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Reviews:
Dénouement
Blues: Quills
by
Christian De Matteo
Super
I feel confident that I can, with no
reserve, state that Geoffrey Rush is one of our
most astounding actors living, as well as one of
the most astounding, adept, adaptable and
convincing to have ever lived.
Rush can play any part, from goofball
villain (see Mystery
Men) to mentally challenged piano player (see Shine).
Comedy, drama, intrigue, horror; Rush can
tackle any role and give to it utter validity,
making even Casanova Frankenstein believable and
even slightly three-dimensional, almost a cardinal
sin in a comic book movie.
Knowing this, I approached Quills
with some trepidation.
Any actor so good, so dedicated to veracity
and perfection, I thought, would make a terrifying
Marquis de Sade, and, to be honest, I wasn’t
sure I could watch it.
Though strong stomached, could I handle
Rush unbound?
My fears all turned out to be justified as
the film was in total as unforgiving as I expect
Rush to be, and he was more unforgiving than I
could have expected. And it was great. Minus
the repeated full frontal nude shots of Rush’s
pride, I’ve rarely before been more grateful to
see an actor in a part, giving himself to it
wholly, never over-acting or under-acting, just
perfect-acting, a performance screaming out humbly
for an Oscar… that Russell Crowe got—a rant
for another day.
Quills
is not the story of the Marquis’s wild days,
gallivanting about and committing all sorts of
sexual atrocities upon his victims, some terrified
and some timidly willing.
No, rather than making a film of his torrid
days, we get a film about his torrid writing
convalescence in a mental institution, or, to use
politically correct terminology, a nuthouse.
The audience is caught up rather quickly on
the criminal as well as political reasons that the
Marquis has been locked up, leaving the film free
to explore the idea of writing and creativity as a
way to cure mental illness, as well as to discuss
the horrible effects of censorship, all the while
using the infamous Marquis as a channel for these
topics.
Those who have read my reviews before are
aware that I do not like to be preached to, but
rather to be told a good yarn.
Films that have pulled off the moral lesson
without insulting and boring me are the likes of Chocolat
and Pleasantville. Quills
may now be added to the list because it smartly
focuses on telling a gripping tale rather than
insulting my intelligence by spelling its point
out to me like so many other “cautionary” and
“political” films do.
Another key ingredient is excellent actors
who— yes, there’s more to the recipe—
understand and believe in the film passionately
enough to give the roles every bit of themselves.
Quills
is teeming with such actors.
Joaquin Phoenix (Gladiator)
gives the performance he should
have been nominated for in this, as a devoted
Priest battling his humanity.
Phoenix plays the part far from the
“horny celibate” stereotype, giving all the
credence that human condition allows to the part
so that you can’t help but feel for his battle
and would almost try to rationalize any
decision he made, no matter how horrid, were he to
go that way.
Michael Caine is wonderfully vile, doing
things younger audiences aren’t used to seeing
Caine do. After his rather innocuous part in Miss
Congeniality, this cold and evil Caine is a
breath of fresh air, and a worthy opponent to
Rush’s Marquis.
Finally, we get to the wonderful Kate
Winslet (Titanic,
Holy Smoke), whose passion for the film is
obvious from her first shot to her last, so
believable we question not one of her decisions or
actions.
But, despite my lauds, be warned, the movie
is not for the weak of heart.
While we do not get to see the Marquis own
favorite sexual trysts, we do get to hear similar
ones described in graphic, top-notch smut writing
detail. But
the sex is the least of it.
Scenes of torture and murder and excrement
add to the list warding off the more nervous of
stomachs. Imagine
this: What options would a man obsessed with writing have if all
his quills and ink were taken from him?
Got it yet?
Yes, that bad.
Why, then, have I not given this film a
HUGE after my raving?
The end.
Not the climax, but the end.
The climax is, as one should always be,
thrilling and explosive.
My problem is with the denouement, the
winding down.
I will not, of course, discuss it here for
fearing ruining the movie, except to say it goes
for irony and cautionary cuteness, stooping to old
storytelling standards to make its final point. Obviously, I don’t believe it was bad enough to ruin the
whole film (which an ending can do, see The
Game), but just enough to drop the film’s
standing a few notches.
I can’t tell you how disappointed I was
that this happened, having been set to almost
marry the film.
Regardless, the acting and the main story
are incredible and no ending should prevent anyone
from seeing this film about human struggle,
passion and imprisonment, both external and
internal, and the overall human condition complete
in all its damned folly.
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