From the Archive — Marie Antoinette

marie

This was originally written for and posted at my former online home. 

There was a lot of suspicious murmuring when the teaser trailer for Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette hit. It looked like a period piece, but what was that New Order song doing there? Coppola was announcing that she was going to make a period piece, but she was going to make it her way. If that meant incorporating early 1980s pop songs, so be it. After all, it’s not necessarily more anachronistic that incorporating late 90’s art pop into a film set in the mid 1970’s, or automatically adding an orchestral score to any movie set in any time, for that matter. And if that proved to be the first indicator of a pervasive personal stamp on her film, all the better. If only.

The shortcomings of Coppola’s film are handily illustrated in the lead performance by Kirsten Dunst. Unlike some, I have no immediate problem with Dunst in the role. In fact, if the only Oscar ballot sent in annually was from me, she’d have two nominations by now. In this film, Dunst is quite good in the early going, when the queen-to-be she is portraying is surveying the world she has been ushered into with a childlike hesitancy and confusion. As the history progresses and the role requires greater depth and commitment, Dunst has nothing to give. She’s lost, reciting lines rather than conveying a life. It may not be her fault, as it seems like Coppola herself loses interest when her privileged girl becomes a woman and a ruler. The verve and observation of the earlier scenes slips away and a hopelessly familiar period drama fills the screen.

Coppola does use her pop songs — Gang of Four, The Cure and Adam Ant are among those who’ve had their back catalog raided — but does sparingly. The only stretch in which they feel like an integral part of the film is during a relatively brief wallow in Marie Antoinette’s legendary decadence. Sometimes it truly enriches the film, giving it a rules-free post-modern kick as in the scene in which the dancers at an 18th century French ball spin around as “Hong Kong Garden” from Siouxsie and the Banshees fills the soundtrack, the gothic indulgence and romantic flourishes of the music unexpectedly serving as perfect accompaniment. Other times Coppola undermines her own boldness with woefully literal usage of the songs. The last thing any film needs is shots of stockpiled sweets set to the pounding rhythms of Bow Wow Wow’s “I Want Candy.”

There is a certain wit that flashes in Coppola’s construction, especially as she walks us through the smothering attention Marie Antoinette receives. It’s more convincing when Coppola remains committed to the time and place of the film, refraining from drawing modern parallels such as the unfortunate moment when the notorious comment “Let them eat cake,” is used to set up a clumsy indictment of tabloid culture. Like a lot of period pieces, this film allows ample opportunity to get visually drunk on the art design (we’re convinced of the indulgent nature of this monarchy by the densely designed wallpaper alone) and Coppola as well-served by cinematographer Lance Acord here as she was with Lost in Translation. It’s always pretty to look at, even when Coppola fails to make it interesting to think about.

The film is based on Antonia Fraser’s biography Marie Antoinette: A Journey, but the journey is precisely what’s missing from Coppola’s film. We get the signposts, but little else of this woman’s life experience. There’s no resonance, just those pop songs echoing fruitlessly in our heads.

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