Movie Review: Marie Antoinette

by John P. Meyer

Is it an allegory for the effects of fame and fortune on the lives of individuals, perhaps even national entities? You decide. Me, I'm off to find some flaky, cream-filled pastries.

This Friday afternoon I was torn between new releases Little Children and Marie Antoinette, and - by virtue of the fact that I caught Kirsten Dunst on The Daily Show Thursday night, and decided this must be a sign from God - I chose the latter. After settling in at AMC Northpark and putting tongue to pen, I began to second-guess that decision when scores of Bishop Lynch students in plaid skirts ambled into the auditorium on a (presumably school-sanctioned) field trip. Perfect.

Let me say this about the Bishop Lynch kids: they are the best-behaved, lowest-profile teenagers I've ever encountered in public. Pitiful, really.

I'll leave it up to individual viewers to decide whether Marie Antoinette qualifies as a chick flick, but here's a telling bit of evidence: after the titular character settles into her new and exalted role as Queen of France, she and her ladies in waiting go on a shoe shopping spree the likes of which we haven't seen since Imelda Marcos decamped for Hawaii.

You can tell Sofia Coppola and crew had a jolly good time filming amid the recreated opulence of regal France. We get the impression that the aristocracy knew their days were numbered and strove to squeeze every sous of value from the national coffers before things imploded on them, in the form of hungry peasants out for their decadent wastrel (but impeccably-coifed) heads. Pesky peasants. The screen is filled to overflowing with sumptuous, misty scenics crammed with insanely manicured landscapes and ornate carriages populated by creatures transformed through artifice into beings of alien-like beauty - at least, to their own standards. Personally, I prefer grunge.

Scenes of royal romping amid the gardens of Versailles and pigging out on pastries in the drawing room are accompanied by a soundtrack heavy on 80's-style pop (think "I Want Candy" by Bow Wow Wow). Remember the 80's? (And here I refer to the NINETEEN eighties...) Reagan was King (I mean, President), self-indulgence was in, and all was right with the world. Particularly if you were of the privileged class (i.e., rich Republicans).

Much early emphasis is placed on Marie's outsider status (she was Austrian by birth), her discomfort with the heavy obligations placed upon her as a functionary of international politics (she was expected to get down to business with a mostly-disinterested Louis XVI and produce an heir to the throne) and her ennui. Rumor mongering among palace hangers-on was practically an art form (see the exceptionally smart 1996 film Ridicule); whenever Marie is seen navigating the public rooms of the palace in her regal finery we hear the accompanying background buzz of catty conversation, intentionally pitched just loud enough for the object of the conversation (Marie) to hear it.

One of the most striking aspects of the film is its depiction of how bloody BORING such a life of luxury ends up being. I mean, how many shoes can one buy before they all begin to look alike? How many éclairs can one wash down with champagne before that exercise becomes pedantic? Sure, it might be fun to try and find out, but after you'd reached that threshold you'd probably want to extend your boundaries a bit. Back to Burger King to rub elbows with the unwashed cholesterol-clogged masses. But few options existed for French royalty, it seems, beyond the occasional clandestine appearance in costume at a masked ball, or perhaps a brief and dangerous extramarital rendezvous. Of course, the unfortunate thing about demonstrating this velvet-hammer tedium to filmgoers is that it makes the film itself pretty boring, which long stretches of this film indeed are.

And if I comment that Kirsten Dunst's delivery of her lines is exceedingly wooden, then consider that the role of Queen in 18th century France was a pretty wooden gig; in Louis XV's royal palace, ceremony is layered on so heavily that it takes some serious digging to find the humanity beneath all that pomp and circumstance. Even the act of dressing in the morning becomes a complicated ritual whose dictates must be adhered to.

What will keep filmgoers from snoozing are outstanding performances by talented actors. Rip Torn (astonishingly) makes a quite convincing Louis XV, an aging monarch full of worldly wisdom who's in essence just a likeable old chap - as long as you respect his mistress. As his mistress, Madame du Barry, the saucy Asia Argento (daughter of Italian Giallo-meister Dario Argento) acts as though she owns the court, appearing in scandalous attire, kissing up to the King at dinner and sweeping through palace hallways trailing her Nubian manservant and pet monkey.

Also notable is Jason Schwartzman, whose portrayal of Marie's husband, Louis XVI, treads dangerously on ground mired in caricature (vapid inbred dilettante) and finds itself eventually on the solid footing of subtle characterization; by the film's conclusion we actually admire this guy, who truly loves his wife and children and takes his role as leader of the nation quite seriously.

Marie's life, from childhood, has been all about obligation and role-playing. She strides into France not as an individual entity, but the betrothed of the dauphin, heir to the throne; she accepts her role as recipient of public focus (and scorn); she accepts her role as baby maker to the royal bloodline. She is, in final analysis, more of a functionary than a person. At the end of things, she transitions into another role - that of scapegoat to the enraged rabble. It must have been disconcerting to Marie, out on that balcony above the assembled revolutionary masses - it was probably more people than she had ever seen before en masse, and they were all so much dirtier (and no doubt smellier) than the sort of folks she was used to. It speaks to her poise that she presented herself so courteously to the abashed pitchfork-wielding peasantry, ready as ever to accept this new and final role that fate demanded of her.

When I left the theater yesterday, I had pretty much decided that this was a mediocre film; on consideration, I'm upgrading my analysis: it's a pretty impressive cinematic accomplishment. Even with all that wealth splashed across the screen, Ms. Coppola's Marie Antoinette is not so much about what it has to show us as about what it has to say. Is it an allegory for the effects of fame and fortune on the lives of individuals, perhaps even national entities? You decide. Me, I'm off to find some flaky, cream-filled pastries.

HEARD AND REMEMBERED:

Comtesse de Noailles (Judy Davis) to Marie, after sending her little lapdog, Muffy, back to Austria: "You can have as many French dogs as you like."

Marie to Comtesse de Noailles, after standing naked in the cold bedroom waiting for the highest-ranking lady in attendance to dress her in her shift: "This is ridiculous!"

Comtesse de Noailles' reply to the above: "This, Madame, is Versailles!"

YOU SNOOZE, YOU LOSE: Watch closely during the shoe shopping orgy for a glimpse of a pair of decidedly non-period sneakers.

This story was submitted by a member of the TexasGigs community.

• Staff
• Verified User
• Anonymous