Film representations of the past, or of a historical figure warrant analyses about their adequacy and alignment with fact in their retelling of a story. In addition, the point of view by which that retelling is presented is important to recognize. Who is included in the stories? And who is allowed to tell those stories? It is important to recognize the position from which we remember the story of Marie Antoinette and her dynamic rule in France. Historical representations are almost always told through the lens of the dominant view point: “representations of the nation…both produce and reproduce the dominant points of view” (Turner 184). At first, it seems that Marie Antoinette fulfills the age-old stereotype of the Queen as a naïve and apolitical female (object) that exists primarily to serve and sustain the King and his blood line. This story has been continually told and retold through time, exemplifying the human tendency to accept the status quo and the dominant historical perspective. More often than not, the repeated story of Marie Antoinette is not critiqued and/or compared to more specific historical facts, which continually reinforces the stigma that surrounds the young woman as the French queen. However, Sofia Coppola leads us to empathize and see the genuine and emotional side of Marie, a misunderstood individual – and how she had been manipulated and mentally stretched by the monarchal system of rule. This essay will consider this concept in relation to the film as an historical biopic, its use of the “male gaze” as well as its specific film style that invites the audience into Marie’s mind and emotions.
Marie Antoinette (2006) - inspired by Antonia Fraser’s biography Marie Antoinette: The Journey - tells the story of the Princess of Austria, Marie Antoinette (Kirsten Dunst), who has been betrothed to the Dauphin of France, Louis Auguste XVI (Jason Schwartzman), and is destined to become a new Dauphine and future French ruler. The couple faces immediate pressure to consummate their marriage and produce an heir to the throne, but receives extreme criticism when it doesn’t go according to plan. Marie faces some difficulty in her forced adjustment to her new life as French Royalty, but eventually settles in, deciding to make some of her own choices - by surrounding herself with attractive men, fine food, expensive clothes, etc. and strives to enjoy life’s pleasures to the fullest. She affirms her place in the Royal Court with the birth of her two children, a daughter and a son. Louis XVI is crowned the new ruler following the death of his grandfather, the King, and must handle economic and social issues, both in France and abroad. Meanwhile, Marie comes under public scrutiny for her assumed lack of attention and concern for the French people and the social issues they are facing.
Marie Antoinette received mixed reviews upon its release in late 2006. Audiences didn’t quite understand the new interpretation of the well-known story of Marie as the last (failed) French queen, and the unique discourse on the still-loaded topic in French history (Joy 1). It was seen as an over-the-top film without an interesting or driving narrative; a project made by Sofia Coppola as a reflection of her life as a young woman in a privileged position as Francis Ford Coppola’s daughter (Badt, 2; Horton 1). The coupling of modern music and props baffled viewers, who saw the film’s enormous budget (around $40 million) and star-studded cast out of line with the telling of an historical biopic (Chocano 1); the transformation of Versailles into a “night club” angered French audiences in particular (Barlow 1). The film only made around $15 million gross in profits – a nearly $30 million loss. Perhaps viewers could not get on the same page with Coppola’s focus on the person, not the circumstances, and her goal to reveal Marie Antoinette, the human being, who holds a memorable and controversial place in history.
Other reviewers recognized Coppola’s film’s interpretation of the past as a personal expression of a “dialogue between past and present,” since “a significant gap remains in our understanding of an event that shaped the modern world” (Hornaday 3; Price 1). The movie is accessible to modern audiences (particularly the teenage demographic) with its inclusion of modern music, and Coppola’s “pink Chuck Taylor peeking out of a Versailles closet” (Hornaday 3). The appeal, in this way, is an attempt to close the historical time gap and reflect on the “isolation and corruption” that affected Marie, that can be traced within today’s “imperial politics” (Hornaday 3); she is trying to “shed some light on how flamboyantly and shallowly some people lead their lives in any age” (Kimmel 1). Further, Coppola wanted to enable audiences to relate to Marie on a “human level” as a young woman on a search for her “true self”. She retold Marie’s story in a style that she thought reflected the feelings and energy that the main character would have been feeling during that time (Barlow 1). Coppola has a history of telling stories of young women trying to find themselves (The Virgin Suicides (1999), Lost in Translation (2003)), and Marie Antoinette is no exception.
