A royal woman’s constricted life

 

   She sensitive about gaining weight, especially at age 40. She spends inordinate amounts of time having servants comb and braid her hair.  She's a loving mother and a somewhat indifferent wife. She's widely known as a major figure in 19th Century Europe. 

  She's Elisabeth of Austria or, more precisely, a fictionalized version of an empress who once created international buzz.

    Vicky Krieps plays Elisabeth in Corsage, a movie in which director Marie Kreutzer defies period-piece conventions. Kreutzer  purposefully loads her movie with anachronisms, suggesting that any contemporary relevancies in Elisabeth’s story should not be ignored.

  To cite two examples: At different points, you'll hear renditions of Help Me Make It Through the Night and As Tears Go By, not exactly 19th-century tunes.

    Not everything about Kreutzer's approach works, but at her best, Kreutzer disarms, turning Elisabeth (known as Sisi in her day) into a woman defined by a role that she's increasingly reluctant to play.

   As for the title, Corsage refers to the corsets that Elisabeth wears, instructing her handmaids to pull them so tight, they seem like instruments of torture. Metaphoric leaps encouraged.

   Elisabeth cared about her waistline.  She obsessed about it. For much of the movie, she seems so averse to eating that her behavior probably qualifies as an eating disorder.

   The men in Elisabeth's life don't do much for her. Florian Teichtmeister plays Emperor Franz Joseph;  he doesn't care if his wife's amorous attentions wander so long as she fulfills her public duties as a regal representative of the empire.  

   Elisabeth has freer relations with Louis Le Prince (Finnegan Oldfield), a visitor who introduces her to his invention, an early motion picture camera. She's attracted to a man who tends to horses (Colin Morgan) at one of her estates. But these relations don’t do anything to topple the rigid structure under which Elisabeth lives.

  Although interestingly appointed and visually deft, Corsage belongs to Krieps, who creates a complex woman: petulant, rebellious, narcissistic, and keenly aware that she's losing the beauty for which she was widely admired. 

   Elisabeth also possesses a rueful understanding that nothing she says or thinks will impact her husband's decisions. She's meant to be the living equivalent of an official portrait. 

   Pay attention to the movie's third act, which sets up a tricky finale. Those familiar with Elisabeth's story will know that Kreutzer has taken many liberties, particularly with the movie's conclusion.

    Krieps performance intrigues, as does this adventurous take on how to present an historical figure. Kreutzer and Krieps opt for humor, purposeful distortion of time and place,  and, ultimately I think, respect for both the contradictions and resolve that marked  Elisabeth's personality.

The last days of Oscar Wilde

Rubert Everett directs and stars in The Happy Prince, a movie that affords him an opportunity to play a towering figure in sad decline.

In The Happy Prince, Rupert Everett portrays playwright and international wit Oscar Wilde during his last sad days. Once a big-ticket celebrity and the toast of London’s theatrical scene, Wilde spent his final years as a fallen idol, having served two years at hard labor for homosexual activity.

The movie begins when Wilde resurfaces from prison, perhaps expecting to reclaim his place as a highly regarded literary figure. Wilde even proposes a reunion with his estranged wife (Emily Watson) and his two young sons, but a repaired marriage was not in the offing.

Instead, Wilde spends time with his friend Robbie Ross (Edwin Thomas), enjoying his restored freedom by drinking and engaging in sex. Even in decline, Wilde retained a sense of nobility, as well as an appreciation for the theatrically expressed gesture. He towers in his decay.

The point of all this becomes obvious, although it’s never stated. Everett tells us that Wilde’s rejection by society was needless, a pointless expression of hypocritical British morality that had been enshrined in law. Penniless in Paris, the exiled Wilde gradually begins to see that he has no future.

At one point, Wilde captures a bit of past glory by singing in a Parisian nightclub that hosts a somewhat shabby crowd. He again occupies center stage. It might be fair to say that, in his own life, he never gives up center stage, even if only to swoon into defeat.

Although Everett offers flashes of Wilde’s renowned wit, he mostly shows what it was like for Wilde to sink into the muck of a life fueled by unsupportable quantities of alcohol; we see the catastrophic waste of a man who no longer could employ his talents.

At one point, Wilde reunites with former lover Bowie Douglas (Colin Morgan), a reprise of the relationship that brought about Wilde’s imprisonment. It should surprise no one that this reunion doesn’t turn out well.

Both behind and in front of the camera, Everett acquits himself well, paying powerful tribute to a man ravaged by a society that should have been applauding him.