Post by Capo on Nov 30, 2005 21:12:53 GMT
Love Is the Devil – Study for a Portrait of Francis Bacon
Director: John Maybury
1998 UK/France/Japan
Painter Francis Bacon catches George Dyer breaking into his studio, and offers him anything in return for sex. And so begins a tense affair based on physical need and disturbing sadomasochistic undertones.
“What moves you?” an interviewer asks the real Bacon in the documentary Bacon’s Arena (2005), to which the painter replies, “Beauty; that particularly of the male form.” That documentary acts as a fine companion to this almost fictional account. Although there are no overt scenes of sex, brutality or the violence of life that Bacon himself referred to so often (“No nightmare can surpass the horrors of life”), there are overwhelmingly oppressive connotations throughout. In fact, Maybury’s direction is so locked in its own oppressive mise-en-scène that the film may be difficult for non-fans to appreciate—the opening shot, of a key entering a door, may perhaps be a telling warning to viewers who haven’t done their homework.
Although Maybury does indeed settle for a niche market, making a film with all the in-jokes and artistic bravura of abstract art, there are pleasures to be found in the compelling performance from Jacobi. His facial rendering is spot on—his swollen cheeks bear a remarkable resemblance to the world-weary Bacon’s, and although the painter himself had inimitably intimidating eyes, Jacobi relishes in the role as somebody who accepts that the only constants in life are sex and death. Opposite him, Craig also excels as his much younger lover, an East End twang straight from the saunas in which he frequents alongside other criminals, crooks and thieves—as Bacon grows increasingly tired of his youthful, alcoholic whining, there’s some lovely scenes in which Jacobi mocks his accent.
As if to reflect Bacon’s philosophy (“I am optimistic about nothing,” he remarks), Maybury’s script shows us two contrasting lifestyles: the East End criminal scene, in which Dyer feels comfortable most, and the Soho art underworld, in which Bacon shares “Champagne for my real friends, and real pain for my sham friends.” Ironically, it is the criminals who are shown as sympathetic, humane creatures, while Bacon’s confidantes are cruel, callous vultures who, as Dyer notes in the latter part of the film, “Try to get into my knickers behind Francis’ back.”
The whole thing is art: this is by no means meant to give light-hearted entertainment, but instead, as the film’s subtitle suggests in true Bacon fashion, a study for a portrait of passion, brutality and a love for all things spontaneous and—perhaps—illegal, much like the painter’s work itself. It is rare that a film these days is completely true to its own intentions and desires, but Maybury’s unconventional biopic (or at least a slice of a one) is, from start to finish, a claustrophobic and distant treatment, a visual treat in terms of eccentric framing devices. In the absence of any of Bacon’s paintings, the visual style attempts to imitate them. A success.
CREDITS
Director
John Maybury
Producer
Chiara Menage
Screenplay
John Maybury
Director of Photography
John Mathieson
Film Editing
Daniel Goddard
Original Score
Ryuichi Sakamoto
Production Design
Alan MacDonald
CAST
Derek Jacobi[/b]
Francis Bacon
Daniel Craig
George Dyer
Tilda Swinton
Muriel Belcher
Anne Lambton
Isabel Rawsthorne
Adrian Scarborough
Daniel Farson
Karl Johnson
John Deakin
Hamish Bowles
David Hockney[/size]
Director: John Maybury
1998 UK/France/Japan
Painter Francis Bacon catches George Dyer breaking into his studio, and offers him anything in return for sex. And so begins a tense affair based on physical need and disturbing sadomasochistic undertones.
“What moves you?” an interviewer asks the real Bacon in the documentary Bacon’s Arena (2005), to which the painter replies, “Beauty; that particularly of the male form.” That documentary acts as a fine companion to this almost fictional account. Although there are no overt scenes of sex, brutality or the violence of life that Bacon himself referred to so often (“No nightmare can surpass the horrors of life”), there are overwhelmingly oppressive connotations throughout. In fact, Maybury’s direction is so locked in its own oppressive mise-en-scène that the film may be difficult for non-fans to appreciate—the opening shot, of a key entering a door, may perhaps be a telling warning to viewers who haven’t done their homework.
Although Maybury does indeed settle for a niche market, making a film with all the in-jokes and artistic bravura of abstract art, there are pleasures to be found in the compelling performance from Jacobi. His facial rendering is spot on—his swollen cheeks bear a remarkable resemblance to the world-weary Bacon’s, and although the painter himself had inimitably intimidating eyes, Jacobi relishes in the role as somebody who accepts that the only constants in life are sex and death. Opposite him, Craig also excels as his much younger lover, an East End twang straight from the saunas in which he frequents alongside other criminals, crooks and thieves—as Bacon grows increasingly tired of his youthful, alcoholic whining, there’s some lovely scenes in which Jacobi mocks his accent.
As if to reflect Bacon’s philosophy (“I am optimistic about nothing,” he remarks), Maybury’s script shows us two contrasting lifestyles: the East End criminal scene, in which Dyer feels comfortable most, and the Soho art underworld, in which Bacon shares “Champagne for my real friends, and real pain for my sham friends.” Ironically, it is the criminals who are shown as sympathetic, humane creatures, while Bacon’s confidantes are cruel, callous vultures who, as Dyer notes in the latter part of the film, “Try to get into my knickers behind Francis’ back.”
The whole thing is art: this is by no means meant to give light-hearted entertainment, but instead, as the film’s subtitle suggests in true Bacon fashion, a study for a portrait of passion, brutality and a love for all things spontaneous and—perhaps—illegal, much like the painter’s work itself. It is rare that a film these days is completely true to its own intentions and desires, but Maybury’s unconventional biopic (or at least a slice of a one) is, from start to finish, a claustrophobic and distant treatment, a visual treat in terms of eccentric framing devices. In the absence of any of Bacon’s paintings, the visual style attempts to imitate them. A success.
CREDITS
Director
John Maybury
Producer
Chiara Menage
Screenplay
John Maybury
Director of Photography
John Mathieson
Film Editing
Daniel Goddard
Original Score
Ryuichi Sakamoto
Production Design
Alan MacDonald
CAST
Derek Jacobi[/b]
Francis Bacon
Daniel Craig
George Dyer
Tilda Swinton
Muriel Belcher
Anne Lambton
Isabel Rawsthorne
Adrian Scarborough
Daniel Farson
Karl Johnson
John Deakin
Hamish Bowles
David Hockney[/size]