LFF 2026: Ken Russell's The Devils (Ken Russell, 1971)

Ken Russell's French-set film The Devils is back on the big screen as part of this year's BFI London Film Festival, where it plays on Friday and Monday ahead of a wider global release that commences in the US.  It is difficult to overstate the importance of this hell-freezes-over moment: not only are Warner Bros.—the studio that for so long seemed intent on burying the film—behind this re-release, but The Devils has been restored in 4K and cut to Russell's specific instructions (he worked with the film's original editor, Michael Bradsell, to reinstate long-lost scenes that had fallen foul of censorship).  Fifty-five years on from its initial run and 15 years after its director's death, the result is the definitive version of a work that—even in its previously truncated forms—stands as the blazing apex of Russell's career.

Russell's 1971 shocker, set in 17th-century Loudun, centres on Urbain Grandier (Oliver Reed), a rakish and arrogant secular priest who finds himself in deep trouble when Sister Jeanne des Anges (Vanessa Redgrave), the abbess of the local Ursuline convent, accuses him of sorcery.  These baseless claims prove most convenient for several influential individuals who are scheming to remove Grandier from his dual posts; the priest is also Loudun's acting governor, and has so far thwarted Cardinal Richelieu (Christopher Logue), who wishes to destroy the city's walls on the rationale that such fortifications provide a bedrock for further Protestant uprisings.  Grandier is therefore a political heretic who is tried as a religious one, with the Catholic church he's served for so long gleefully facilitating his terrible, fiery end.

While basking in the magnificence of Ken Russell's The Devils—note the possessive title credit, which serves to differentiate this edit from the cut versions—it is easy to forget that, from the 1980s on, Russell had fallen out of fashion, and those championing his work were few and far between (it didn't help that The Devils, the main exhibit for those coming to Russell's defence, was a tricky title to track down).  But less than six months after Russell's death, the BFI, having somehow secured the rights from Warner Bros., released The Devils as a double-disc DVD that led to renewed interest in both the film and its maker.  While this edition was the UK theatrical version, the missing scenes had been broadcast in a 2002 documentary, resulting in several fan edits that aimed to reproduce Russell's original vision.

Yet back in 2004, Russell and Bradsell had pieced together their own reconstruction of the film, and this served as the basis for this new restoration, which was completed using the original camera negative.  There's something bittersweet about the whole venture: while Russell lived to recreate his greatly preferred cut of the film—a situation that was obviously unthinkable prior to the recovery of the excised footage—he died with the assumption that it would never be given a fittingly wide release.  In my book on the film, my adamantine stance was that The Devils works perfectly well without the restored scenes—a heresy seemingly greater than anything that transpired in Loudun—and, up until now, it has had no other choice. If this is your first time with this unique, shattering film, prepare to be blown away.

  

Darren Arnold

Images: BFI

From Venice to London 2023: Chiara / The Matchmaker

Festival edit From Venice to London—which runs from Friday until Monday—takes a selection of titles from the Venice Film Festival and showcases them in London's Curzon Soho (click here for tickets).  This special season includes five films which played at the 79th edition of the world's oldest film festival, with all titles presented as UK premieres.  The first From Venice to London—which took place in late 2021—featured the likes of Paolo Sorrentino's The Hand of God and Maggie Gyllenhaal's The Lost Daughter, and the lineup for this second edition includes an equally impressive clutch of titles, one of which is Susanna Nicchiarelli's Chiara.  Incidentally, Chiara is one of three films in the festival with a woman's name as its title—the other two being Carolina Cavalli's Amanda and Andrea Pallaoro's Monica; From Venice to London 2023 is rounded out by Benedetta Argentieri's documentary The Matchmaker and Pippo Mezzapesa's Burning Hearts.

Like Nicchiarelli's fine 2017 film Nico, 1988 and her follow-up feature Miss Marx, Chiara is both a biopic and a Belgian co-production; also as with the two earlier films, Chiara sees Nicchiarelli draw a knockout performance from the actress playing the title character, with My Brilliant Friend star Margherita Mazzucco delivering a mesmerising turn as the eponymous Italian saint.  Chiara charts the life of Clare (Chiara) of Assisi, follower of the substantially more famous Francis of Assisi and founder of the religious order we now know as the Poor Clares.  As far as anyone knows, Clare was the first woman to write a set of monastic guidelines, and her egalitarian nature is very much at the forefront of Nicchiarelli's film.  It's a strange, beguiling work, one which recalls Bruno Dumont's Jeannette as the religious austerity that is the film's stock-in-trade is punctuated by the occasional musical number.  While not without humour, Chiara leans away from the kind of tropes familiar from other, more excitable films detailing cloistered life, such as Paul Verhoeven's Benedetta and Ken Russell's The Devils, and is all the better for it.

Behaviour that is light years away from Chiara's saintly conduct is dissected in Argentieri's absorbing The Matchmaker, which attempts to fathom the strange case of young student Tooba Gondal.  In 2015, Gondal left London to join ISIS in Syria, from where she allegedly worked on persuading Western women to marry jihadist fighters.  Argentieri's film begins in 2019 with Kurdish-led coalition troops completing the rout of ISIS, a development which led to thousands of women and children being detained in refugee camps—such as the one on the outskirts of the Syrian town of Ayn Issa, which is where the filmmaker finds Gondal and her two infant children.  Most of the film takes place in this camp, where Argentieri observes Gondal's daily routine and quizzes her subject on the events of the previous few years.  Gondal is quite happy to answer these questions, and she comes across as affable and repentant—but it is hard to reconcile this person with the one who, inter alia, rejoiced in the aftermath of the Paris Bataclan attacks.  The film frequently highlights Gondal's highly incriminating social media past, and it is left to the viewer to decide if The Matchmaker's subject has fully turned her back on extremism; as with all good documentaries, Benedetta Argentieri's film is certain to spark debate.   

