The Devils

rant, man of the cloth. To that end, he despatches the "Baron De Laubardemont" (Dudley Sutton) to discredit this man. Unexpectedly, he finds that he might have an unlikely ally in the form of mother superior "Jeanne" (Vanessa Redgrave) whom, despite her protestations about sins of the flesh, has taken a bit of a shine to the enigmatic "Grandier". Seeing his opportunity, the baron sends for the zealously ruthless father "Barre" (Michael Gothard) and what ensues now could give anything attributed to the Spanish Inquisition a run for it's money. It's easy to see why this film would have caused consternation amongst the British Mary Whitehouse brigade as it unashamedly calls out the hypocrisies of the church by illustrating the sheer brutality of it's methods to seek and maintain control over the population and it rather chaotically sexualises nuns and priest in a way that was always bound to have the religious establishment in conniptions. It's problem fifty years on is that shock factor has largely been superceded by projects that have desensitised our readiness to be appalled by the excesses of the frocked community, but what does still stand out is a frankly disturbing effort from Redgrave - I reckon this is probably her most powerful performance on screen; a charismatic one from Reed and a maniacal one from a Gothard who really does get under your skin. The casting of sit-com legend Brian Murphy in a most untypical role (for him) also adds an extra dimension of the uncomfortable to the proceedings and during the entire couple of hours I never felt that happy endings were ever really on the cards. The production design of many of the interiors reminded me of those of a sterile and cold Victorian asylum (or public convenience) and this film just went to show that the spirit of the Borgias was alive and well in the seventeenth century. It isn't an easy film to watch, even now, but it does leave you wondering if this isn't a little closer to the ecclesiastical truthes of the period - like Hugo's "Hunchback of Notre Dame" or any version of the Jeanne D'Arc story, than many of the more "authorised" depictions of life when superstition and fear ruled so empathically.