INTRODUCTION

I lived with film-maker Ken Russell for twelve years and we were married for ten, until his death in 2011. We met by correspondence during his filming Dance of the Seven Veils (BBC, 1970), exchanging a few letters with one another about scriptwriting. This led to an unexpected meeting in 1975, when he appeared at my door at 9 a.m., this beaming chrysanthemum of a man, bearing tickets to the Tommy premier (1975). I missed it, but he subsequently cast me in Lisztomania (Goodtimes Enterprises, 1975). My mother refused to allow it. ‘Over my dead body,’ she said. Ken’s first statement to me when we re-met over the phone in 1999 was, ‘Is your mother dead yet?’ As it happened, she was.

We are all aware of the reputation of Ken as ‘l’enfant terrible’, of someone who wove wildly interpretative fantasy interludes and dramatic scenes of alternately passionate and subtle conflicts into his films. Because most of his films include an element of baroque, extravagance or buffoonery, they were not considered a source for historical accuracy or textbook directing, even by him, though he could identify historical references for each questioned image (the kites and tea trays in Elgar [BBC, 1962]; the human blackbirds in The Devils [Warner Bros., 1971]; the issue of Nazi collusion in Dance of the Seven Veils). Ken created by imagining his way through a subject, using daydream, technical agility, painstakingly detailed research and an innate sensibility. He invented a visually rich, unexpectedly charming and precise structural edifice and storytelling arc on which to hang the practical and emotional dilemmas of his films’ central characters: flawed individuals with whom he felt a kinship.

Ken wanted to use images and movement to provide impressionistic glimpses into a higher truth, the place where inspiration breaks through convention and speaks straight from its archetypal source. Ken integrated the two opposing urges, logos and eros, into an expressive and mutually supportive style. One can hardly tease apart the place where music meets action, fantasy meets biography in his films, like gold leaf exaggerating the message. One doesn’t just see a Ken Russell film; one surrenders to it.