The trilogy is said to reflect Coppola’s personal life journey, with the last film representing her completed transformation – as exemplified by Marie’s submission to the angry French mob, understanding of herself in her role as the French queen, and the ultimate embrace of that role. This climax reflects Marie’s (and Sofia’s) contentment and realization of their true selves in their present situation – “which is probably why we don’t see [Marie] beheaded” (Barlow 1). The exclusion of the arrest, trial and execution of Marie is not referenced or included in the film, leading us to remember Marie as a transformed individual that was greatly changed by her emotional journey and difficulties at Versailles. The ending makes it seem that Marie is not worried, and can not see what is about to happen to her; we experience this right along with her because we are “sealed inside Marie Antoinette’s world, [and we] don’t see it coming” either (Chocano 1). Coppola’s choice to end the film before Marie’s death, and the way she chose to tell the story warrants a discussion of cinematic portrayals of historical events and people.
Film as History
Historical film holds a significant power and appeal in modern society: films reflect “‘dominant fiction,” ideological reality or [an] ‘image of social consensus’ within which members of a society are asked to identify themselves” (Burgoyne 1). Films that tell the story of tumultuous and foreboding events usually offer closure and allow society to finally distance themselves, and move on. Further, such mainstream texts originate from the white-dominated media institution – the viewpoint from the dominant demographic is told and retold through time. Other texts that include historical events and people function differently than films: “a film is not a book;” therefore a film does not necessarily need to meet the criteria of historical texts, and can utilize various levels of interpretation (Rosenstone 506). Indeed, cinema acts as a very powerful representation of society and is “a potent form of forging historical consensus” (Hornaday 1); films are often expected to align with factual standards while simultaneously subscribing to Hollywood aesthetic standards that make the movies appealing and accessible to audiences – a difficult task indeed.
In this way, it can be assumed that films transform history into something that is more acceptable and relevant to today’s society – they decide “what deserves to be remembered, what counts as history” (Hornaday 1). In the same vein, remembering history’s powerful, memorable and/or heroic figures provides perfect material for Hollywood cinema – a requirement for a cinematic retelling of history (Rosenstone 507). Returning to the lives of such poignant individuals as Marie Antoinette, “tells us who we are” (Hornaday 2). It is notable in Marie Antoinette that nearly all actors in the film are white. Did Coppola plan this to align with the social dynamics of the time? Or was it unintentional, and a product of Hollywood tradition to include primarily white actors in historical texts? Either way, it is important to recognize that the audience has no choice in hearing Marie’s story from an all-white viewpoint. Cinema proves to be a difficult medium to remember history; is there a line between art and fact? In any case, film can be an extremely powerful tool to portray realism and recreate history’s people and events.
As a docudrama and biography, Marie Antoinette tells the story of real life events and people, but it remains important to consider how the film presents that story. Bordwell and Thompson explain that biopics, and the like, are “wholly staged and the historical agents are portrayed through actors’ performances” (131). Directors can choose, manipulate, and stage an array of elements to make the “historical” film, as well as include certain events, dialogue, settings, etc. Beyond these elements, filmmakers utilize key elements to build the narrative of the story; of importance here is the use of suture, – the “means of which cinematic texts confer subjectivity upon their viewers” (Silverman 195) – editing, and film style. Each element contributes to the development of the story, leads the audience to understand and anticipate the film’s events, and represents emotional and/or moral appeals that affect viewers.
The general theme of disapproval of the Queen grows as the film plays out, and the audience experiences the tension right along with Marie. While attending an opera performance, Marie applauds at the end; but the rest of the audience seems appalled and angry, just glaring at Marie (unlike an earlier scene where Marie applauds and the rest follow suit). This exemplifies the loss of support from the people around her. Louis’ actions also lead to a loss of monarchal support. He mishandles domestic and foreign economic issues, and fails to “control” his wife, discuss her behavior, or utilize his power to right the situation. Marie dominates the relationship, which discourages Louis from attempting to correct her wayward path as Queen. The young King is portrayed as a childish and detached leader who would rather play with toys than secure his position of power. In fact, Coppola shows him to be careless – by the strains he places on France’s budget to support the American Revolution. Louis’s lack of initiative and Marie’s lack of self-awareness act as the two main catalysts in the film’s plot. Coppola highlights these two concepts for audiences to get a closer look at how the couple interacted within the French monarchal system, and how their actions contributed to their demise.
