Filler Queen
Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette is all frosting, no cake.
BY GREGORY
Recently on recce to planet Balgirth-23, I was lounging in the palace of Empress Suggles, toying playfully with a bit of
krelopard stuck between the grooniwaps of her bishcojaja, and for some reason it occurred to me to ask:
“Hey, have you seen Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette yet?”
“Oh yes!” replied the Empress, adjusting her bishco and languidly inserting a couple more groonies. “Over a hundred
thousand times! We don’t mess about with that Chronological Time stuff here on B-23, and when I heard that the Lost
In Translation girl was making another movie, I simply had to own it immediately, so I sent my agents over to your
Earth-year 2037 to obtain the finest Special Edition Marie Antoinette Viz-Crystal™ with the multi-dimensional tactile
enhancements, recently-discovered additions to the human ocular and olfactory spectra plus the All-New Featurette
focusing on the ruined old Steve Coogan discussing his moth-eaten memories of the project in the toilet.”
“Uh…” I rejoined, plucking an affectionate dshnarg from my cheekbone, “so what did you think of it?”
“Greatest Movie Ever!” exclaimed the Empress. “Nine frvenkilps up!”
“Care to elaborate?”
“Why sure,” offered Empress Suggles, her gaze growing more intense in accordance with the urgency of the topic.
“Total mess of a script, which is always a pleasure -- amazingly, even worse than Lost In Translation (for which I
understand she won the Oscar; we just adore nepotism here in the Balgirth system!) -- plus entirely random, incongruous
accents with occasional smatterings of caricatured Fronch…”
“French.”
“Yes, whatever. Plus yummy costumes! Tasty wigs! A fishie with sliced cucamongas stuck all over it…”
“Cucumbers.”
“Yes, whatever. Plus! – cutesy-wootsy little doggie-woggies! Shrubberies to die for! Oh! And a Bow Wow Wow video
smack-dab in the middle! I LOVED EVERYTHING ABOUT IT!!! AHHHHHHHHH!!!”
At this, Empress Suggles of Balgirth-23 slumped to the mplarnko, consumed with ecstacy from her reflections upon the
Viz-Crystal™ of Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette. And me? I hastily sqwoofled a couple more pwippdorgs, then
returned to Earth, where I decided to check out the movie – version 1.0 – for myself. The report:
Well, time has warped here on Earth, too; I viewed Marie Antoinette a few weeks ago at an early promotional screening
which the director failed to attend (obligatory Euro rock star + baby = you know the drill), and since that time have
found the material, generally, somewhat insubstantial for contemplation. What one can say is that it is an exceedingly
pretty movie, and if you’re obsessed with imagery and aren’t concerned with substance, then you will probably enjoy it.
What I observed, however, was a misunderstood, spoilt princess telling the story of a misunderstood, spoilt princess. As
they say: Direct what you know -- but I cannot with gusto recommend it.
Perhaps, next budget, Ms. Coppola could try stretching a bit and turn her focus to cancer-stricken lesbian iron miners or
something. You know, Charlize Theron and Hillary Swank play dying, soot-encrusted lovers whilst in the big poignant
montage sequence Paris Hilton covers “Sixteen Tons.” Heck, let’s skip the production altogether and just give ‘em
Oscars for it right now!
But I digress.
Doubtless, my gender will incur scorn for daring to note the weaknesses of this movie, so let me first play nice:
I liked Sofia Coppola’s first feature. I also liked a few minutes of her second feature. And there are several things --
beyond what the Empress astutely noted -- to like about Marie Antoinette as well. The amusing boudoir edits, for one; I
giggled. The masked ball, for another; I like swoony shit as much as the next guy. That elephant’s trunk, too; best
moment in the movie. Oh, and I smiled favourably upon little Marie-Therese growing up to age six in about ninety
seconds; these trims amuse me.
The anachronistic soundtrack is a breeze for me, since I also dug A Knight’s Tale (though, frankly, they could have
lingered here a little longer at the beginning of that Adam Ant sequence). I grinned with delight at the line, “Oh look, the
chickens are out -- how lovely!” (Coppola, you may become a writer yet), and all the tea party bits and haughty politics
bits pleased me with their august aloofness. I was also pleasantly surprised that this film somehow got made without
John Malkovich in it.
Above all that, I can also appreciate the movie -- if not exactly for its own merit -- due to the obvious boner its creator
has for 80s musicals and especially for Ken Russell (who is much, much better at this sort of thing).
