Crimes of Passion (1984)

Director: Ken Russell
Writer(s): Barry Sandler
Starring: Kathleen Turner, Anthony Perkins, Bruce Davison, and John Laughlin

The first thing that pops up on the screen, immediately after pressing play on your remote control, are the words “A Ken Russell Film”. It's not very often that a credit serves dual notice as a warning, but Russell has always been known for his visual flamboyance and over-the-top fearlessness, and both of them are on display in Crimes of Passion, a hooker-falls-in-love-with-man film unlike any other. If you took Pretty Woman, removed all of the sappy hopefulness and lightheartedness, replaced it with both a healthy dose of cynicism, and Anthony Perkins as a maniacal street preacher, you would still be pretty far off from accurately describing this bizarre '80s concoction, but you would be getting warmer.

Kathleen Turner plays both Joanna Crane and China Blue: the first is what her coworkers refer to her as by day, when she holds a steady job working in a fashion design house, while the second is what her clients call her by night, when she throws on a blue dress and transforms herself into a self-described “$50 hooker” that focuses on fetishes. She shuns the safety of the safe, suburban apartment that she owns as Joanna, and operates out of a dingy, rundown studio in the city's red-light district, dressing up and playing roles that appeal to her paying customers.

Bobby Grady (John Laughlin), on the other hand, is a married man who's stuck in a sexless marriage with his annoying, frigid bitch of a wife. As the film opens, he is at a group therapy session, under the guise of merely being there to provide support to his friend, whom he came with. But all it takes is a little bit of ribbing from some females there before serious cracks start to show in his assurance that his life is perfect; it takes even less time than that once he returns home for us to realize just how miserable his existence truly is. She's an emotionless wreck of a woman, who's first reaction at everything he does seems to be rolling her eyes and sighing, while he recoils for a few seconds before trying again. According to him, they have been married for eleven years, and it's a wonder how he has even managed to last that long (although they do have two kids, so that is probably a rather large factor).

Bobby works at his own electronics repair shop, which doesn't bring in a lot of money; unsurprisingly, this is also a constant point of frustration from his wife, who seems to constantly be in want of material things that his meager income cannot provide. She urges him to work more so they can get the hot tub that only she seems to dream of getting, and nags him into responding to a job offer a friend had given him. It's a night gig as a private investigator. The owner of a fashion design house has noted that his business is losing money for the first time in twenty years, and is certain one of his workers has been selling patterns to competitors. His likely suspect is the shy, reserved Joanna Crane, who he feels is almost too good of a worker to be true; Bobby's job is to shadow her at night, to see where she goes and what she is doing in her free time.

From here, it's your standard sexually-repressed-married-man-turned-private-investigator-discovers-suspected-thief-is-actually-prostitute romance, as a series of events pull the two together for a steamy sexual encounter that shatters both of their worlds. For Bobby, it not only represents the first sexual encounter he has had in many months, but also the most open and honest; for China Blue, it represents the first time that someone was able to legitimately fight through her facade and catch her emotionally off guard. Through her character, she has made a secondary living out of anonymously manipulating men; the way they seem to long for her even after their paid time expires seems to be the only thing that gets her off. But her usual tricks don't work with Bobby—it's evident even as she denies it that she is reciprocating his feelings, a fact that clearly upsets her because it's the first time that she is not in control.

There is another, twisted piece to this already-complex web, and it comes in the form of disturbed street preacher Peter Shayne (an over-the-top Anthony Perkins). From the looks of things, Shayne has been a longtime fixture in these seedy city streets, rambling long-winded passages to sex workers and promising to absolve them of their sins, thus saving their souls. But for some reason, he takes a specific interest in “rescuing” China Blue, and begins to constantly stalk and harass her; things reach a peak when he (unknowingly to her) rents out the apartment next to her and installs peepholes, allowing him to hear and watch everything that she does.

I mentioned that Perkins is over-the-top as Shayne, but that wasn't a knock; it fits right at home with Russell's lurid vision. Reportedly, he molded himself so completely into his character, that he even became an ordained minister to help prepare for his role; he also allegedly sniffed nitrites before every scene, something that no doubt helped to bring an unhinged unpredictability to his character (indeed, the “piano scene” might just be one of the most effective villain moments in film history; it's so legitimately out of left-field, yet so convincingly portrayed, that it somehow simultaneously baffles, humors, and chills).

Turner and Laughlin also have great chemistry as the star-crossed lovers. The weakest link in the acting department would appear to be Annie Potts as Amy Grady, Bobby's whiny, empty shell of a wife. But I wouldn't be surprised if this was an intentional decision by Russell, to heighten her lack of appeal, and to succinctly summarize in just a few minutes of screentime how Bobby must feel having been married to her for the last eleven years.

