The Ruling Class (1972, Peter Medak) (Patreon)

45/100

Second viewing, last seen 1993. Prior to that, I'd read a synopsis somewhere (wasn't in the Maltin Guide; I just checked) that described O'Toole's character as believing himself to be both Jesus Christ and Jack the Ripper—which is accurate, but got me overly excited about a hypothetical scenario in which someone suffers from both of those delusions simultaneously. I had no idea how that would work and couldn't wait to find out. This time, my disappointment was more muted, since I knew what to expect: a whole lot of corny jokes along the lines of someone exclaiming "Oh, god!" and the mad Earl replying "Yes?" Medak demonstrates little flair for comedy (even of the darkly satirical variety) and seems at a loss during the musical numbers, which I'd complain are much too brief to be effective were I not wincing at the prospect of more. The film derives most of its energy from O'Toole's, shall we say, emphatic performance, and will likely appeal to those who wish that The Fisher King were all Robin Williams all the time. I do enjoy Arthur Lowe as Tucker, the butler who inherits £30,000 and chooses to remain in service with his obsequiousness dialed down to almost zero; I'll also allow that Medak orchestrates a few inspired bits of misdirection, couching Grace's initial entrance as Jack's fantasy and shooting his "levitation" act from the perspective of the table if it had actually risen. (The latter, in particular, is a purely cinematic flourish that can't possibly have been carried over from the stage production.) And it's certainly bracing to see someone pronounced sane by virtue of having spouted a bunch of reactionary (and specifically homophobic) bullshit. But 154 minutes constitutes a lotta scaffolding for an edifice that merely says "A man who proclaims himself to be God will be perceived as bonkers and a menace to society, but a man who's secretly convinced he's a long-dead serial killer will just come across like any old rich asshole."