But (and now we’re back to the less-than-favourables), that’s also the problem here: Marie Antoinette is so completely
obsessed with stylistic concerns that it rather depressingly forgets the primary objective of the Motion Picture: to engage
the viewer. The whole movie screams, “Ha-ha! Look what I can do!” without once feeling emotionally sincere. A shame.
Perhaps due to the constraints of shooting at Versailles without actually breaking anything, the director was too busy to
afford her actors the attention to detail she handled so richly in The Virgin Suicides. Honestly, the delivery from most of
the cast feels like a dutiful first pass, while the excellent second-unit work of Sofia’s brother Roman (a fine director
himself, see his also-kinda-autobiographical CQ) threatens to eclipse the dialogue scenes.
In the eponymous role, Kirsten Dunst seems to be coasting, not conscientiously shallow but really lazy, faking it -- an
American kid on vacation (again), but not in service to the story. For a young girl swept away from her much humbler
Austrian heritage to become the Queen of France, one would hope for some layers, some texture. Dunst instead merely
prances about and titters, and I think she cries once, rather ineffectively.
Also somewhat disappointing are the supporting cast, who seem weirdly ill at ease with the project, as if they’re not sure
what to do with it. Steve Coogan? Shirley Henderson? Boring? How could this have happened? These are some of the
brightest talents of our day! And meanwhile, the extremely overrated Jason Schwartzman (the director's cousin; yawn)
really needs to take a vacation, work more on that rock band or something. It was dreadful watching him play the sexual
stooge here, and the Dustin Hoffman impersonation has quite outworn its welcome.
Perhaps owing to the innate sexuality of their roles, the only people in this production who seem alive (as opposed to
merely posed) are Rip Torn as Louis XV, Asia Argento as his lower-caste love slave Madame du Barry, and whoever it
was who played the young Queen’s fleeting Swedish stud dude. They’re okay.
Apart from that, the movie is essentially cute and soulless. And it never even reaches the best part of the story!
Also, please let it be known, this critic does not suffer from Chickflickophobia (except when dipshit editors steal away
assignments based on gender -- and other -- prejudice). Morvern Callar was my fave film of 2002. Whale Rider was my
fave film of 2003. And I really like Catherine Hardwicke (As a neat coincidence, see the upcoming Nativity.) I love Tank
Girl (female director), What’s Cooking? (female director) and Heavenly Creatures (may as well have been a female
director). Not meaning to protest too much -- but these days I have discovered that it’s dangerous to protest too little.
Yeah, the real reason I cannot recommend Marie Antoinette -- except perhaps as monitor-dressing for your next Totally
'80s party -- is that it simply isn’t all that. When it should be wry it feels childish, when it should be scintillating it feels
cluttered, and what should have been a study of excess becomes instead merely an exercise in it.
Epilogue:
Immediately following the screening of Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette, I found myself in the crowded men's room
with freshly-washed hands and no paper towels, when suddenly former film critic and Major League Quote Whore Kevin
Thomas entered. I saw him in the mirror, and as my back was turned to him and quite vulnerable, I fled swiftly, hands
still wet, to the out-of-doors.
Outside, a significant gaggle of hipsters still remained -- and, astoundingly, not one of them was smoking -- and I noted
them and began to stride west, at which point I found myself perfectly pacing a very pretty but somewhat hard-looking
woman wearing men's clothing. She walked alone, and I walked alone, and side by side were we, and I briefly noted her
shiny shoulder-length auburn hair, brown eyes, stern jaw, sharp features and pronounced gait. Hm. Although speaking to
people is verboten (and soon to become illegal!) in Southern California, I decided to risk it:
MOI
(genuinely curious, gesturing back toward movie-house)
How did that one make you feel?
WOMAN IN MAN'S CLOTHING
(mildly stunned by unsolicited social intercourse)
How did it make me feel? It made me feel shitty and terrible -- for the life she led.
MOI
(genuinely surprised, a bit saddened by coarse, immediate use of "shitty")
It made you feel terrible?
WIMC
(whose voice, it turns out, is as harsh as her jaw)
Yeah, it's really shitty and sad. I mean, she was just a girl, who didn't know any better, and I don't believe she was the
bad person she's made out to be.
MOI
Oh! I thought you meant that the movie made you feel terrible because her life -- in contrast to yours -- was much more
opulent.
WIMC
(after a brief yet arduous pause)
Uh...no. I just thought the film really showed how she didn't have a chance to deal with all that power and wealth.
(probably deflecting)
What did you think of it?
MOI
(not lying, but not telling the whole truth, either)
I was impressed by the level of ambition behind it.
