"The Devils," a 17th-century tale of religious fanaticism, may be writer/director Ken Russell's best film, but it could have been even better if he hadn't pushed his actors so far over the top. It's bad enough that Oliver Reed has steam coming out of his ears whenever he's onscreen and that Vanessa Redgrave is often a cringe as the twitching, hunchbacked Sister Jeanne. But the worst offender is Michael Gothard as the histrionic, witch-hunting Father Barre. Not only is Gothard engaged in a persistent contest with Reed and Redgrave to see who can screech his/her lines the loudest, but his hippie haircut and John Lennon spectacles are ridiculously out of place in a period film. It's impossible to take his character seriously, and that's a significant problem for someone who emerges as the story's top villain. Dudley Sutton and Murray Melvin are actually more effective in much smaller nemesis roles. On the other hand, the film's look is incredible (the sets, courtesy of the young Derek Jarman, are intentionally restricted to austere black and white) and Peter Maxwell Davies' assaultive score is one of the most thrilling works of contemporary classical music I've heard in a film. Otherwise, it probably goes without saying that if you have a fetish for writhing, naked nuns in heat, this will be the greatest movie you ever saw. I believe that I caught a nearly unedited version of this still-controversial film, but I did read something online about a closing shot of Sister Jeanne stimulating herself with a phallus-shaped bone fragment. Alas, the cut I saw did not include this.