The marriage between Marie and Louis is portrayed as an uncomfortable and forced match where Louis does not see Marie as an object to gaze at and appreciate – not the typical male/female relationship that is repeated in Hollywood cinema. It is clear that Louis has other things on his mind and has little concern for strengthening the important relationship with his wife. He has a lack of interest and maturity, and has great difficulty in fulfilling the traditionally masculine role of a King. Coppola highlights Louis’ traits to exemplify a less-desirable and less-able ruling patriarch. Yet, Marie is blamed for the couple’s inability to consummate their marriage and for her husband’s presumed dissatisfaction that prevents him from fulfilling his duties. It seems that no one around them can see how Louis’ uneasiness and hesitancy greatly contributed to the failure of the French Monarchy under his rule – Marie wasn’t the only one at fault. All eyes and criticisms stay fixed on Marie, while her husband’s attention remained on menial tasks such as his daily hunt, and fascination with mechanical locks.
The Gaze
Hollywood cinema has been built upon the greater American social ideology that holds patriarchal men as more powerful than women. This is reflected in the cinematic tendency to suture the audience into a position that identifies with a traditionally male protagonist, who gazes at female characters as objects (Mulvey 59). Marie Antoinette presents a unique form of the “gaze,” as the female body is still subject to voyeurism and subjectivity even in the absence of men. Marie enters into her new position as French royalty in the beginning of the film, being stripped (literally) of everything she brought from her home country. She must further adjust to her new life during the first few days living within the rigidity of Versailles. It is clear that all (literally) eyes are on her and she must fulfill her duties, and live up to a myriad of expectations as the Dauphine. A clear example of her vulnerable and open position is located near the beginning of the film when Marie wakes up after her first night with Louis at Versailles Palace.
Every morning the women of the French court perform the “morning dressing ceremony,” where the highest ranked woman in the room has the privilege of dressing Marie for the day. In order for this to occur, Marie must be first stripped of her nightgown, and remain naked for a considerable amount of time until the highest-ranked woman steps forth for her duty. In the scene, we see Marie experiencing the excruciating feeling of standing naked for several minutes in front of dozens of women she doesn’t know. She is still expected to act naturally, and bow gracefully to those that “dress” her. Her discomfort is evident by her attempts to cover herself and shield her body from the judging eyes of the women around her. This element is crucial in understanding the “gaze” in Marie Antoinette. We never actually see her naked body in its entirety, yet there is always the suggestion of it – whether it be by Marie’s strained attempts to protect her body, or the view of her body in a very sheer under-robe. The camera purposely doesn’t show Kirsten Dunst’s breasts or genitals in the frame, seemingly to make the situation a little more comfortable for all those involved (Marie, the other women in the scene, and the audience). The dynamics between all members in the scene are evident through the camera’s movements and angles around Marie and Louis’ bedroom.
Sofia Coppola utilizes a shot/reverse-shot sequence in this scene to give the audience an understanding of Marie’s defined position in contrast to that of the other Royal women. This camera work is common in suturing the audience into the scene, allowing them to identify with the characters, and showing them the environment that surrounds them (Turner 150, Silverman 1). The audience is placed in a specific place of subjectivity, and is shown where to look - according to the camera. We see the “morning dressing ceremony” from the perspective of Marie, and also from that of the Royal women. The camera works to make Marie’s perspective uncomfortable for the audience – she is the recipient of dozens of eyes gazing at her nude body, and her position is unpleasurable. This is juxtaposed with the view of the women in the room who ultimately hold power over Marie; we find it easier to position ourselves with them, especially after experiencing Marie’s view. Therefore, we find more pleasure in looking at Marie; it is more comfortable to be the “looker” than the receiver of that look (Silverman 8).
