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The Libertine
Driected by Laurence Dunmore; written by Stephen Jeffreys.
Starring Johnny Depp, Samantha Morton, John Malkovich, Rupert Friend.
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It'd be wonderful to say that Laurence Dunmore's The Libertine is the first really terrific film of 2006. But even though it had a national release on March 10th, The Libertine was completed in 2004 and premiered in selected US cities last November, as well as appearing at several major festivals. Even with Johnny Depp and Sarah Morton in the leads, the advance word on The Libertine was so negative that Depp's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and The Corpse Bride got released first.

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It's all a shame, because The Libertine is a great film: moody, dark, witty, and clever. This is not only a tour de force for Depp, but a stingingly refined explication of our current political malaise. With a script by Stephen Jeffreys­ based upon his stage play­ The Libertine manages to be incredibly sexy while never pretending that sex, and rampant sexual extravagance, are not without their complications.

The Libertine is loosely based upon the later years of the infamous John Wilmot, second Earl of Rochester, who was known to be the most debauched of Restoration hedonists. Born in 1647, Wilmot was 13 when Charles II retook the British throne and proceeded frantically to undo everything that Oliver Cromwell and the Puritans had been doing for the previous 11 years. The Restoration reveled in drinking, gambling, fucking, art and­ for the first time ever­ women on the public stage. John Wilmot was a social leader in the first four and a great supporter of the fifth. The Libertine races through Wilmort's last five years­ he died in 1680 at the age of 33­ and attempts to bring together all the threads of his life. And there're an awful lot of them.

Johnny Depp's Wilmot is not only a formidable fornicator, but a talented poet, court wit, devotee of the theater, and political philosopher as well. The film begins in 1675 when Rochester is called back to London by Charles II (John Malkovich) from one of his routine banishments from court. Nothing much happens in The Libertine­ Rochester drinks more and more, falls in love with and coaches the young actress Elizabeth Barry (Samantha Morton) to perfect her craft, sees his young friend (and probable lover) Billy Downs (Rupert Friend) murdered in a street fight, and gets banished again­ this time for writing a bitterly anti-monarchist play entitled Sodom, or the Quintessence of Debauchery that was commissioned by Charles to praise his reign, but which exposed the Royal court as being filled with homosexual sodomites and masturbating women. Charles is unamused, Rochester is banished yet again, only to return two years later ravaged with syphilis to defend, in Parliament, the monarchy against more democratic impulses. He then dies, perhaps reconciling himself with God and Country­ or maybe not.

But the power of The Libertine is not in its plot, but rather its carefully constructed, even byzantine, unfolding of Rochester's complexity. Yes, he's a scoundrel and a sexual virtuoso, as well as a wit, but the portrait that Jeffreys and Depp paint here is more interestingly complex and contemporary. Depp's Rochester is a modern, even postmodern man. He's well aware that the old rules don't hold. Puritanism was obviously a disaster, and against it he's in complete revolt. But Puritanism also brought with it a sounder Parliamentary system which rejected the political excesses of monarchy. Even while Depp's Rochester enjoys a richly degenerate life under Charles II, he's incapable of keeping his political opinions to himself.

Depp's Rochester can barely stay in his physical skin: he moves and acts as though his very body constrains his emotional and sexual energy­ even when at the film's end, he's completely disfigured by end-stage syphilis and cannot tolerate the social worlds in which he's forced to exist. He is in revolt against everything­ puritanism, monarchy, social regulations, sexual excess­ not because he's a constant naysayer or simply a contrarian, but because they are all inadequate institutions to express not just justice but his full humanity. Depp's Rochester is less a Restoration rake than a postmodern man who understands that to exist in any realm is simply to play a part, enact a performance, and that all social structures are simply inventions of whoever's in control.

Traditionally Rochester is seen as the ultimate party-boy, revolting against Mrs. Gruncy and her Puritan cohorts. Or he's seen as a nascent modern man, the 20th century cynic who mocks the world around him. But Depp's Rochester goes much further than that. His sexuality is both boundless and destructive, his political ideas are simultaneously progressive and destructive, and even his art­ upon which he both builds and destroys his reputation and life­ cannot contain his myriad contradictions.

Steeped in Restoration literature, filled with endless and offhand references to playwrights such as Thomas Otway (off screen) and George Etherege (on screen), The Libertine is not a simple film­ to the point where the average viewer may become either confused or stop caring. It is willing to push our expectations about sex and sexuality­ though there is actually very little of it in the film. Jeffreys's script is witty, but because of the fast and furious dialogue, much is lost in asides and ceaseless banter. The film favors muted tones, with long, static shots and sweeping pans that are both beautiful and wonderfully disorienting. But these potential flaws simply add to The Libertine's dazzle and intensity.

Author Profile:  Michael Bronski
	Michael Bronski is the author of Culture Clash: The Making of Gay Sensibility and The Pleasure Principle: Sex, Backlash, and the Struggle for Gay Freedom. He writes frequently on sex, books, movies, and culture, and lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts.
	Email:	mabronski@aol.com