Highly Overrated But Still Good

Unshakable, witty and deeply felt, the film will be paying emotional dividends for a long, long time.

It is neither dumb nor smart enough to be fun, and spends way too much time with its boring human characters.

One of the film's great tricks is that, for a time, you think it will go down a rabbit hole of unrealistic glorification.

The audience for this curious tale of the man whose name created the term sadomasochism gets to see his personal life through two angles. First, there is the reality of what is happening, and then there is how he apparently views it, in red filter tones that look like something out of your worst nightmare. A ton of bare busted women all get physically and sexually abused by this aristocrat who demands pain with pleasure simply because it amuses him. If he isn't whipping some female, he is reminding them of his power over them. Taking his story back to his childhood and the abuse is from his wicked uncle, John Huston, this still doesn't get any sympathy into his story. Basically however, there really is no story and while artistically impressive it does not make for a good tale of debauchery. What could have been a psychological look into the life of a man who didn't even warrant a listing in my biographical dictionary which lists many people who probably never even get looked up.Told through an apparent stage performance of him looking back at his life with the ghostly presence of uncle Huston, this suffers not only from the lack of a real story but many dry patches that create a dull flow. A better version of the de Sade story wasn't actually a biography, but a 4 film where on alleged descendants of the marquis begins to believe that he is him. So for entertainment value at least, check out Mickey Hargitay in Bloody Pit of Horror and skip this one unless witnessing somebody's acid trip is truly your thing.

Considering that it is penned by the late, great Richard Matheson and directed by Cy Endfield (of Zulu fame), with additional scenes helmed by Roger Corman, the credentials seem to be in place for De Sade to be a rather fascinating movie. The talent behind the camera is more than matched in front of it too, with a cast of some distinction including Keir Dullea, John Huston, Lilli Palmer and Senta Berger. Despite the promising elements, alas, the film is an absolute damp squib. It fails as art, it fails as exploitation; and as entertainment it offers virtually nothing. The film doesn't so much miss an opportunity as collapse with scarcely a whimper.Fugitive the Marquis De Sade (Keir Dullea) seeks refuge at his ancestral home, where he is persuaded to watch a bizarre play arranged for his entertainment by his uncle, the Abbe (John Huston). The play depicts a distorted recount of the Marquis's own life, and is intercut with his own fragmentary flashbacks to his earlier life and debaucheries. Much is made of the De Sade's uneasy link to Madame De Montreuil (Lilli Palmer), mother of two daughters, both of whom have relationships with the young Marquis. He reluctantly marries the eldest sister, Renee (Anna Massey), even though he finds her dull and plain and lusts much more openly after her younger sister Anne (Senta Berger). De Sade mistreats Renee horribly, and is involved in debauchery after debauchery, orgy after orgy, scandal after scandal; bringing great shame upon the family and earning himself a reputation as a debased and depraved individual.So, where does a film about such a potentially intriguing subject go so horribly wrong? The blame can be apportioned quite evenly – first comes Matheson's script: a dreadful mess which attempts, unsuccessfully, to evoke a nightmarish dream, fragmented memories of a dying man. Second is the lacklustre performance of Dullea as the title character, a crashing bore as interpreted by the actor (he is totally upstaged by everyone around him, particularly Palmer). And thirdly, the attempts to inject permissive, orgiastic and titillating excesses – sex and depravity chief amongst them – are woefully unconvincing. Dullea romps beneath the bedsheets with several women at once, pouring wine into their mouths while gorging on grapes, but the overwhelming impression one gets is of something utterly unerotic and unstimulating. The character looks more like a 'Jack the Lad' - a 'swinger' for want of a better word – than a dangerous and perverted corrupter of young souls. The film is at least richly photographed, with lavish sets and costumes, but these touches do not save it. They merely nudge it a notch or two above the dreaded one- star rating that it would otherwise deserve. Whichever way you look at it De Sade is a notable failure, a film as forgotten and obscure as it deserves to be,

An ambitious disaster that could only have come out of the sixties (just like "Doctor Faustus", "Casino Royale" and probably several others I have not seen). The filmmakers must have thought that "De Sade" failed because it was too "avant-garde" for its time. Wrong! It is too avant-garde for ANY time. It doesn't make any sense, you never learn anything about De Sade that you didn't already know before viewing it, and despite the bundles of nudity, there's barely a sexy moment to be found. (**)

My friends and I should have known we were in trouble when the opening credits had that late-60s GoGo/orchestrated music and a James Bond-ish red dot with morphing black figures dancing around it. To give it some modicum of credit, it was so absurd and had such awful acting in the first 20 minutes that it showed some so-bad-it's-good promise. Sadly, the same scene replayed itself another 8 times through the movie, putting me, at least, to sleep. And the movie had nothing whatsoever to do with the Marquis de Sade. As my friend said after the movie, "It didn't work on so many levels."2001 will never be the same.