WIMC
(recognizing the word "ambition")
Yeah, yeah, I mean, nobody is making movies like this anymore. What she did is totally not perfect, but it's ballsy. It
really says something.
MOI
(briefly wondering why, when men do something gentle and yielding, we are not allowed to call ourselves “vulvy”
-- then simply showing off)
Yes, I read the works of Antonia Fraser as well, and I think...
(totally lying now)
...that it was a very impressive adaptation.
WIMC
(a scintilla of surliness entering her tone)
Oh. I don't know Antonia Fraser.
MOI
(showing off more, deluding self that perhaps if I keep going I'll wake up to see those slacks slung over my chair)
Oh, yeah, great stuff: Mary Queen of Scots, The Six Wives of Henry VIII, The Other Boleyn Girl, really great. Classic
writer. She wrote about great women in history, or -- if you will -- herstory.
(Part of the glory of this line is not just the "herstory" plug, but that Fraser is still alive and writing, and she didn't write
the Boleyn book -- Philippa Gregory did. But what the hey.)
WIMC
(not at all minding repeating herself)
I mean, nobody is making movies like this anymore.
MOI
Well, you know, Sally Potter with Orlando, and Jane Campion with The Piano...
WIMC
Yeah, but those were a long time ago.
MOI
(lusting incredibly stupidly and feeling perplexed by the utter impossibility of this situation)
How do you like it compared to her previous two films?
(Note how the legendary Sofia is never mentioned by name!)
WIMC
(eyes doing that "He probably wants me so I'd better find some quick closure” thing.)
Oh, it's nowhere near as good.
MOI
(deciding that saying, "Lost In Translation is an embarrassing train-wreck that should have been shot on VHS" won't
exactly endear me to most females in existence)
Yeah.
WIMC
(suddenly turning corner, smiling exactly like a waitress)
Well, nice talking to you, bye, enjoy!
(Gone.)
MOI
(barely glancing over, striding on, not letting on for one second that it kills me every single time this happens)
Mm-hm, yeah, likewise.
("Enjoy"...what, exactly? Marie Antoinette? Shrug!)
Marie Antoinette
Entertainment Value: 5/13
Style: 9/13
Philosophical Insight: 4/13
-Gregory Weinkauf, 18 October, 2006
Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette is all frosting, no cake.
BY GREGORY
Recently on recce to planet Balgirth-23, I was lounging in the palace of Empress Suggles, toying playfully with a bit of
krelopard stuck between the grooniwaps of her bishcojaja, and for some reason it occurred to me to ask:
“Hey, have you seen Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette yet?”
“Oh yes!” replied the Empress, adjusting her bishco and languidly inserting a couple more groonies. “Over a hundred
thousand times! We don’t mess about with that Chronological Time stuff here on B-23, and when I heard that the Lost
In Translation girl was making another movie, I simply had to own it immediately, so I sent my agents over to your
Earth-year 2037 to obtain the finest Special Edition Marie Antoinette Viz-Crystal™ with the multi-dimensional tactile
enhancements, recently-discovered additions to the human ocular and olfactory spectra plus the All-New Featurette
focusing on the ruined old Steve Coogan discussing his moth-eaten memories of the project in the toilet.”
“Uh…” I rejoined, plucking an affectionate dshnarg from my cheekbone, “so what did you think of it?”
“Greatest Movie Ever!” exclaimed the Empress. “Nine frvenkilps up!”
“Care to elaborate?”
“Why sure,” offered Empress Suggles, her gaze growing more intense in accordance with the urgency of the topic.
“Total mess of a script, which is always a pleasure -- amazingly, even worse than Lost In Translation (for which I
understand she won the Oscar; we just adore nepotism here in the Balgirth system!) -- plus entirely random, incongruous
accents with occasional smatterings of caricatured Fronch…”
“French.”
“Yes, whatever. Plus yummy costumes! Tasty wigs! A fishie with sliced cucamongas stuck all over it…”
“Cucumbers.”
“Yes, whatever. Plus! – cutesy-wootsy little doggie-woggies! Shrubberies to die for! Oh! And a Bow Wow Wow video
smack-dab in the middle! I LOVED EVERYTHING ABOUT IT!!! AHHHHHHHHH!!!”
