Review of Quills (2000) by Cory T — 29 Jul 2008

A good friend of mine very bluntly said, "I kind of hated this movie," and, you know, I see exactly where she's coming from. "Quills" is vile, filthy, perverse, macabre, and probably every other adjective of relation. True, also, that a film of such banal tastes very rarely achieves overwhelming praise, but "Quills" did garner abundant praise upon its release nearly eight years ago. But there is a fearless and painful certainty with which this bitter story is told that makes for an undeniably enchanting cinematic experience.

Geoffrey Rush is, without question, the perfect choice to play the infamous Marquis de Sade. Rush is a fearless actor, who is rarely allowed to freely inhabit a character so unspeakably grotesque; for that matter, most actors are not. It is with joyful amazement that the audience perceives this tortured man, never quite sure if he was insane or merely perverted. I believe that de Sade was an insane man, too brilliant for his own well-being- as most tortured artists are- and the simple act of exacting prose was his one saving vice. There is a difficulty of inhabiting such an insatiably sick man that I think should have rightfully gained Rush the Oscar, but I suppose in comparison, "Gladiator" was a more 'uplifting' story.

Kate Winslet, timeless as she is, exhudes the budding and implicit sensuality the Marquis' writings inspired. I cannot say with exact certainty just what it is about Ms. Winslet that makes her so undeniably appealing. It is, then, by mere chance that each performance of hers that has touched greatness has been one which required her natural body to be exposed, arguably for poetic reasons. She, too, has a fearless quality about her in allowing herself to be submersed completely into characters that are as corrupt as they are intriguing.

What ultimately surprised me about the outcome of the film, was that it does not end with any moral accommodations. Such a malignantly damning story would almost certainly end on a note of aesthetic simplicity? I suppose one could argue that the opposite occurrance is somewhat refreshing, if not all together depressing. Alas, who cemented in stone that such stories required happiness, not just black comedy- redemption, not just masqueraded perversity?

If for no other reason than that Philip Kaufman defied some viewers expectations, exacting directorial skill and not manipulation, should his work here be revered.