Well, this should be interesting. Another biopic drama from the director of Jackie, a star turn from Kristen Stewart that has gotten her legit Oscar buzz for the first time in her career (I’d wouldn’t normally bother mentioning such things, but with how long she spent as a critical punching bag, it’s more than deserved by this point), and it’s written by the mental giant behind one of last year’s worst films in Locked Down, and 2019’s Best Worst Film in Serenity.
Oh.
Well, two out of three ain’t bad. (RIP Meat Loaf)
Actually, knowing how much of a hard time I’ve given Steven Knight for his writing over the last few years, it’s quite relieving that he seems to be back to a discernible level of competence this time around. He’s still operating somewhere outside the boundaries of reality as we know it, but right from the introductory text describing the film as “A fable from a true tragedy”, he seems to at least be aware of his position concerning the story and, more importantly, its subject. That subject being Diana, Princess of Wales, and he already wins points because this isn’t focused on the aspect of her life (namely, its end) that the popular consciousness remains painfully aware of. Anything to help differentiate this from that horrid 2013 film must be a plus.
Instead, the narrative is framed around Diana’s actions on the day before, the day of, and the day after Christmas in 1991, showing Stewart as Diana as she attends to the royal festivities. It sets up a solid foundation for the film’s larger musings about the past, present, and short-lived future of Diana herself, and specifically choosing Christmas turned out to be one of Knight’s cleverer ideas in recent years. Namely, because it lets the story incorporate the typical familial discomfort that so many other holiday films bank on, only turned up here to quite heartbreaking volumes.
Even knowing how far Stewart has come since the days of Bella Swan, it is genuinely impressive just how well she melds into the role here. The version of Diana she’s been given may divert somewhat from the historic record (then again, given the introduction, I’m not going to hold the film to that kind of standard), but the unease and frequent psychological trauma reverberate from her every word and anxious movement. Her being in a wholly prestige picture is almost secondary to how this is far less a period drama in the conventional sense, and more of a psycho-thriller.
Conventional wisdom concerning both Diana and the royal family at large, especially since the former’s untimely death, has been inexorably linked to the paparazzi and other such tabloid ‘journos’. And while some of that is evident here, with Diana struggling to keep a brave face amid so many camera flashes, the true source of her torment isn’t the result of the public eye, but the private eye. Specifically, that of the royal family themselves, whose clockwork machinery that is the order of the household is so finely tuned and managed that it’s almost devoid of humanity. It’s a system in the coldest sense of the term, and one that threatens to swallow the Princess of Wales whole.
It wields the main thing that originally set her apart from the royals in the eyes of the public (her familiarity to the people) and refracts it to reveal that that same aspect as a colossal strain on her mind. One of the more fantastical touches found here involves occasional interruptions by Anne Boleyn (yes, Henry VIII’s second wife), not so much to fuel assassination conspiracies, but instead to cast a broader view on what threatened them both: The whims of their controlling families. The extent to which they were viewed as merely objects of status, as examples of their own opulence reflected back onto themselves. And under all that weight, Diana is made to internalise all of it. Made to believe that, as far as agency, she has no more of it within that house than the cooking staff.
Actually, speaking of the help, the supporting cast here is just as on-the-ball as Stewart is. Timothy Spall makes for a surprisingly unsettling presence as the royal attendant, whose introduction tending to a scale sets a nice tone for the more bodily horror to be found later on, while Sally Hawkins as Diana’s royal dresser adds some nice queer touches to the larger story. But more than anyone, it’s Sean Harris as the head chef that works the best here. His commanding of the cooks like an army brigade is one of the firmer examples of how strictly the house is run, and him serving as one of Diana’s few real allies within the house has touches of Knight’s work on Burnt going through it. Especially when it reaches the finale, which surprisingly works in some of Burnt’s culinary populism.
Now, with all this said, I found myself struggling somewhat with the film in much the same way I did with Jackie, and it’s likely due to Pablo Larraín’s direction once again not working as well with me as it has others. The film itself looks and sounds great (Jonny Greenwood’s soundtrack in particular deserves praise, with its blending of classical music and avant-jazz that gives a large boost to the psychological detail), but between the pacing and the muted colour palette, it’s still a bit too drab for me to completely get into. There’s also something about trying to pull entirely away from the tabloids as a source of stress that doesn’t sit well with me either, considering the overpublication of the extended royal family is a problem that persists even after everything that happened with Diana on our side of the screen.
But even with that in mind, I still have to give credit where it’s due for this well-structured and decidedly different take on a pop culture martyr. It manages a more collected balance between evoking emotion and playing with reality than Steven Knight has been able of late, and I’d even argue that this is his strongest script since Burnt almost seven years ago. Not only that, but Kristen Stewart seems to have taken everything that made her turn in Seberg so confronting, and tweaked it just enough so that she can get across that same degree of mental strain, but without turning Diana into just another victim in the process. And that might be the film’s greatest strength: It manages to return agency and personality to a public figure whose most famous action is her own death.
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