Review: Equus

I have to confess to personally loathing horses (anything bigger than me tends to scare me, which I guess covers a lot of things), but this flick about a boy who seems to love horsies just a little too much, I particularly loathe and likely still would even without the horses. But the horses definitely are part of the problem.

 

A screen adaptation of a play that was probably a little more sane, it stars Richard Burton as a troubled shrink going through a rough patch in life, with a childless, loveless marriage. A friend (Eileen Atkins, very good) asks him to look into the case of young Peter Firth, as a young man who has apparently been compelled to blind six horses with a metal spike.

 

Initially reticent to talk at all (he sings ad jingles whenever Burton gets too close), Burton slowly discovers that this young man has some seriously warped views concerning religion and sexuality. This, it seems, stems from the conflicting views on these two subjects by his religious nutcase mother (a shrill Joan Plowright, surprisingly ‘off’ here, given her usual high standards) and cranky atheistic father (a well-cast Colin Blakely). Harry Andrews (one of the best of all British character actors) is on hand for a few scenes as a stern stable master who was Firth’s employer. Jenny Agutter (who has a celebrated nude scene, whilst Firth is unfortunately naked quite a bit) is the alluring tease of a girl who unwittingly provides the final nail in Firth’s psychological coffin, so to speak.

 

You can talk all you want about the wonderful use of symbolism, the interesting themes and fine acting (Oscar nominated Burton, Andrews, and Blakely are well-cast and Oscar nominated Firth does the absolute best that anyone could under the circumstances in trying to make the whole thing not quite so barmy), and so on. But what it all boils down to is that Firth loves horsies…a lot. He rides them bare-arse naked and seems to get some sort of sexual gratification from this experience (though we are spared too much explicitness, we still know what’s going on). And this just plain disturbs me, and makes me want to have a cold shower. How such a talented filmmaker as Sidney Lumet (director of great films like “12 Angry Men”, “Dog Day Afternoon”, and “Serpico”) can look at himself in the mirror after making this monstrosity is beyond me, and it boggles the mind just what the thought he could do with the already loony material. And no amount of good acting can come even remotely close to saving such a sicko oddity.

 

The idea that unhappy Burton sees some sort of merit in this young man’s lunatic and depraved behaviour is such a stupid, stupid point to argue, I can’t believe someone with such intelligence as playwright Peter Shaffer or Lumet could try such a thing. When you combine this with all the heavy symbolism (including one hilariously over-the-top homoerotic dream sequence involving Firth, a deep-voiced stud and his steed, which simply boggles the mind), you get a bizarre and rather sick bit of lunacy that tries to over-complicate what is an otherwise fairly standard psychological drama. It should’ve been a simple story of a shrink trying to unlock the mysteries of the mind of a troubled young boy. I’m all for bringing a new spin on an old genre, but, to quote David Spade (ha!), this film is nucking futs! And before you tell me that the play is oh-so much better, you can forget it. I watch movies, not plays, and prefer to judge the film as it stands. And as it stands, it sucks. Lumet doesn’t even try to hide the stage origins, with Burton having about a half dozen portentous rantings and ravings direct to camera. One of the worst films of the 1970s.

 

Rating: F