Watching this again after a long gap made me realise what a masterpiece it is.
The Southern Gothic tone, and the sheer weirdness of the central character's anti-religious religiosity, make for a fascinating presentation of Flannery O'Connor's cult fiction. Brad Dourif is one of the few actors who could have pulled off this level of intensity and manic strangeness. It's a shame that he has had so few lead roles in his career.
There is something very contemporary about the way in which the population of the town is drawn towards hucksters like the men played by Harry Dean Stanton and Ned Beatty (both brilliant). It's how Trump started and how he still proceeds.
Unfortunately for his physical and mental health, Hazel Moats is the real deal, not a huckster.
There's a nasty streak of humour running through John Huston's Wise Blood, and it catches you off guard almost immediately.
I spent the first half hour trying to work out what kind of film I was watching — satire, tragedy, or something closer to grotesque comedy. Huston never quite makes up his mind either. The tone lurches between the three without warning. It keeps you slightly off balance, in a good way. There's a bone-dry, faintly cruel comic streak running through it that wouldn't feel out of place in a Coen brothers film, with characters treated more like specimens than people, and Huston clearly enjoying every uncomfortable minute of it.
The trouble is the ending. Huston can't settle on where to land it. He points one way, then doubles back another, and the film never quite finds its note to finish on.
Strange, funny, a bit of a mess — but a mess with real personality.