The film's biggest drawback is that, once you look past the audacious visual style and vulgar dialogue, this winds up being too close for comfort to your average, everyday thriller. Russell is always keen on tossing in some unexpected visual surprises, such as an in-your-face music video for Rick Wakeman's “It's a Lovely Life” that comes out of nowhere, but no such attention is paid to the script, which meanders along the obvious path, and ends on an interesting note; “interesting” only in how noteless and truly uneventful it really is.

Speaking of Wakeman, his score (which is entirely based upon Antonin Dvorak's symphony, “From the New World”) is fantastic. It seems to catch a lot of flak online (much to my astonishment), and I'm generally not a fan of synth-heavy music at all, but there are some choice cuts here, like the aforementioned “It's a Lovely Life”, or “Eastern Shadows”, which accompanies a rather long sex scene. His music sets the appropriate mood, without sounding too dated, an impressive feat for any '80s score, made even more amazing by one so reliant on keyboards and the sounds of the times. It's truly an underrated work that really heightens Russell's own visual approach and makes it all stick together as one cohesive unit.

This isn't Russell at his best, nor is it Russell at his worst: it's just Ken Russell, period. His wild, carefree directing style never aimed to impress with pinpoint accuracy, which means his films frequently went all over the place, as if seemingly on a whim. It doesn't always work, just as Crimes of Passion doesn't always hit the mark, but this fearlessness and refusal to bow down to the “laws” of film (not to mention good taste) is what made him a truly underrated director. That, and his under-acknowledged knack for frequently bringing out the best in his leads, making him not only the stylish, confrontational visual tour-de-force for which he will always be remembered, but also a true actor's director.

RATING: 7/10

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Lair of the White Worm (1988)

Director: Ken Russell
Writer(s): Russell, based upon the novel by Bram Stoker
Starring: Amanda Donohoe, Hugh Grant, Catherine Oxenberg, and Peter Capaldi

I never knew Ken Russell personally, but I have spent a good deal of time reading about the man. He has long been a cinematic inspiration of mine for many reasons, not the least of which was his willingness to dabble in just about any genre. He is that rare artistic talent that somehow managed to avoid being pigeonholed: He was nominated for an Academy Award for Women in Love, a dramatic film based on the novel by D.H. Lawrence, but he is just as well-known for films like Tommy, The Who's (in)famous rock opera; The Devils, a shocking historical work based on fact, and considered so obscene that Warner Bros. refuses to release it uncut to this day; and Altered States, a science-fiction film based on the novel by Paddy Chayefsky. And this isn't including his biographical films, which are notorious for their blending of fact, fiction, and Russell's own opinion of the subjects.

Despite not knowing Russell, though, Lair of the White Worm comes off as his take on the standard horror narrative. It's true that Altered States, which Russell directed eight years prior to this one, is also considered a horror film, but: a.) its foremost focus on science and isolation chambers puts it more in the science-fiction realm to me, and b.) in what was a rarity, Russell had no input on that script whatsoever (full control was granted to Paddy Chayefsky, who was adapting his own novel). With Lair, Russell wrote the script himself, based off of the obscure, final novel of the same name by Bram Stoker, and also combined that with the myth of the Lambton Worm, a legend from the northeastern UK about a large, poisonous worm with a taste for livestock and babies. I have not read Stoker's novel, nor will I ever, but it's reportedly rather misogynistic and completely racist: Sounds like the perfect launching point for a Ken Russell film!

Actually, to be fair, Russell removes all of the racist elements (by taking the black characters out entirely...in this PC age, isn't that still considered racist?), and I didn't really find it to look down on women any more than most movies do. It's true that the men are the main “heroes” of the film, with all of the women serving as either victims, or the main villain, but even today, utilizing scantily-clad females to be the damsels-in-distress is still par for the course—it is no better or worse than any number of other such films.

Choosing to adapt "Lair of the White Worm" was actually a pretty genius decision on Russell's part: by picking both the weirdest, and most universally panned, novel from a famous author, Russell was pretty much free to do with it as he pleased. And that is exactly what he does, adding in his trademark blasphemy and bizarre hallucinations in equal measure, while infusing it with a healthy dose of comedy. It's almost as if he's making a mockery of the source material to prove some kind of a point—what that point is might not be obvious, but I'm sure there's some kind of a statement in there somewhere.

