If given the chance, John Wilmot, the Second Earl of Rochester, would probably get drunk and merry with Captain Jack Sparrow; he also might seduce oddball Willy Wonka, but in “The Libertine,” Johnny Depp leaves behind his pirate swagger and his candyman eccentricity for a cassock coat and periwig.
Dapper Depp: Johnny Depp is John Wilmot the libertine, a hedonistic poet who has an affair with an actress after he grows increasingly bored with his ordinary wife (Rosamund Pike, left).
The infamous libertine — who engaged in all kinds of licentious behavior while consuming large quantities of alcohol and writing satirical, sexually explicit plays and poems — is not a bad choice for a biopic. Depp certainly has the right charm and unique allure to resurrect Wilmot. In the prologue to the film, he manages this task tremendously. With flirtatious, wickedly menacing words, he avows “You will not like me.” And you don’t, well, at least you really don’t want to. He speaks about his exploits in frank, repulsive terms, but his aberrant words are strangely seductive. He entices you with an opening to his pleasure garden, and without much prodding, you turn the doorknob with an entranced hand.
Sadly, despite the arousing beginning, Wilmot simply isn’t allowed to breathe. Stifled by King Charles II’s new doctrine to clean up the country, and plagued by a developing, crippling case of syphilis, Wilmot is not exactly an appealing sex icon. He remains unlikable — and is in fact revolting by the end — and not exciting.
“The Libertine” is a frustrating film because for most of it, you just want Wilmot to be allowed to enjoy his fantasies. At least he is in his element at two potent scenes. When Wilmot’s mother criticizes his daily inebriation, stating that “anyone can get drunk,” Wilmot provocatively replies: “Few match my determination.” He proceeds to taunt his mother by nearly seducing her in a way that is intense and disturbing. Later, Wilmot puts on a scandalous play — complete with almost-nude frolicking women, dildos and a gigantic statue of a penis — for the kings of England and France. When King Charles II interrupts the production, Wilmot defiantly and derisively defends his material. Sadly these fun moments are few, and fleeting.
The film begins when Wilmot returns to England after having been banished by King Charles II (a fittingly regal John Malkovich). The use of natural light gives the film a grainy quality, and with its dark alleys, poor sanitation and ominous shadows, England effuses grime and strikingly evokes a sense of moral corruption. Wilmot parades through London as if it was his royal brothel, mocks the king behind his back, hangs out with his boisterous buddies, but still looks pretty wretched. Physically unsatisfied with his wife, the beautiful but rather plain Elizabeth Malet (Rosamund Pike), he pursues Elizabeth Barry (the fiery and always interesting Samantha Morton), an independent spirit and unappreciated stage actress in whom he sees promise. He almost appears pleased while tutoring and finally bedding Barry; however, she is actually spying on him, which puts a damper on their relationship. Plus, he’s dying anyway.
The death is an ordeal in itself. It drags on as make-up artists destroy all of Depp’s handsome features and breed a repellent monster. This monster is a defiant beast that blathers on for no particular reason, gives elevated speeches, and then feels the need to come to some sort of resolution with all of the important people in its life. Wilmot defies convention by refusing to die, but he also makes you wish for someone willing to put the creature out of its misery.
Movies with gratuitous sex scenes can become near pornographic and meaningless. But in the case of “The Libertine,” full appreciation of Wilmot requires some portrayal of the past exploits that made him infamous. Otherwise, it’s like making a documentary about Hugh Hefner without ever entering the Playboy Mansion.
