Marquis (Henri Xhonneux, 1989)

Talking penises named "Colin," stocking clad claymation spider legs and craw-fish anal sex. Damn you, Marquis. Damn you for being so awesome. And it's no wonder, you were made by Belgians. (It says the film is a Belgium-France co-production.) Whatever, the director, and some of the cast and crew are Belgian, and that's all that really matters. Anyway, I don't know what's weirder, the fact that this film, by Belgian director, Henri Xhonneux, depicts the Marquis de Sade as having a talking penis or the fact that his name is "Colin." Call me blissfully unaware and junk, but the Marquis de Sade's penis doesn't strike me as a "Colin." No, I think René or Jean would more appropriate names for the chatty cock attached the Marquis de Sade. And therein lies the rub. If this movie did what was appropriate, it would lose a large amount of its appeal. Hell, just the mere thought of something transpiring in this film in an everyday manner makes me nauseous. Did I mention that all the actors wear animatronic animal masks and have had their voices dubbed by other actors? That's odd, as it should have been the first thing out of my mouth. Hold on. Everyone knows that it's mandatory that all reviews of Marquis start off by mentioning the talking penis. And, as you can clearly see, that's what I did. On the other hand, there isn't really any wrong way to begin a review of Marquis, as the film gives you so many options to choose from.

My favourite options, of course, are, Colin (Valérie Kling), the Marquis de Sade's talkative trouser companion, the stocking clad claymation spider and the craw-fish anal sex scene. Embrace these three things, and you should be well on your way to fashioning yourself a pretty entertaining review of Marquis, the best film to boast garrulous genitalia since Chatterbox. However, unlike the loquacious labia in that film, this wordy wang has a face and everything. 

It should be noted, before I continue, that the reason Bastille guard Ambert (Michel Robin) is being fucked in the ass by a craw-fish instead of something less crustacean-like is because Colin, the Marquis de Sade's dick, doesn't want to be inserted into Ambert's foie gras-stained anus. I know, you're thinking to yourself: Didn't the Marquis (François Marthouret) and Colin have a deal? One that stated: If you hump the crack in the wall, I'll allow you to put me in Ambert's poop-chute so that Lupino (Roger Crouzet), an imprisoned revolutionary, and Pigonou (Bob Morel), a pig-man charged with pork fraud, may escape. Well, it would seem that the Marquis and Colin have different ideas when it comes to fucking holes.

You would think that Colin, being a cock and all, would be willing to penetrate anything as long as it contained a cavity of some kind. But he doesn't. And you would think that the Marquis, being a man and all, would be just willing, even more so (men love holes). But that's not the case at all.

While Colin is a pragmatist, the Marquis prefers to let his imagination run wild. And he's going to need it, as the Marquis and Colin are currently locked in the Bastille, the infamous prison run by Louis XVI of France.

Charged with "undermining religion and society" (i.e. defecating on crucifixes), the Marquis spends the bulk of his time writing, talking to Colin (who thinks the Marquis uses too many verbs) and shunning the advances of the aforementioned Ambert, who finds the Marquis to be "hard and lithe." This routine is threatened when a fellow prisoner, Lupino (the former chief of police who busted the Marquis), asks the Marquis to help him escape.

His routine gets threatened even more so when the rooster-esque Gaetan De Preaubois (the governor of the Bastille) and camel-headed Don Pompero (the Bastille's confessor) try to pin the rape of Justine, a naive cow-woman who insists she was raped/impregnated by the king, on the Marquis.

Speaking of cow-woman, Juliette, an attractive cow-woman, who is secretly a member of the outlawed Patriotic Citizen's Club, is having a femdom relationship with Gaetan De Preaubois. But don't worry, she doesn't really like him. She's just yanking on his wattle for political purposes. Who among us hasn't yanked on the wattle of a 6' 4" rooster for the greater good?

In the film's most disturbing scene, the Marquis muzzles Colin with his foreskin so that he can tell Justine a story without being interrupted. As you might expect, Colin nearly suffocates. And even though Justine manages to revive him with mouth-to-mouth (a.k.a. a blow-job), Colin is pissed.

People who own penises will be able to relate to the turbulent relationship between the Marquis and Colin in this film. In a constant tug of war over almost every aspect of their day-to-day lives, the Marquis and Colin must learn to live with one another. Or maybe they don't have to. I mean, Colin does threaten to leave the Marquis on several occasions. Either way, I hope these two kooky kids can't work things out. For one thing, it would be a shame if the Marquis missed out on using Colin to penetrate Juliette's creamy cow vagina. Seriously, the sight of Juliette storming the Bastille in kinky black lingerie (we're talking tons of straps) would make even the most jaded of penises hard as a rock.

It should go without saying, but Marquis is a weird ass movie. And if I was, oh, let's say, a seven year-old Albanian boy named Pëllumb, those freaky animatronic animal masks would have scared the Albanac crap out of me. [Special thanks to Sam Arshawsky for recommending this movie.]