Darren Arnold

Images: 01 Distribution

Benedetta (Paul Verhoeven, 2021)

Believe it or not, half a century has now passed since the release of Dutch director Paul Verhoeven's first feature film, Wat zien ik!? (aka Business is Business).  In the years since, Verhoeven has shocked audiences both in Europe (Spetters, De vierde man) and across the pond (Robocop, Basic Instinct), all the while cementing a formidable reputation as an enfant terrible with major box-office clout.  As time has gone on, Verhoeven has slowed down—perhaps understandably, given that he's now 83 years old—and significant gaps have appeared between his projects; the Dutch-language Zwartboek was his first film in six years, and a full decade would pass between its 2006 release and his return to cinemas with Elle.  While his new film, Benedetta, has appeared a mere five years on from Elle, you do wonder when Verhoeven might decide to call it a day.  It will be a pity when he does as, ever since the mid-1980s, the release of a new Paul Verhoeven film has always been something of an event, and neither his reduced output nor his return to Europe from Hollywood—it is now over 20 years since his last English-language effort, Hollow Man—has impacted on the anticipation that precedes a new Verhoeven movie.

Benedetta premiered in competition for the Palme d'Or at this year's Cannes Film Festival, and while it didn't win—Titane, which will be reviewed here shortly, scooped the main prize—the film nonetheless enjoyed a high-profile outing at the first post-COVID edition of the festival.  As is almost always the case with Verhoeven's films, Benedetta is a work that sets out to ruffle more than a few feathers, yet it falls some way short of the transgressiveness of many of the director's prior films, including its immediate predecessor, the enjoyably trashy Elle.  The success of the controversial, highly successful Elle owed much to the committed performance of Isabelle Huppert, who received an Oscar nomination for her electrifying turn; I fully expected Huppert to turn up in Benedetta, and I can only speculate that the role filled by the excellent Charlotte Rampling was originally penned with Huppert in mind.  Given that Huppert played a similar part in Guillaume Nicloux's 2013 adaptation of Diderot's The Nun, perhaps it wouldn't have been the best idea for her to be cast here, if indeed she was offered the role; plus, it's always good to see Rampling at work.

Benedetta is adapted from Judith Brown's book Immodest Acts, and the title character is played one of Isabelle Huppert's Elle co-stars: the terrific Belgian actress Virginie Efira, who can consider herself very unlucky not to have been among the winners when Albert Dupontel's superb Bye Bye Morons netted a glut of César awards earlier this year.  In Benedetta, Efira's nun has been in a convent since the age of eight, and during her time there she's claimed to have been on the business end of several miraculous happenings—such as visions of Jesus and the acquisition of stigmata.  All of this is viewed with some scepticism by Rampling's stern abbess, whose demeanour grows yet more severe upon the arrival of a new charge in the form of Bartolomea (Efira's fellow Belgian Daphné Patakia), a rebellious type who wastes little time in entering into a romantic relationship with Benedetta.  On Bartolomea's frantic introduction—she's trying to escape her abusive family—the abbess points out that the convent isn't a charity, and asks the desperate girl if she has money; this frank discussion brilliantly illustrates how quick God's earthly ambassadors can be to move the goalposts when the time comes to help those in need.  1-0 to Verhoeven.

With Benedetta, Paul Verhoeven has set out his stall somewhere between Jacques Rivette's stately La Religieuse and Ken Russell's scabrous The Devils, yet the end product serves up neither the emotional point of the former nor the biting critique of the latter; furthermore, Verhoeven's film doesn't give the viewer much of an opportunity to invest in its characters, despite the sterling efforts of both Efira and Rampling.  And in spite of its best efforts to offend, Benedetta feels an oddly tame, muted affair—compared to 30 years ago, the bar has been raised considerably vis-à-vis what is considered to be outré, and Verhoeven is doing little more than treading water here as he rifles through the index cards of his past successes; in all honesty, it's quite disappointing to discover that this director's attempt at nunsploitation has resulted in one of the subgenre's milder entries.  It all feels a bit reheated, and the casting of Lambert Wilson and Olivier Rabourdin only serves to recall their work in Of Gods and Men—a much more affecting tale of monastic life.  Still, for all that, Benedetta generally works as lurid, pulpy fun, which is pretty much what we all want and expect from a Paul Verhoeven film.  You won't change him now.

Darren Arnold

Images: MatejFilmu [CC BY-SA 4.0]

Brickbats at Fifty: The Devils Hits the Half-Century

A couple of years ago, I wrote a little something on this site concerning the book I'd written about Ken Russell's The Devils—but hey, that's editors' perks for you, such as they are.  Anyway, it is now a full 50 years since the film was first released in cinemas, and to mark this occasion the BBC has published a fine article by author Adam Scovell.  Adam got in touch with me when he was putting the article together, so you may well find one or two quotes of mine in there—but don't let that put you off from reading this excellent piece.

Image: BFI

The Devils (Devil's Advocates)

Time for a shameless plug here: the book I've been working on for the past couple of years or so is finally available!  It's part of Auteur's Devil's Advocates series of books, each volume of which contains an analysis of a notable horror film.  My own particular entry looks at Ken Russell's 1971 shocker The Devils—a film which has never ceased to impress me since I first encountered it a full three decades ago.  The book is available both in brick-and-mortar bookshops and from a number of online retailers, including Amazon; it is also available in audiobook format from Google Play.

Image: BFI