Dieu et mon droit

This movie has EVERYTHING!!!!! I'm serious. Does it have musical numbers? Yes, it does. Beautiful costumes, fabulous sets, serial killers, witty dialogue, burlesque striptease, opera and aristocracy, romance and insanity, jealousy and drama, comedy and theology? Yes, yes, yes!!! Oh, why couldn't there be more films like this? In a way, it reminded me of "The Ninth Configuration" although that movie lacked humor. Peter O'Toole is just gorgeous, as well. My father (psychiatrist) says that this film is just about the only accurate film representation he's seen of MANIA, but when i asked him about it, he didn't recall the musical numbers. So i suppose it's got something for everyone. I could write about THE RULING CLASS for hours and hours and compare it to everything in the entire world but i don't want to give anything away. This is an absolute MUST-SEE for anyone with an interest in film, England, mental disorders, or dancing the Varsity Rag.

The Ruling class is a disturbing commentary on the nature and necessity of our whole belief systems. It both highlights the extreme fragility of those beliefs, and takes gently mocking aim at us for our dependency on them. Viewed in that light, the film succeeds 100%. When viewed merely as a satire on the British ruling classes, of course it doesn't. It goes far deeper, becoming also an essay on our tendency to manipulate others for our own benefit: the characters' collective idiosyncrasies serve as punctuation for that essay. Brilliantly acted, often hilarious but always profoundly moving, it is a genuine classic of its kind, notwithstanding its undeniable, though relatively minor, flaws. I'd love to have it on DVD!

You couldn't make this film today. They wouldn't let you.

And by "they" I don't only mean what remains of the film's archetypes, but their 21st century successors: the politicians, broadcasters, pundits and columnists; the do-gooders, moral guardians and the political correctness lobby.

Our new alleged betters, who believe that the country would be so much better if they were the only ones running it, and who're convinced that what the world really needs is a steady diet of anodyne intellectual rice pudding; otherwise, they'd be either be risking (shock and horror!) offending someone or actually making people think about the situation they're in - at the risk of upsetting their own privileged positions.

Before I saw it, I'd never even heard of it or the original stage play. But now more's the pity that I'll probably never see both.

When the first five minutes of anything features an unfortunate death involving a cavalry sabre and a tutu, it's a reliable indicator that snooks may be cocked in any given direction, and the following film doesn't disappoint.

No "establishment" institution is left unsullied by the cast's sardonic touch – and the production is all the better for it. Any punches being pulled would've instantly rang hollow and seemed false in a production with this much raw, snarling energy.

This wasn't comfortable viewing and I don't think it was meant to be. I don't agree with the majority of views expressed in the film and I don't think I was meant to.

It's like peeping into Bedlam and wondering what the inmates will do next – an image made all the more powerful by the liminal sense of time used to ram the mothballed banality home. There're only a few scenes when you can remind yourself that this film is set in its own time, rather than any period over the last few hundred years.

But, ye gods, it was some of the most compelling viewing I've ever seen. I can't vouch for whether or not it was a perverse sense of schardenfruede to peep at the seedier underbelly of my own nation's largely sacrosanct and untouchable upper classes, or just an urge to see how far the film would go before it reached its grimly inevitable, tragic conclusion; but once it started, I couldn't even bear to hit the pause button.

O'Toole's performance is nothing short of mesmerising and magnetic, evolving Jack's character and treading a fine line between sympathy and revulsion in the emotions he provokes.

My first thought upon seeing some of the monologues involved in Jack's role was that if this man didn't get an Oscar nomination for this role, he should've done – so it's a relief to've found out that he did, and more's the pity that he didn't get the win he deserved. The emotional range and energy involved owns the screen in every scene he's in.

The cast are almost all recognisable, mesh well and visibly give their all, even if any fan of 'Blackadder II' may have difficulty not picturing Patsy Byrne in a cow costume.

Arthur Lowe's bolshie manservant provides many of the more blatant, straightforward comic moments as his masters' opposite extreme, but still comes across as a three-dimensional, dramatic and even unashamedly dark character – the latter being an undertone that even the cleanest of sight gags can't fully temper.

Almost all of the principle cast members – and quite a few of the minors and extras – can also hold a note and get the opportunity, in the biting musical numbers. Or at least, if they're dubbed, then the dubbing team deserve additional praise for pulling off the illusion so smoothly.

The songs vary between classic and contemporary. The likes of opera and music hall mingle to convey the cavalier attitude of the characters to often murky or distasteful subject matter, adding a further layer of perky surrealism.

And yet none of this mixture of genres, mise en scene, times, places and imagery seems overly forced.

This sort of alchemy of genres and use of the cinema as a platform for outspoken statements used to be something that really could attract the cream of the acting profession, rather than have to be left to unknowns and independent production teams because no studio or "star" would dare to risk the bad publicity and drop in revenue and/or credibility.

When I initially began attempting to write a summary of this film, I felt that there was no way that I could possibly cram everything that I feel about this film into a well-ordered 1,000 words. And I still believe it. I'm normally capable of far more ordered reviews than this, but I just don't know how to put everything I should be foregrounding into any sort of prioritised order without unjustly diminishing some of it.

I could carry on explaining, but I doubt that I could do this film justice in the space allowed.

See it, and find out for yourself.

This is an excellent movie, but don't watch it expecting it to be purely a dark comedy. There is a lot of humor in it--often very bizarre humor--but it is primarily a very powerful statement about what can happen when, for the sake of social acceptability, a human mind is forced into a mold that doesn't fit. In my opinion, the British ruling class was chosen to illustrate this point only because they do have very rigid rules about what kind of behavior is socially acceptable and what is simply "not done." It's statement about the dangers of excessive self-repression apply equally to us all.

A scathing and profoundly witty attack on Britain's social and political institutions with Peter O'Toole on his best ever form as Jack, the Son of an English Earl who inherits his Father's estate when the old man accidentally kills himself via auto-erotic asphyxiation. The only problem for Jack's relatives is that he's a paranoid Schziophrenic who thinks he's Jesus and they're quick to move for his indefinite committal when he starts to talk about the relinquishing of material possessions and tolerance toward all men. The Ruling Class is a film of two halves. The first is some of the best character comedy you'll ever see. As "JC" who wears glasses because he's cold, O'Toole commands every scene benefiting from some superbly written monologues and one liners, the standout being his pre-wedding speech on the cross and he's assisted by the creme de la creme of British character actors, Arthur Lowe a standout as the newly liberated Trokskyite Butler Tuck with a blatant contempt for his old masters. The second half however, is dark stuff indeed - jet black in fact. Apparenty 'cured' after an arranged confrontation with the AC-DC messiah, Jack dresses as a Victorian gentleman, talks about capital punishment and superior breeding and concerns no-one, the fact he believes himself to be Jack the Ripper going completely unnoticed by his peers who prime him for his climatic accession to the House of Lords. The conceit is milked for all its worth and the final scenes with a hallucinatory Jack looking at his fellow peers in the House as decayed corpses is a particularly chilling postscript to the story. Subtle? No way but its sledgehammer to the concept of patronage and privilege as a criteria for governance and influence. Like the best satire its savage, angry stuff - possibly overlong and too conscious of its theatrical origins but ultimately no less caustic or inventive for it. Class indeed.