(Don’t) let them eat cake

There’s something about period films—particularly those based on true stories—that seems fabricated. The irony is that these sorts of films are (literally) fabrications, mere imitations of a time period none living can truly understand.

With this distinct lack of insight, filmmakers are often left to their own devices and must do their best with the resources they have. Clearly, some of these filmmakers function better in this situation than others, as is evident by the fact that some period films are outstanding (see: Pride and Prejudice) and others tend to fall flat (see: much of the rest of them).

The Lady and the Duke, directed by Eric Rohmer, lands somewhere in between. Not fantastic, this French film with English subtitles seems to drag at times in order to keep the plot moving through the 129 minutes. This is probably due to the fact that the film is composed almost entirely of dialogue with very little action, forcing the viewer to be constantly reading (unless he or she understands French).

The director’s choice to tell rather than show was probably not the wisest considering the subject matter: the narrative of aristocrat Grace Elliot during the French Revolution. A native Englishwoman, Elliot considers France her “adopted home” and refuses to leave at the start of the revolution. In doing so, she surrenders any later attempt to leave the country and is automatically considered a “suspicious person” because of her place of birth and her loyalty to the royal family.

Yet the revolution seems to serve only as a setting, with the true story being about her and Duke Orleans, cousin to the fallen King of France. The Duke, Elliot’s former lover turned best friend, is an older fellow with more flexible political values. This is the main source of tension between the two of them, considering Elliot’s strict faith in King Louis XVI and the queen (“Let them eat cake,” is referenced, of course). There is even a point when Elliot refuses to speak to Orleans—which, because the film is all talk, basically means she spends that time chatting up other people about the fact that she is not speaking to the Duke—after he votes to sentence his own cousin to death.

The script is not so boorish that the viewer doesn’t care. In fact, there were moments when I found myself wishing the subtitles would come on the screen faster so I could know what was being said. The dialogue was certainly crafted in a way to keep suspense of the growing violent resistance at a peak.

Part of this suspense is due to the fact that nothing in the movie is unbelievable. Every character, backdrop and word spoken adds to the notion that it is actually the early 1790s and that the French Revolution is in full barbaric swing.

Adding to this is the incredible scenery. Rohmer made a brave choice when he directed this film by—instead of filming outdoors—digitally infusing the actors into paintings to portray the few out-of-doors scenes. That’s right. There are no recreated buildings and cobblestone streets. Instead, we have paintings that portray 1792 France to the exact detail, and doing it in such a way that—while it certainly doesn’t look real—it adds to the feel and tone of the time.

Because of this use of technology, The Lady and the Duke stands out among other period films. This, along with the accurate portrayal of both political parties, makes the film a must-see for those that like a little history mixed in with their art (or perhaps some art mixed in with their history).