The title character—a representation of J.M.W. Turner—is, on a personal level, a monster almost half of the time: he uses his maid as a sperm receptacle, he stomps on people when he disagrees with them, he is ugly and weird, and when he isn’t speaking in an incomprehensible baroque style, he’s grunting at people… and the grunts mean a lot more than some of what he says. He’s a horrid, horrid man.
Oh, and (yes, even from a film you can tell) he smells funny, too. The movie tells the story of his apparent failure as an artist, and how he became a laughingstock derided by everyone from Queen Victoria down to lowly stage players.
And it’s the best film I’ve seen in ages.
Here’s why… Continue reading