Movies: Quills
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+
Sunday, March 13, 2016
Saturday, March 12, 2016
She's So Unusual
TV: Jessica Jones
I mentioned in my review of Deadpool that with the waterfall of superhero movies over the past decade, there is finally a place for me, someone who is deeply uninterested in superheroes. But give me a hero with a filthy mouth, mildly perverted sexual tastes, and a thirst for booze and I'm sold. Oh, they can fly/heal instantly/punch through a wall too? Well, that's just the cherry on top.
Along with Deadpool, Jessica Jones emerges as a superhero for people who are goody two-shoes averse. Jones (played by she of the lovely and perpetual resting bitch face, Krysten Ritter) is not a goody two-shoes at all. She's a private investigator who is overly fond of brown liquor, lives in a squalid New York apartment, and harbors deep secrets and hidden shames.
Jones wants nothing more than to be left alone to do her PI business: photographing people cheating on their spouses. But when a missing person case comes across her desk with eerie similarities linking the girl's captor to her own past abusive relationship with a man known only as Kilgrave, Jones is reluctantly forced back into the world of supernatural powers.
Kilgrave (played with the right mix of vulnerable puppy-face and sociopathic evil by David Tennant) has the powers of mind control. He can make people do whatever he wants. Victims describe the feeling as not wanting to do the things he commands, but feeling irresistibly compelled anyway. Jones, for all her abilities (super strength mainly, with some flying abilities sprinkled in), was a victim of Kilgrave's. Once she broke free, Kilgrave became hell-bent on finding her and "winning" (i.e. forcing) her back into his arms, and he was willing to get her attention by any means necessary.
Thus, Jessica Jones is a superhero show like no other because the relationship between the baddie and the good guy is an abusive relationship. A deeply feminist show, Jones confronts Kilgrave and says "You raped me." He sneers at her and asks at what point was it rape: after the delicious dinner? When they got to the fancy hotel? Clearly, the audience knows that there was nothing consensual about Jones and Kilgrave's relationship because of his mind control abilities, but the metaphor is potent: even the most "romantic" relationships can be violent underneath it all. And not all violence is physical--it is just as often emotional and psychological.
A lot happens over the course of Jessica Jones' 13 episodes, but it leads to one place: a showdown between a woman who was abused and the man who abused her and continues to delude himself that she wanted it. Ritter and Tennant are perfectly cast: a strong, no bullshit woman secretly terrified of a dangerous man and a man who appears harmless--even charming--but whose deep insecurities lead him to violence.
The other players on the show are just as three dimensional: bitter, hardened lawyer Jeri Hogarth (Carrie-Anne Moss) whose motives are difficult to pin down and who would probably be considered "Lawful Evil" on the D&D alignment chart; Luke Cage (Mike Colter), Jones' sexy hook-up and fellow super person with indestructible skin; Jones' best friend, Trish Walker (Rachel Taylor), probably the purest of heart in the whole show; Trish's police officer boyfriend (Wil Traval), who comes off as a cross between hopelessly stupid and annoyingly macho.
That all the characters are written with such depths so that no one is 100% bad or 100% good helps Jessica Jones transcend a lot of the simplistic superhero junk. Also, the super-people's abilities are far more subtle than, say, in an Avengers movie. Jones, if anything, prefers not to use her super strength if she can avoid it. She is a hero who lives in the shadows and doesn't want glory, or fame, or eyes on her.
In an entertainment culture filled with super heroines in skintight outfits whose purpose is to arouse as much as it is to save the day, Jessica Jones stands out as an exception--she isn't interested in being a sex object. She isn't interested in being a hero. She is reluctant to get dragged back into the world of heroes and villains, but a soft spot in her hardened heart encourages her to confront the most terrifying demon of all: her own vulnerability. Jessica Jones is a hero for the average Jane, and we need more like her.
Grade: A
I mentioned in my review of Deadpool that with the waterfall of superhero movies over the past decade, there is finally a place for me, someone who is deeply uninterested in superheroes. But give me a hero with a filthy mouth, mildly perverted sexual tastes, and a thirst for booze and I'm sold. Oh, they can fly/heal instantly/punch through a wall too? Well, that's just the cherry on top.
Along with Deadpool, Jessica Jones emerges as a superhero for people who are goody two-shoes averse. Jones (played by she of the lovely and perpetual resting bitch face, Krysten Ritter) is not a goody two-shoes at all. She's a private investigator who is overly fond of brown liquor, lives in a squalid New York apartment, and harbors deep secrets and hidden shames.
Jones wants nothing more than to be left alone to do her PI business: photographing people cheating on their spouses. But when a missing person case comes across her desk with eerie similarities linking the girl's captor to her own past abusive relationship with a man known only as Kilgrave, Jones is reluctantly forced back into the world of supernatural powers.
Kilgrave (played with the right mix of vulnerable puppy-face and sociopathic evil by David Tennant) has the powers of mind control. He can make people do whatever he wants. Victims describe the feeling as not wanting to do the things he commands, but feeling irresistibly compelled anyway. Jones, for all her abilities (super strength mainly, with some flying abilities sprinkled in), was a victim of Kilgrave's. Once she broke free, Kilgrave became hell-bent on finding her and "winning" (i.e. forcing) her back into his arms, and he was willing to get her attention by any means necessary.
Thus, Jessica Jones is a superhero show like no other because the relationship between the baddie and the good guy is an abusive relationship. A deeply feminist show, Jones confronts Kilgrave and says "You raped me." He sneers at her and asks at what point was it rape: after the delicious dinner? When they got to the fancy hotel? Clearly, the audience knows that there was nothing consensual about Jones and Kilgrave's relationship because of his mind control abilities, but the metaphor is potent: even the most "romantic" relationships can be violent underneath it all. And not all violence is physical--it is just as often emotional and psychological.
A lot happens over the course of Jessica Jones' 13 episodes, but it leads to one place: a showdown between a woman who was abused and the man who abused her and continues to delude himself that she wanted it. Ritter and Tennant are perfectly cast: a strong, no bullshit woman secretly terrified of a dangerous man and a man who appears harmless--even charming--but whose deep insecurities lead him to violence.
The other players on the show are just as three dimensional: bitter, hardened lawyer Jeri Hogarth (Carrie-Anne Moss) whose motives are difficult to pin down and who would probably be considered "Lawful Evil" on the D&D alignment chart; Luke Cage (Mike Colter), Jones' sexy hook-up and fellow super person with indestructible skin; Jones' best friend, Trish Walker (Rachel Taylor), probably the purest of heart in the whole show; Trish's police officer boyfriend (Wil Traval), who comes off as a cross between hopelessly stupid and annoyingly macho.
That all the characters are written with such depths so that no one is 100% bad or 100% good helps Jessica Jones transcend a lot of the simplistic superhero junk. Also, the super-people's abilities are far more subtle than, say, in an Avengers movie. Jones, if anything, prefers not to use her super strength if she can avoid it. She is a hero who lives in the shadows and doesn't want glory, or fame, or eyes on her.
In an entertainment culture filled with super heroines in skintight outfits whose purpose is to arouse as much as it is to save the day, Jessica Jones stands out as an exception--she isn't interested in being a sex object. She isn't interested in being a hero. She is reluctant to get dragged back into the world of heroes and villains, but a soft spot in her hardened heart encourages her to confront the most terrifying demon of all: her own vulnerability. Jessica Jones is a hero for the average Jane, and we need more like her.
Grade: A
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