At this, Empress Suggles of Balgirth-23 slumped to the mplarnko, consumed with ecstacy from her reflections upon the
Viz-Crystal™ of Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette. And me? I hastily sqwoofled a couple more pwippdorgs, then
returned to Earth, where I decided to check out the movie – version 1.0 – for myself. The report:
Well, time has warped here on Earth, too; I viewed Marie Antoinette a few weeks ago at an early promotional screening
which the director failed to attend (obligatory Euro rock star + baby = you know the drill), and since that time have
found the material, generally, somewhat insubstantial for contemplation. What one can say is that it is an exceedingly
pretty movie, and if you’re obsessed with imagery and aren’t concerned with substance, then you will probably enjoy it.
What I observed, however, was a misunderstood, spoilt princess telling the story of a misunderstood, spoilt princess. As
they say: Direct what you know -- but I cannot with gusto recommend it.
Perhaps, next budget, Ms. Coppola could try stretching a bit and turn her focus to cancer-stricken lesbian iron miners or
something. You know, Charlize Theron and Hillary Swank play dying, soot-encrusted lovers whilst in the big poignant
montage sequence Paris Hilton covers “Sixteen Tons.” Heck, let’s skip the production altogether and just give ‘em
Oscars for it right now!
But I digress.
Doubtless, my gender will incur scorn for daring to note the weaknesses of this movie, so let me first play nice:
I liked Sofia Coppola’s first feature. I also liked a few minutes of her second feature. And there are several things --
beyond what the Empress astutely noted -- to like about Marie Antoinette as well. The amusing boudoir edits, for one; I
giggled. The masked ball, for another; I like swoony shit as much as the next guy. That elephant’s trunk, too; best
moment in the movie. Oh, and I smiled favourably upon little Marie-Therese growing up to age six in about ninety
seconds; these trims amuse me.
The anachronistic soundtrack is a breeze for me, since I also dug A Knight’s Tale (though, frankly, they could have
lingered here a little longer at the beginning of that Adam Ant sequence). I grinned with delight at the line, “Oh look, the
chickens are out -- how lovely!” (Coppola, you may become a writer yet), and all the tea party bits and haughty politics
bits pleased me with their august aloofness. I was also pleasantly surprised that this film somehow got made without
John Malkovich in it.
Above all that, I can also appreciate the movie -- if not exactly for its own merit -- due to the obvious boner its creator
has for 80s musicals and especially for Ken Russell (who is much, much better at this sort of thing).
But (and now we’re back to the less-than-favourables), that’s also the problem here: Marie Antoinette is so completely
obsessed with stylistic concerns that it rather depressingly forgets the primary objective of the Motion Picture: to engage
the viewer. The whole movie screams, “Ha-ha! Look what I can do!” without once feeling emotionally sincere. A shame.
Perhaps due to the constraints of shooting at Versailles without actually breaking anything, the director was too busy to
afford her actors the attention to detail she handled so richly in The Virgin Suicides. Honestly, the delivery from most of
the cast feels like a dutiful first pass, while the excellent second-unit work of Sofia’s brother Roman (a fine director
himself, see his also-kinda-autobiographical CQ) threatens to eclipse the dialogue scenes.
In the eponymous role, Kirsten Dunst seems to be coasting, not conscientiously shallow but really lazy, faking it -- an
American kid on vacation (again), but not in service to the story. For a young girl swept away from her much humbler
Austrian heritage to become the Queen of France, one would hope for some layers, some texture. Dunst instead merely
prances about and titters, and I think she cries once, rather ineffectively.
Also somewhat disappointing are the supporting cast, who seem weirdly ill at ease with the project, as if they’re not sure
what to do with it. Steve Coogan? Shirley Henderson? Boring? How could this have happened? These are some of the
brightest talents of our day! And meanwhile, the extremely overrated Jason Schwartzman (the director's cousin; yawn)
really needs to take a vacation, work more on that rock band or something. It was dreadful watching him play the sexual
stooge here, and the Dustin Hoffman impersonation has quite outworn its welcome.
Perhaps owing to the innate sexuality of their roles, the only people in this production who seem alive (as opposed to
merely posed) are Rip Torn as Louis XV, Asia Argento as his lower-caste love slave Madame du Barry, and whoever it
was who played the young Queen’s fleeting Swedish stud dude. They’re okay.
Apart from that, the movie is essentially cute and soulless. And it never even reaches the best part of the story!
Also, please let it be known, this critic does not suffer from Chickflickophobia (except when dipshit editors steal away
assignments based on gender -- and other -- prejudice). Morvern Callar was my fave film of 2002. Whale Rider was my
fave film of 2003. And I really like Catherine Hardwicke (As a neat coincidence, see the upcoming Nativity.) I love Tank
Girl (female director), What’s Cooking? (female director) and Heavenly Creatures (may as well have been a female
director). Not meaning to protest too much -- but these days I have discovered that it’s dangerous to protest too little.
