LOVE IS THE DEVIL: STUDY FOR A PORTRAIT OF FRANCIS BACON
Aspect ratio: 1.85:1
Sound format: Dolby Stereo
Anyone seeking specific information on the life and times of the artist Francis Bacon will find very little of value in this pointlessly obscure effort, which suggests everything and says nothing. As cold and loveless as its subject, John Maybury's film recounts Bacon's affair with the much younger George Dyer, a self-destructive petty criminal who didn't really belong in Bacon's world and was unable to cope with the repercussions. Dyer's influence on Bacon's work is mentioned only fleetingly, though their relationship - which moves from tranquility and contentment through to disillusionment and tragedy - forms the centrepiece of the narrative and is related through tiny scenes and fragments, punctuated by surreal images inspired by Bacon's paintings. The artist's estate refused permission for the filmmakers to represent his work on-screen, so the distorted close-ups, confined settings, and cheerless set designs conspire to 'imitate' the artist's style. Some kind of plot seems to emerge from the debris, but it's so bleak and depressing, you'll find yourself wondering why anyone thought Bacon's story was worth telling at all. If we'd wanted to meditate on the futility of a wasted life, most of us could have stayed at home and looked in the mirror...
Derek Jacobi is luminous, as always, as the artist in question, and the supporting cast render convincing portraits of the loathsome (and self-loathing) social circle in which he moved, while Daniel Craig is every bit their equal as the tormented Dyer. But despite these small nuggets of gold, the film is essentially worthless, an 'Art-house' product in the worst sense of the word. Spare yourself, and avoid like the plague.
Aspect ratio: 1.85:1
Sound format: Dolby Stereo
Anyone seeking specific information on the life and times of the artist Francis Bacon will find very little of value in this pointlessly obscure effort, which suggests everything and says nothing. As cold and loveless as its subject, John Maybury's film recounts Bacon's affair with the much younger George Dyer, a self-destructive petty criminal who didn't really belong in Bacon's world and was unable to cope with the repercussions. Dyer's influence on Bacon's work is mentioned only fleetingly, though their relationship - which moves from tranquility and contentment through to disillusionment and tragedy - forms the centrepiece of the narrative and is related through tiny scenes and fragments, punctuated by surreal images inspired by Bacon's paintings. The artist's estate refused permission for the filmmakers to represent his work on-screen, so the distorted close-ups, confined settings, and cheerless set designs conspire to 'imitate' the artist's style. Some kind of plot seems to emerge from the debris, but it's so bleak and depressing, you'll find yourself wondering why anyone thought Bacon's story was worth telling at all. If we'd wanted to meditate on the futility of a wasted life, most of us could have stayed at home and looked in the mirror...
Derek Jacobi is luminous, as always, as the artist in question, and the supporting cast render convincing portraits of the loathsome (and self-loathing) social circle in which he moved, while Daniel Craig is every bit their equal as the tormented Dyer. But despite these small nuggets of gold, the film is essentially worthless, an 'Art-house' product in the worst sense of the word. Spare yourself, and avoid like the plague.