Those who know me well probably know my deep abiding fondness for a little movie titled Quills. Based on the play by Pulitzer winner Douglas Wright and directed by Philip Kaufman, Quills came out in 2000. I've probably seen the film, oh, 10-15 times? I've also been privileged to see a stage adaptation as well.
Quills is a fictionalized account of the final years of the Marquis de Sade, a nobleman and writer of violent pornography during Revolution era France (he died in 1814). Sade was no saint in real life. He was a criminal who was accused of poisoning (not lethally) prostitutes and whipping/cutting a housekeeper. You can read more about his exploits on good ol' Wikipedia.
The film tidies up the Marquis' legacy by implying that he was a harmless horny old man who wrote naughty stories about innocent girls losing their virginities to perverted priests and the like, when the reality is that his novels are overly long, violent to the point of hilarity, and contain long passages praising atheism. I've read some of his stuff and it isn't sexy at all--more like a combination of ridiculous and nauseating. But the film Quills is not meant to be a true to life account of Sade as much as it is a fable of the dangers of censorship and repression.
Let's focus from here forward on the film itself, not the true events of Sade's life.
The film opens with Sade (played impishly by Geoffrey Rush) as a patient in the Charenton Asylum for the Insane. The Asylum is run by the gentle Abbe de Coulmier (Joaquin Phoenix during his prime "hot" years), who believes that art therapy can cure many ills. It is discovered that Sade has been smuggling out manuscripts with the help of the lusty laundry lass, Madeline (the forever-hot Kate Winslet). So, a new and extremely strict doctor, Royer-Collard (a devilish Michael Caine), is assigned to oversee the asylum and put an end to any monkey business.
Royer-Collard prefers strict punishments to control the inmates at Charenton. That, combined with his arranged marriage to a very, very, very young convent girl, Simone (Amelia Warner), implies the question, "Who is the real pervert here?" While Sade's name gave us the term "sadist"--someone who derives pleasure from hurting others--the real sadist is, of course, the "Christian" doctor, Royer-Collard.
Royer-Collard and Coulmier butt heads at every junction: the priest prefers art, music, theatre, and kindness to help his inmates where Royer-Collard prefers shackles and confinement. When it comes to the Marquis, Coulmier bends under Royer-Collard's commands--he reacts to the Marquis smuggling his naughty manuscripts out by taking away his writing utensils (we have a title, people!). But the Marquis responds by using chicken bones and wine to write on his bedsheets. The Abbe counters by stripping him of his bedsheets and anything he could use as an de facto ink and quill. The Marquis responds by cutting his own fingers to write in blood on his clothes.
The metaphor here is basic enough for a ninth-grader to grasp, and, in fact, the Abbe in a fit of despair exclaims, "The more I forbid, the more you're provoked!" The thesis of the movie is that censorship not only doesn't work, it leads to acting out. If you don't ban something, it doesn't become forbidden fruit. If you DO ban something, it becomes an obsession. But I saw Quills for the first time when I was in 10th grade. I was 16-ish years old. I was at the perfect age during which sex was becoming fascinating to me, feminism was something I deeply believed in, and I was beginning to see the ways in which religion sought to control people and make people feel ashamed of otherwise natural desires. I was ready for this movie. Quills was cupid's arrow right to my bleeding, liberal, young heart...and every time I've watched it since, I feel the pangs of youth, happiness, righteous anger, and--a feeling that is more rare with each year--naughtiness. A desire to break the rules. Raised a good girl, Quills (among many other movies) helped release and reimagine what it means to be "good" and created an alternative in which "bad" was right and "good" was wrong. I needed this movie to teach me that there is no black and white, there is only grey--and you get to decide where you fit in.
To this day, I adore the film. Its lovely soundtrack, its ribald sense of humor, its simple yet fiery sense of morality. I love how it doesn't pull any punches: in the end, the Marquis' violent stories lead almost directly to the death of an innocent. Because violent stories can, in fact, inspire violence. But the greater message is that when it comes down to it repression, censorship, and control are more violent than the potential consequences of freedom of expression, and that the most righteous of men can be the most despicable of criminals. For better or for worse, I owe my suspicion of "moral" people to this film--the most pure people always seem to be hiding the most grisly secrets.
Grade: A+
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