I guess if you were Ken Russell in 1986, riding a crest of weirdity, you can do just about anything you want. I think that Russell was the first really wacko film director I got to know. I hadn't watched anything of his for a long time. This is one of those things that allows this director to take complete license. You have true historical figures who come together in the house of Lord Byron, a really colorful character. The lives of these people come out of boredom. They are misunderstood and a bit spoiled. So, according to Russell, they sit down one night and begin to tell their best horror story. This leads to a series of debauches, hallucinations, whatever. It is filled with images and sex and masochism and anything that the director could throw in there. Now, because you are producing in an accepting time, you can get away with all that. I guess I would watch this again, knowing what the whole of the thing presents, but when you play by no rules other than to do what you want, the results are like throwing paint on a canvass. We get a lot of paint, a lot of color, but no motif. So, while I thought this was a real head trip, I'm not so sure there is much coherence or even meaning to it.