Speaking of serious, Lair of the White Worm stars Hugh Grant well before he would become a popular actor in romance films. As I did to Ken Russell to start this review, I will also offer my non-personalized opinion of Hugh Grant: he strikes me as a complete prick who would have laughed at a script like this if it were presented to him in this day and age. I have nothing to back that claim up, except for a hunch, but either way, it's both humorous and kind of satisfying seeing him in such an uncharacteristic role, away from the romantic leads for which he was famous (for a few minutes, anyway).

The “plot” gets loads of scorn for being hard-to-follow at best, or nonexistent at worst, but I thought it was fairly straightforward: Angus Flint is an archaeologist student looking for artifacts at a bed and breakfast run by two sisters, Mary and Eve. He finds a large skull that he believes to be a dinosaur skull at first, but after discussing it with Mary decides that it can't be: it's from a different time period. But it doesn't look like any modern creature, so Angus is rightfully confused.

There's no time to play sleuth, though, because Mary drags him to a party, in the house of mega-rich Lord James D'Ampton (Hugh Grant); the night is actually in honor of his ancestor, John, who, according to town history, sliced in half a large worm that was terrorizing the city. True to the freewheeling, carefree genius of Russell, the D'Ampton Worm legend is explained to us via a folk-rock song being played live at the event, and made complete with a large worm puppet crawling through the dancing partiers, until James separates the two halves with a sword. It's an admittedly catchy little number, performed by Emilio Perez Machado and Stephen Powys, and based on an an actual English folk song, and properly sets the stage for the lunacy to follow.

Some time the next day, Police Constable Erny stops by to drop off a wristwatch that was found in Stonerigg Cavern; the find obviously takes an immense emotional toll on Mary, who demands more information that, unfortunately, Erny just doesn't have. The cause of Mary's distress is the disappearance of her parents about a year prior; despite a heavy search attempt by all the residents of the town, they found nothing at all—no bodies, no evidence, zilch. That's what makes this find so immense, and at the same time, curious—why did it turn up now? Mary wants to find out.

Could it have anything to do with Lady Sylvia Marsh (Amanda Donohoe, in a brilliant role), a creepy woman who lives in a large estate known as the Temple House? She certainly arouses suspicion when she hears about the large skull being kept in the sisters' bed and breakfast, and furthers that feeling when she breaks in with the sole intention of stealing it. She doesn't exactly make a strong case for her innocence when she emits fangs and sprays venom on a crucifix hanging in one of the rooms (in a scene that is so blatantly evil and blasphemous that it's somehow badass; this brief sequence, which comes out of nowhere, is easily one of my favorite scenes in any Russell film, and maybe even across the whole genre, period). She definitely seems like a strong possibility as an accomplice, given her snakelike tendencies, and clear obsession with the amphibious creatures, but we can't be for sure until...welp, she just bit a boy scout on the dick with two large, venomous fangs that paralyzed his nervous system so that he could be a human sacrifice to a worm god, so yeah, she seems to be guilty as hell.

To speed things up a bit, she captures Eve, with plans on using her as a human sacrifice to appease the gods, while James, Angus, and Mary start putting the pieces together. In a scene that's equal parts camp and brilliance, they blast a snake charming song across the city using large speakers, with Angus and Mary sneaking in to Sylvia's house when she's under its spell. There, they look for clues, and Mary comes face-to-face with someone that she wasn't expecting...

It's mostly fun and games here for Ken Russell, and the feeling is contagious: I inexplicably loved this movie the first time I saw it, and I loved it this time. Russell's explosive hallucinatory visuals make a few appearances here, and the film is made better because of it. I can't explain why I cackled with glee at the sight of Roman soldiers raping nuns underneath a crucified Jesus, who is wrapped up by the D'Ampton worm (it's in the context of a delirious vision one of the characters has), but it happens so suddenly that it's a thing of beauty. Amanda Donohoe is brilliant as Sylvia Marsh, striking a perfect balance between appealingly-sexy seductress and purely-evil vixen.

The inclusion of comedy also works well, with Russell maintaining a lighthearted atmosphere despite some dark story elements; he seems uninterested in building suspense, even in moments where it really could have worked. Part of that is a knock—I really would have liked to have seen his ideas on how to scare an audience—but there are many genuine laughs to be had here. Lair of the White Worm will probably always remain a prime example of a filmmaker on his way to ruin (he was having an increasingly hard time finding funding for his films, and the box office flop of this one was another nail in his coffin), but to me, it feels like the final bit of brilliance from a fearless director who made a career out of doing things his way. The whole film even feels like an apt metaphor for Russell's entire career: It doesn't always work, but when it does, you can't peel your eyes off the screen.

RATING: 8/10

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