John Wilmot, 2nd Earl of Rochester, does not want you to like him -- or so he says in the opening lines of The Libertine. He's right. You won't.
And that is simultaneously the film's greatest strength and greatest weakness.
In 1660, the Restoration of Charles II to the English throne ushered in an era during which, as the prologue states, "theatre, arts, sexual intercourse and binge drinking flourished."
Rochester (the ever-swarthy Johnny Depp) emerged as Charles' (John Malkovich) choice as the court's poet. Or, as the monarch says, "Elizabeth had her Shakespeare; you can be mine."
The audience soon realizes, however, that the young Earl, who cannot be bettered in the "scribbling of verses, emptying of bottles, the filling of wenches," has only so much in common with the Bard.
While he may coach an aspiring actress (the irksome Samantha Morton) on playing Ophelia, his own poetic verse adheres strictly to lust, physicality and sex.
To put it bluntly, The Libertine is not for the weak of heart. Jaws will drop and stomachs will turn. Gruesome symptoms such as open cankers, glassy eyeballs and missing noses affirm the unpleasantries of syphilis. Uncouth diction and lewd anatomical references infiltrate most every scene.
The play that the Earl writes for the French king evokes gasps. Phalluses fly and genitalia flail. Wincing and squirming ensues.
Yet behind this bawdy brouhaha lies a biographical drama, a troubling tragedy of a writer who battles the demons of politics, sensuality and alcoholism (he claims he was drunk for five years).
Depp's penetrating depth of character rescues a film that would otherwise flounder. If the audience fails to comprehend the roots and reasons of Rochester's licentious way of life, the fault rests with the script, not the actor.
While Rochester may be sexually emancipated, the film remains chained to uneven themes and hit-or-miss performances.
As Charles II, Malkovich inspires neither high praise nor harsh condemnation -- he embodies mediocrity. As Elizabeth Barry, the sultry London starlet, Morton chafes and irritates the viewer's eyes, ears and patience.
Although Morton's words inspire no accolades, the film does feature some of Rochester's celebrated poetry.
Literary scholars will recognize a fragmented recitation of "The Imperfect Enjoyment." According to the film, the poem seems to have been inspired by real-life event of an anatomical betrayal.
At one point, Rochester declares, "Ladies, an announcement. I am up for it all the time." But, the same cannot be said of the film.
The Libertine is guilty of a promiscuous plot and thematic adultery. It dallies in unfounded sub-plots (the puzzling Oedipal moments between the Earl and his mother), and certain scenes suffer from theatrical impotence. Furthermore, the romance between Rochester and Elizabeth seems strained and forced.
Fortunately, Rochester's wife (Rosamund Pike), who vacillates between fury and tenderness towards her wanton spouse, helps to save certain scenes from cinematic dysfunction and adds another layer of complexity to the film.
The Libertine is a gloomy history lesson whose despondency will linger with the viewer for hours afterwards.
Like any biographical drama, The Libertine must adhere to certain twists and turns in the subject's life. The discourse in which it chooses to portray them is another matter.
The startling religious conversion of Rochester at the end of his days (he died at the age of 33) is draped in references to crowns of thorns, nails and bleeding palms. Such martyrdom of Rochester seems both unearned and unfounded.
In a distressing way, the film is an immense success: at the end, a Lazarus-like Rochester interrogates the audience, repeatedly asking, "Do you like me now?"
The viewer may be reviled, depressed, saddened or fascinated by the great English poet. But she or he will still not like John Wilmot, 2nd Earl of Rochester.
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