A crown for two queens, a throne to share and mixed reviews

Les mercredis du cinéma - Kelly Lambiel

Too long, too short at the same time. Contrast between violent and light scenes. Feminist discourse flirts dangerously with cliché. Staging halfway between theater and cinema. Two talented actresses who put performance aside to reveal a restrained style. The result? A half-hearted success for Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots. We explain why...

A promising start

The film begins with the execution of Marie. Before she places her head on the block, we follow her, from behind, from her cell to the room where she will be put to death. This close-up is not only aesthetically pleasing, but also highly evocative. Indeed, it is interspersed with similar shots of the woman who is immediately presented as her enemy, her cousin Elizabeth I.

No suspense, then, as to the outcome of the plot, but a stylistically successful and narratively effective opening. The story then returns to the conflict that united the two pretenders to the throne for some twenty years, without them ever meeting.

An unoriginal scenario and pacing problems

For those who don't already know the story, a quick search on the web will easily bring you back to the beginning. Mary Stuart was the granddaughter of Margaret Tudor, wife of the King of Scotland and older sister of the bloodthirsty King Henry VIII. This makes her a legitimate claimant to the English throne. For Catholics, at least. For Protestants, who recognize the late Henry's divorce, Elizabeth, from his union with the sultry Anne Boleyn, is the rightful queen.

But these details are barely touched upon towards the end of the film, when Elizabeth mentions that she's not like her father. Admittedly, the subject is vast, and the plot is built on numerous ellipses that keep the story moving forward, but this succession of disparate moments ends up wearying the viewer. Worse still, it doesn't allow us to get inside the characters' heads, understand their motivations or become attached to them. Paradoxically, some of the other elements of the story, although in line with the historical facts, could have been shortened, simplified or even eliminated in favor of deeper introspection.

The clumsiness of conformism

In her first film, Josie Rourke sets out to put this well-known page of English history at the service of current causes, feminism in particular. To do so, she doesn't hesitate to take a few liberties with the historical facts in order to highlight certain issues. She transforms Elizabeth's ambassador, played by Adrian Lester, into a man of color, makes Lord Darnley, played by Jack Lowden, a homosexual and his lover David Rizzio, played by Ismael Cruz Cordova, a particularly effeminate character. An audacity we would have welcomed if these themes had received the treatment they deserve.

Unfortunately, they seem to have been sketched out only to show that the film is in tune with the times. As for the feminist discourse, it doesn't manage to avoid certain pitfalls either. From the very first lines of dialogue, it's clear that this is not just a question of rivalry between two cousins, between Catholics and Protestants. It's about the relentless struggle of two women to find their place in a world that is particularly hostile to them, a world of men. This struggle brings Elizabeth and Marie closer together, but turns them into enemies, as their exchange of letters repeatedly shows.

Manipulated by misogynist advisors who wanted to see them restrained by their husbands, they have both always refused to submit to political marriages and to make concessions in their love lives. While the director illustrates this point very well with some very pertinent lines, she loses her status as spokeswoman for the feminist cause when she places phrases like «I'm more of a man than a woman, that's what the throne has made me» or «I choose to be a man and you [her advisor, namely Guy Pearce] are the closest thing I have to a wife» in the mouth of the Queen of England. Pity.

Form to the rescue of substance

Despite these few shortcomings, it's worth noting the meticulous aesthetics and powerful symbolism of some of the well-constructed paintings. The landscapes, sets and costumes are of the highest quality, and the chiaroscuro contrasts sometimes give us the impression of being inside a Baroque painting. The opening scene, as mentioned above, is skilfully executed, setting the two cousins against each other from the outset, but also subtly evoking the bond that has developed between them.

Filmed from behind, with the same hairstyle, they blend together and are distinguished by the color of their hair. The birth of Marie's child, whom Elizabeth will eventually make her heir, is another highlight of the film. He carries with him the hopes of both queens, namely the unification of Scotland and England under a single crown. This common desire is delicately conveyed on screen by superimposed images of the two queens, brought together in this scene by their voice-overs.

The meeting of the two sovereigns confirms what we've said, and saves the whole film. In this masterful, long-awaited scene, everything is perfect. Before finally coming face to face, Margot Robbie, unrecognizable as Elizabeth ravaged by smallpox, and Saoirse Ronan seek each other out, gaze at each other and tame each other. Having arranged to meet in what looks like a laundry, they first observe each other through the multitude of sheets separating them.

When they finally reveal themselves to each other, we're surprised they don't go overboard, much to our delight. No tears, no screams. Just two women settling their accounts face to face, with phenomenally powerful simplicity. Restrained emotions, violently gentle acting, two queens at last endearing.

Write to the author: lambielkelly@hotmail.com

Photo credit: © Universal Pictures