Even though his work was always wildly indulgent and overblown, I've enjoyed the unique excesses of Ken Russell's cinema, being fond of several films because they're good (if still excessive), flamboyantly bad, or some campy mix of both. He's always done best under pressure from a generous budget and strong studio or producer oversight.
Left to his own devices, and abandoned by the film industry, this farcical goof only tangentially related to Poe themes is silly, shrill, amateurish, sophomoric-ally sex-phobic, and aims to shock in a dated early 80s punk/New Wave cinema mode. Its wit is mostly a matter of horrible puns, community-theater "foreign" accents, and in-joke references. The performers ham in Russell's preferred over-the-top style, albeit without the skill of the professional actors he once used--none worse than Russell himself, who plays a mad doctor with a vaudeville Nazi accent and is not a pretty sight as his face has gone spotty-red and pustule- ridden.
That said, there are some funny touches--as in the "Premature Burial" upending, an early gag involving one of those singing/tail-waggling fishes on a trophy placard, or a late sequence exploiting a huge blowup children's slide--and even on zero budget Russell retains a knack for lending nearly every shot some sort of surreal flash. (Whether that means having an actor in a gorilla suit or utilizing a multicolored plastic Slinky.)
It gets better as it goes along, but there's still a feeling of glorified home-movie indulgence by an attention-hungry old man only further caricaturing his image as a filmmaker who never should have been taken seriously. That's unfortunate, because (skipping his TV work as a separate issue) from "Women in Love" through at least "Lair of the White Worm" he made strikingly distinct if always flawed contributions to the art form. (Russell will never get a Knighthood, unlike just about anyone else who's got a long high-profile career in British cinema, because he's just made too many movies HRH couldn't be associated with.)
Left to his own devices, and abandoned by the film industry, this farcical goof only tangentially related to Poe themes is silly, shrill, amateurish, sophomoric-ally sex-phobic, and aims to shock in a dated early 80s punk/New Wave cinema mode. Its wit is mostly a matter of horrible puns, community-theater "foreign" accents, and in-joke references. The performers ham in Russell's preferred over-the-top style, albeit without the skill of the professional actors he once used--none worse than Russell himself, who plays a mad doctor with a vaudeville Nazi accent and is not a pretty sight as his face has gone spotty-red and pustule- ridden.
That said, there are some funny touches--as in the "Premature Burial" upending, an early gag involving one of those singing/tail-waggling fishes on a trophy placard, or a late sequence exploiting a huge blowup children's slide--and even on zero budget Russell retains a knack for lending nearly every shot some sort of surreal flash. (Whether that means having an actor in a gorilla suit or utilizing a multicolored plastic Slinky.)
It gets better as it goes along, but there's still a feeling of glorified home-movie indulgence by an attention-hungry old man only further caricaturing his image as a filmmaker who never should have been taken seriously. That's unfortunate, because (skipping his TV work as a separate issue) from "Women in Love" through at least "Lair of the White Worm" he made strikingly distinct if always flawed contributions to the art form. (Russell will never get a Knighthood, unlike just about anyone else who's got a long high-profile career in British cinema, because he's just made too many movies HRH couldn't be associated with.)