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"Forget the immortals," declares Delius like Pinter on "the Old Masters" ("Fuck 'em"), it reverberates through Ken Russell's oeuvre. (A later line further elucidates the stance: "I can't reconcile such hardness with such lovely music.") The aged artiste is a paralyzed crank, blind and gnarled yet imperious still in wide-brimmed chapeau and tinted specs, Max Adrian's impersonation suggests an elongated Picasso. Scarborough silent-movie theaters give Eric Fenby (Christopher Gable) a proper start in melodic appreciation, the next logical step is moving to the French countryside and caring for the dying tyrant. Aspiring composer and devout Catholic, Fenby is eager to jot down his hero's swansong but instead rushes out in distress, at church he spots the curé shtupping one of the parishioners. Delius disdains English music and "Christian blinders" and adores Mark Twain and Jerome Kern, from his wheelchair he preaches against romance to the chagrin of his devoted wife Jelka (Maureen Pryor). "It is only from art that you'll find lust and happiness in life." Talent indulged, talent sacrificed (cf. Mahler). The cherished remembrance of one final sunset versus the laborious task of climbing a mountain for it—the ordeal of the creative process, its burden. Peppy visitors and jazz parties for changes in rhythm, a certain Bergman whiteness throughout. In his most humane and life-sized vision, Russell contemplates the spirit to the very end twisting for ecstasy in the syphilitic body. The eclipse is mourned with petals, the composition emerges less as a record on a gramophone than a life fully lived. Ray and Wenders in Lightning over Water curiously mirror the dynamic. With David Collings, Geraldine Sherman, and Roger Worrod. In black and white.
--- Fernando F. Croce |