keith Moon) who rapes the poor guy,before ultimately leaving him to blindly stumble around an old junkyard(!)where he discovers the healing powers of...pinball,which he's naturally adept at,you know,being deaf,dumb,and blind.Word quickly spreads of his gaming skills,and a championship match between Tommy and the "Pinball Wizard"(Elton John),a jagoff who wears four foot high cherry red Doc Martens and is followed religiously by a throng of yobbo-bootboy clones,is scheduled.Tommy wins,sending his mother off into a truly disturbing penthouse fantasy where she writhes orgiastically and squirms about in a sea of beans,chocolate sauce,champagne,and soap bubbles.No,I'm not making that up.He rises to messianic status while the family cashes in on his popularity,but when the new pinball guru tries to make the adoring throng see the world the way he has,by putting on eyeshades,earplugs,and a cork in their collective yap,they become a lynch mob,revolting against their leader,and smashing everything and everyone in sight,leaving Tommy with a much greater sense of self-awareness as the sun rises amidst the burning holiday camp and dead family members.Groovy.I totally get it,maaaaan.

Elton John as the Pinball Wizard,wearing a pair of four and half foot high Cherry Red Doc Martens that are virtually unjackable!
Say what you will about Russell,but his body of work,that includes The Devils(1971),Altered States(1980),Gothic(1986),Lair of the White Worm(1986),and even Whore(1991)which pretty much ended his mainstream career once and for all,is peppered with several beloved cult classics.His brilliance is hit-and-miss at times,but he's always serving up thought provoking imagery.I highly dig the grand old bastard.Whether you're an enormous Who fan or not,and really,who isn't(besides McBeardo),you ought to score yourself a copy of this trippy,self-indulgent visual assault,originally released in theaters with a quintaphonic soundtrack,which may or may not allude to an extra center channel speaker for spoken dialogue,at this point who can tell for sure.Russell makes a cameo in the faith healer segment as a cripple(what else?).Margret was nominated for an Oscar and also received a Golden Globe for her performance here,and probably went home and assaulted the statuette between her own golden globes while crying hysterically,still in character from the film.I'm joking,of course,though I can definitely draw out that mental picture in my mind.Tommy comes highly recommended from ole Wop,as going to the mirror remains one of my favorite pasttimes to this very day.Speaking of which,think I will.Well,hel-lo,you sexy bastard.

I fondly recall our weekend in the honeymoon suite.The beans...the chocolate sauce...the soap bubbles...the smashed television....the nervous breakdown.

Share

"Lisztomania"(1975)d/Ken Russell

Some directors paint a decidedly linear picture,tell a story the way you'd hear it from Grandpa,if he was sitting in a rocker,relating details in a manner that you could almost close your eyes and envision the tale unfolding as if you were right there experiencing it next to him.Some directors choose not to follow that route,choosing a far more fucked up path to take the viewer on.Ken Russell oftimes likes to do that.Sometimes he's very successful in purveying a twisted vision,but once in awhile,his finished product flops around like a brook trout gasping for air in a bucket on a rowboat.This entry,which was released the same year as his successful yet equally bananas "Tommy"(1975),is a perfect example,all but disappearing from the face of the earth since audiences and critics alike first walked out of theaters scratching their heads over the experience.

She loves you,and you know that can't be bad,says Pope Ringo I.
Russell paints an impressionistic picture of Franz Liszt,19th century composer,if he were a rock star of the day,tickling the ivories in front of throngs of screaming teenaged fans,and bedding amorous groupies at every juncture,with ham-fisted bedroom humour and bizarre visual flair.An interesting cast sinks in this production.He recruits Roger Daltrey,frontman of The Who,to play Liszt,Paul Nicholas as Richard Wagner,Beatle Ringo Starr as the Pope(!),and Yes's Rick Wakeman in the role of Thor(!!).Fiona Lewis and Little Nell of "Rocky Horror" fame are amongst the women in the composer's lovelife.Somewhere in here is a story,albeit an outrageously over-the-top one,and that's only if you can find it.

Richard Wagner(Paul Nicholas),the vampire,looking a little worse for wear.
After a swordfight with Count d'Agoult when he catches the composer in bed with his wife,Marie(Daltrey's head swings back and forth like a metronome between Lewis' pendulous breasts),Liszt finds himself trapped inside a piano with the woman,tied to the railroad tracks.He has a daughter with Lady d'Agoult,but decides to woo Princess Carolyn of St. Petersburg upon invitation instead,eloping with her,their marriage forbidden by the Pope,causing Liszt to embrace a monastic life as an abbe.Richard Wagner is the composer's friend and also a vampire(!) whose creativity is directly affected by Liszt's lifeblood,which he often sups upon.His jealousy over his friend's popularity and a friendly visit from Norse god Thor(!!) spurs him on to desperate measures,creating Franken-Hitler(!!!) to destroy the world with his electric guitar.Luckily for us,Liszt travels down from the heavens in a pipe-organ rocketship to thwart the dictator/rocker/patchwork creature's plans of global domination with laser blasts comprised of primary color schemes.I'll give you a minute here.

Liszt(Roger Daltrey),about to dance inside a mammoth pair of knickers.
A surreal cornucopia of bizzare imagery and largely horrible musical numbers,composed by Wakeman and sung by Daltrey,I'd imagine both performers have long since swept this collaboration under their creative rugs,hoping no one ever drudges the wretched thing up again.Even in 1975,if you slung a musical about famous composers together,with Frankenstein,Thor,Hitler,Superman,vampires,cigars,the papacy,Heaven,war,love,Charlie Chaplin,philosophy,sexuality...I'm pretty sure there's a kitchen sink in there somewhere too,you might lose some of your audience along the way.Yes,even the segment of moviegoers who dropped some double-dipped white blotter acid before hitting the theater,a good portion of which used to show up at my house in the early days of video with Led Zeppelin's "The Song Remains the Same" just to watch Jimmy Page's Hermit sequence and blow what little mind they had left at that point(it was more impressive at the midnight movies,mind you).

Liszt shows onstage affection for lovely lovely Ludwig Van.
In closing,you might wanna secure yourself a copy if any of this visual smorgasbord sounds interesting to you,but be warned;as musicals go,it's not "West Side Story",and this IS coming from a lifelong Who fan who has always enjoyed Rick Wakeman's film scores,Ken Russell movies,and naked broads.As much as I've always wanted to see a mash up of Frankenstein and Hitler marching through decimated cities with an electric guitar,I'm gonna go ahead and give this mish-mosh:

In my book,it's just not a musical until they drag out an enormous phallus and a kickline of concubines.