The Cannes Classics section isn’t usually one of the festival’s main noise makers. Comprised mostly of restorations of classic titles and new documentaries about film history, it’s a place, especially for most participants who don’t work in repertory films, to take a breather amidst the whirlpool of the new and indulge in the joys of the old, at least when their schedules allow. Cannes Classics rarely screens the festival’s hot ticket. But it’s also early in this year’s edition, when securing a seat at Thursday night’s presentation of the new 4K restoration of The Devil (British author Ken Russell’s sensational 1971 work imagining a 17th-century Loudun estate) became a priority.
I got lucky. The ticket system for the festival will be available as soon as reservations open four days in advance. Many others were not. I received many messages from friends and colleagues politely asking if I really intended to use the ticket. Yes, sorry, that’s right. The publicist then checks to see if ticket negotiation skills are required. On the day of the screening, applicants eagerly updated their reservation pages over and over again, waiting for last-minute returns. Outside the film festival’s Buñuel Cinema, where the screening was to begin in less than an hour, two men could be seen embracing as their patience finally paid off.
The unsettling energy surrounding screenings of the 55-year-old film somehow makes it difficult to watch these days. But this “somehow” caveat is quite important. Despite being censored for much of its life, Russell’s masterpiece still has the aura of a suppressed, banned, or, most appealingly, dangerous film. Unless you keep track of the release history, you might not know which cuts you’ve seen. However, if you’ve seen the cut where the infamously problematic “Rape of Christ” sequence was not removed, you certainly haven’t forgotten that detail.
So this Cannes screening had a pleasant ring of all-encompassing authority, promising not just a visually perfect experience assembled from the original camera negatives, but a complete, uncut experience. After all, it was presented by Mark Kermode, the British critic who, along with Russell’s widow Rishi Tribble, has fought longest and hardest to protect and preserve Russell’s original vision. (Mr. Kermode is also very vocal about being agnostic about Cannes; if he was drawn to the Croisette to make a statement, it was definitely an opportunity.) I had seen The Devil in its entirety before, but never with the same degree of ritual and anticipation. As latecomers nervously scanned the lines for a free space, sitting inside the Buñuel Pavilion, guests, including Palme d’Or honorary winner Peter Jackson, were already seated and you could have sworn the movie was about to begin. It was premiered for the first time.
But for many in the audience, it was a completely new discovery. When Kermode began his introduction by asking who had seen this movie for the first time, it seemed like a majority of hands went up. They got to it at the right time. The restoration (scheduled for theatrical release in October) is stunning, especially honing the film’s stylized black-and-white and blood-and-mud color palette to glowing effect, making the film, well, unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. (Even if you’ve seen it before, it reveals new facets, facets, and curiosities every time.) Among those seeing it for the first time was fellow Variety critic Siddhant Adlakha. When I asked him what he thought, he laughed and said, “It’s weirder than I expected.”
He’s not wrong. This movie is about a very horrifying historical event. It’s the downfall and eventual execution of 17th-century Roman Catholic priest Hulbain Grandier (here an unrepentant hordog played with lustful brilliance by Oliver Reed). He was accused of witchcraft by a corrupt church after the monastery he oversaw claimed demonic possession. But the great joy of “Devils” remains how ripe and campy, sensual and funny it is, qualities fully indulged by Russell (not a director who even knew what “half” meant) in every aspect, from the performances to the production design to the orgy choreography.
Two scenes from The Devil that everyone knows are two that not everyone has seen. In the aforementioned “Rape of Christ” stage set, a group of naked nuns sexually desecrate a statue of Jesus. In another, a boner scene of a different kind, the hunchbacked Abbot Sister Jeanne de Angers, played by Vanessa Redgrave, masturbates on the charred femur of a woman who has just been burned at the stake. More spectacular.
These moments were always intended to shock or delight, but in the weighty context of “The Devils” as a whole, they don’t stand out as high-stakes provocations. Especially apart from the censors’ impositions, the finished film stands as a loud, extravagant, heartfelt protest against the forces that seek to limit our thoughts, actions, and desires, whether it’s the Catholic Church or film review boards, and its most violent excesses feel not only provocative but true in presentation. As Kermode reminded the audience in the intro, Russell called The Devil “the best, in fact, the only political movie I’ve ever seen,” and the film’s cry against conservative brainwashing still resonates in 2026, when freedom of expression, religion, and sexuality feel like natural rights.
It’s certainly grander, riskier, and more brutal than the rest of the very solid Cannes Film Festival to date. While there’s a wealth of good, meaningful films, and a transcendent one or two, we’ve so far been missing the kind of new declarative lightning rods that would instantly become the stuff of film festival legend, like David Cronenberg’s “Crash,” Gaspard Noé’s “Irreversible,” and Lars von Trier’s “Antichrist.” If this film has any spiritual similarities to this year’s Cannes program, it might be Jane Schoenbrun’s gleefully received postmodern slasher Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma. The film celebrates the power of cinema to break our taboos and arouse us in the process, seducing us with the once-forbidden and disturbing pleasures of video. The Devil’s Sacrifice wasn’t originally a Cannes landmark (in fact, it was set in Venice at the time and won the Best Director award), but it lent its explosive and corrupt legacy to this year’s festival, both politely and outrageously.
