Love Is The Devil is a fascinating example of British art cinema which is
also about the process of creating art. Director John Maybury was an associate
of the late Derek Jarman, and his experience of avant-garde filmmaking is
clearly incorporated into this distinctive 'biopic' of the painter Francis
Bacon, here played with uncanny accuracy by Derek Jacobi. But unlike its near
contemporary Wilde (d. Brian Gilbert, 1996), Love Is The Devil is certainly no
glossy, heritage-friendly take on the life and times of a great artist.
The film's provocative sexual content and willingness to delve into the less
attractive aspects of Bacon's flamboyant personality made this a controversial
project, even in its very early stages. Maybury had received vital support from
BBC Films and the BFI's Production Board under Ben Gibson, but when Gibson
applied to the Arts Council of England for a substantial National Lottery
investment he was initially unsuccessful. Newspaper reports suggested that Lord
Gowrie, chairman of the Arts Council and a friend of Bacon's, had personally vetoed the award because of the film's 'prurient' approach and lack of historical distance from its subject, who had died only a few years before. Eventually these reservations were overcome and the film's credits do indicate the support of the Arts Council. But the organisation's remit, to uphold the national reputation of the arts, sits uncomfortably alongside this film's dark and difficult version of art history.
Probably for similar reasons, Maybury was denied access to Bacon's violent
and disturbing pictures by his estate. Instead, the film ingeniously recreates motifs and compositions from the artist's work in cinematic terms. Thick, curved glass filters twist and distend the figures on screen, bodies are trapped within
strange geometric shapes, or refracted by mirrors into widescreen triptychs.
Within the narrative, the nightmarish quality of Bacon's oeuvre is contained
inside the troubled mind of George Dyer (Daniel Craig), an East End petty crook who became Bacon's lover, tormentor and model for an extended period during the 1960s. Dyer's outward strength and inner fragility make him the perfect tragic muse; he is dissected and ultimately destroyed by the artist's penetrating gaze.
But the film holds back from a sentimental approach to Dyer's suicide, presenting his death in enigmatic fragments wilfully reminiscent of Bacon's imagery. Love Is The Devil therefore represents a rare cinematic victory for the aesthetic over the emotive.
James Caterer
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