In her position, Marie is clearly an object to be judged, viewed, and critiqued. The women (and the audience) only look at Marie’s eyes, or the clothing/shoes that she will soon wear, and are not allowed to see Marie’s naked body parts. Women should be shielded and drawn away from actually seeing the naked female form, as exemplified by the camera’s unwillingness to stray below Marie’s waist, and the constant barriers between the audience’s eyes and Marie’s body. The women in the scene look at Marie in order to discipline her, to put her in her place, and remind her of the constant criticism of her behavior in her new position; she is constantly pushed to “mould [her good qualities] into a very particular and memorable presence” (Price 8). She must live up to everyone’s expectations while they constantly question her abilities and dish out harsh criticism of her every move. This exemplifies one way that the gaze can objectify Marie, although it can function differently in different situations. According to Hollywood tradition (and within Marie Antoinette), women are positioned to use the gaze as a disciplining tool, a way to exhibit criticism and discipline the object/recipient; while men gaze at women as visually-appealing sexual objects.
In film, men are continuously portrayed as voyeurs and “lookers” of the female body in Hollywood; and even within Marie Antoinette: upon Marie’s arrival in France, the King himself asks “how is her bosom? It’s the first thing I look at.” We can assume that he actually did view Marie this way upon their initial meeting. The subjective female/active male dichotomy is established early on in the film, with Marie being positioned as a deficient erotic object to be looked at and displayed (Mulvey 63). The King explicitly repeats that his only hope for Marie during her rule at Versailles is to produce an heir. She is seen as simply an object for reproduction and sexual pleasure for her husband. Even without such a male presence through much of the movie, Marie is continuously objectified by those around her. Specifically, in the “dressing scene”, Marie’s body is never shown in its naked entirety – perhaps a sort of striptease for the male viewers’ pleasure. While there is no male protagonist visibly present in the scene to “drive the narrative”, the audience is still positioned to “gaze” at the naked female form due to previous comments (i.e. the King’s) and objectification of Marie (Mulvey 63). The history of American cinema has created this situation, where men are the only ones allowed to view the subjective female form for their own pleasure; yet female characters are also seen by other women in the film as objects to be disciplined and manipulated.
Film Style
Sofia Coppola uses specific film techniques to depict the polarized worlds of the French Royal Court and the “natural” life that Marie wants for herself. We often see a pattern of longer scenes with little dialogue, sound, color or action juxtaposed with scenes with quick editing and exciting sound and action. The former mirrors the unnatural, emotionless, and uncomfortable nature of the events – especially those that include only Marie and Louis (i.e. their first night together as a married couple). It is clear that Marie’s happiness and emotions are not important; she is simply expected to fit the role as Louis’ Dauphine and produce an heir. These scenes position the audience to view Marie just as everyone else does – as an object. Yet the shot/reverse-shot patterns enable us to experience Marie’s position and her undeniable difficulty and uncomfortable feelings. In contrast, the more exciting and chaotic scenes allow the viewer to enter the scene and enjoy the activities and luxuries right along with Marie. We see the young Queen in a more comfortable and open state – she engages in situations that please her, maybe even to the extent that she is seen as rebellious to the monarchal system that continually attempts to keep a firm grip on her every move.
A specific scene near the middle of the film provides a clear example of this dichotomy. The “Shoes and Cake” scene immediately follows the birth of Marie’s nephew – the first prince of his generation, which placed much more pressure on Marie and Louis to produce an heir. She feels extreme criticism for not fulfilling this responsibility sooner, even though Louis is as much to blame. Her emotions were uncontrollable following this event, but she knows she must not show her insecurities or frustrations in public. After seeing Marie break down, alone, behind closed doors, we are immediately taken into a scene where she begins her “rebellion” and search for her true desired lifestyle - something very different than the life laid out for her by the monarchy. It seems that this is the beginning of Marie’s gradual path towards chaos and loss of control over her duties as Queen. Sofia Coppola’s use of a chaotic and quick editing style, along with upbeat music and bright lighting, makes the scene appealing to the audience, and allows them to enter the film and begin to understand who Marie really is.
The “Shoes and Cake” scene employs a semi-chaotic and unorganized style - “the formal system…that organizes film techniques” (Bordwell, Thompson 391). Also, the shots almost always utilize close-ups of objects or body parts of unknown actors. This ambiguity and de-personalization allows the audience to position themselves in the scene, essentially being invited to participate. Lastly, there is very little dialogue or diegetic sound, but rather, the scene includes a version of a modern pop song (“I Want Candy”), further placing today’s audience in a position to easily join in without having to follow complex discussions or plot developments. The “Shoes and Cake” scene exhibits the stylistic elements within the unfolding narrative to exemplify the very real possibility that anyone could find themselves in Marie’s shoes, not realizing their destructive pattern of behavior. We are invited to understand Marie’s emotions and desires as a teenage woman who became powerless under the rigidness of the French monarchy.
