While I'm not a Ken Russell expert or afficionado, I have come to expect certain things when viewing one of his films. One is the almost obsessive attention to period detail, which is refreshing in this day and age. I mean, when Carol Kane comes out with a soup tureen full of french fries and a bottle of ketchup, you can bet your Aunt Myrtle's girdle that that bottle is period correct for the 1920s. Another thing is that Russell usually drops some sort of fever dream-styled scene into the proceedings that usually results in a form of tonal whiplash from the rest of the movie. This happens with the jail scene of Valentino and his wife. Sweet Mary, I almost had flashbacks to the torture scenes in THE DEVILS with that one. Russel definitely marches to his own beat; if the mythology behind Valentino doesn't suit his purposes, Russell simply barges ahead and creates his own. Valentino historians and fans (are there any still living?) may take issue with accuracy and sequence, but Rudolf Valentino is no sacred icon to me, so the film is a nice palate cleanser from all the corporate, comic book sausage product we've been fed of late. It's nice to see this ragtag bunch of players, from Nureyev and Mama Michelle to Leslie Caron and Carol Kane to players like John Ratzenberger in an early role. Part fever dream, part movie mag ballyhoo, the film drags during its middle/third act, but ultimately goes down easy . . . Well, as easy as a Ken Russell movie can.