Yeah, the real reason I cannot recommend Marie Antoinette -- except perhaps as monitor-dressing for your next Totally
'80s party -- is that it simply isn’t all that. When it should be wry it feels childish, when it should be scintillating it feels
cluttered, and what should have been a study of excess becomes instead merely an exercise in it.
Epilogue:
Immediately following the screening of Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette, I found myself in the crowded men's room
with freshly-washed hands and no paper towels, when suddenly former film critic and Major League Quote Whore Kevin
Thomas entered. I saw him in the mirror, and as my back was turned to him and quite vulnerable, I fled swiftly, hands
still wet, to the out-of-doors.
Outside, a significant gaggle of hipsters still remained -- and, astoundingly, not one of them was smoking -- and I noted
them and began to stride west, at which point I found myself perfectly pacing a very pretty but somewhat hard-looking
woman wearing men's clothing. She walked alone, and I walked alone, and side by side were we, and I briefly noted her
shiny shoulder-length auburn hair, brown eyes, stern jaw, sharp features and pronounced gait. Hm. Although speaking to
people is verboten (and soon to become illegal!) in Southern California, I decided to risk it:
MOI
(genuinely curious, gesturing back toward movie-house)
How did that one make you feel?
WOMAN IN MAN'S CLOTHING
(mildly stunned by unsolicited social intercourse)
How did it make me feel? It made me feel shitty and terrible -- for the life she led.
MOI
(genuinely surprised, a bit saddened by coarse, immediate use of "shitty")
It made you feel terrible?
WIMC
(whose voice, it turns out, is as harsh as her jaw)
Yeah, it's really shitty and sad. I mean, she was just a girl, who didn't know any better, and I don't believe she was the
bad person she's made out to be.
MOI
Oh! I thought you meant that the movie made you feel terrible because her life -- in contrast to yours -- was much more
opulent.
WIMC
(after a brief yet arduous pause)
Uh...no. I just thought the film really showed how she didn't have a chance to deal with all that power and wealth.
(probably deflecting)
What did you think of it?
MOI
(not lying, but not telling the whole truth, either)
I was impressed by the level of ambition behind it.
WIMC
(recognizing the word "ambition")
Yeah, yeah, I mean, nobody is making movies like this anymore. What she did is totally not perfect, but it's ballsy. It
really says something.
MOI
(briefly wondering why, when men do something gentle and yielding, we are not allowed to call ourselves “vulvy”
-- then simply showing off)
Yes, I read the works of Antonia Fraser as well, and I think...
(totally lying now)
...that it was a very impressive adaptation.
WIMC
(a scintilla of surliness entering her tone)
Oh. I don't know Antonia Fraser.
MOI
(showing off more, deluding self that perhaps if I keep going I'll wake up to see those slacks slung over my chair)
Oh, yeah, great stuff: Mary Queen of Scots, The Six Wives of Henry VIII, The Other Boleyn Girl, really great. Classic
writer. She wrote about great women in history, or -- if you will -- herstory.
(Part of the glory of this line is not just the "herstory" plug, but that Fraser is still alive and writing, and she didn't write
the Boleyn book -- Philippa Gregory did. But what the hey.)
WIMC
(not at all minding repeating herself)
I mean, nobody is making movies like this anymore.
MOI
Well, you know, Sally Potter with Orlando, and Jane Campion with The Piano...
WIMC
Yeah, but those were a long time ago.
MOI
(lusting incredibly stupidly and feeling perplexed by the utter impossibility of this situation)
How do you like it compared to her previous two films?
(Note how the legendary Sofia is never mentioned by name!)
WIMC
(eyes doing that "He probably wants me so I'd better find some quick closure” thing.)
Oh, it's nowhere near as good.
MOI
(deciding that saying, "Lost In Translation is an embarrassing train-wreck that should have been shot on VHS" won't
exactly endear me to most females in existence)
Yeah.
WIMC
(suddenly turning corner, smiling exactly like a waitress)
Well, nice talking to you, bye, enjoy!
(Gone.)
MOI
(barely glancing over, striding on, not letting on for one second that it kills me every single time this happens)
Mm-hm, yeah, likewise.
("Enjoy"...what, exactly? Marie Antoinette? Shrug!)
Marie Antoinette
Entertainment Value: 5/13
Style: 9/13
Philosophical Insight: 4/13
-Gregory Weinkauf, 18 October, 2006
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