An analysis of the film techniques used by Sofia Coppola in the “Shoes and Cake” scene allows us to recognize how the audience comes to this point and to understand the significance of their relationship with Marie in the film. Throughout the scene, the shot rhythm remains quite fast, with periods of extremely short cuts, and certainly some longer takes. But the overall quickness of the editing rhythm makes it difficult to see what is going on in each frame and in the overall plot sequence: “by controlling editing rhythm, the filmmaker controls the amount of time we have to grasp and reflect on what we see” (Bordwell, Thompson 304). In addition, we are not presented with a clear view of the spatial relations among the shots. It seems that the scene violates the primary rule of filmmaking – the 180º system, which “ensures that relative positions in the frame remain consistent” (Bordwell, Thompson 311). Most of the shots exhibit ambiguous objects or body parts, leaving the audience without a clear understanding of where the action is taking place or the general spatial relations; they are forced to make connections on their own, without much guidance from the film style. There is no clear narrative flow in this scene, which leads the audience to “enter” the film, put the pieces together, and ultimately drive the narrative (Turner 149).
Along with the unclear spatial relations and narrative flow, the shot composition in “Shoes and Cake” makes it difficult to understand what is going on; yet the mise-en-scene invites the audience to “enter” the scene. For example, a few shots show a servant presenting Marie and her friends with fine fabrics. The camera pans up and down some of the fabrics, from an unknown perspective. This allows the audience to participate and appreciate what is in front of us: “it is difficult not to see camera movement as a substitute for our movement” (Bordwell, Thompson 269). Apart from these shots, the others seem to appear in an almost random order, not allowing a clear narrative pattern to develop. Film audiences are typically trained to look at things in the scene “guided by our assumptions and expectations about what to look for” (Bordwell, Thompson 208). Yet, in this specific scene, it is unclear where we should focus, as we are only presented with quick glances of the action – a form of montage editing which “compresses a lengthy series of actions into a few moments” (Bordwell, Thompson 332). Marie is on a personal journey, an exploration of behaviors in her current state. Such editing practices surely shape the audience’s perspective (Bordwell, Thompson 229). The sheer number of shots make the audience feel overwhelmed, not knowing where to look first. The use of shots exhibiting grandiose or reckless behavior exemplifies the chaotic nature of the scene.
The progression towards chaos seems to clash with many other scenes in the film – a dichotomy discussed earlier. Before the “Shoes and Cake” scene, we can see a general increase in the amount of rapid and confusing editing and camera movements. Overall, this developing pattern can be paralleled with Marie’s progression toward behavior that is deemed extreme or unacceptable for a Royal. Her actions in such scenes as “Shoes and Cake” do not typically seem to characterize a Royal or political leader; thus reiterating the two lifestyles portrayed in the two types of scenes. Yet, the unique cinematographic techniques interact with the audience to demonstrate how Marie would fall into a pattern of behavior that appears more invigorating, pleasing, and fitting for her desired lifestyle.
By exploring cinematic techniques used by Sofia Coppola, it is apparent that she wanted to retell Marie Antoinette’s story in a different light so that the audience could connect emotionally with the historical figure, and reach a “realization” right along with her. The film included specific editing techniques, scene designs, costumes, music, lighting, and camera work to invite viewers into Marie’s life and ultimately understand why she acted the way she did. Monarchal rule had taken over Marie’s true self, and her attempt to reclaim her life manifested itself in her indulgent behavior and attempts to escape the “protocol”. She continues on this path with little consequence, and because of the monarchal structure, no one can really control her; especially since her husband, the King, is just as careless, apparently clueless and unable to step in (emphasizing his role contributes greatly to Coppola’s efforts in leading the audience to empathize with Marie). Her behavior can be looked at as a form of rebellion, but also as a quest for agency and reclamation of power over her own life. Everyone around her reiterated that everything depended on her – she was expected to produce an heir, please her husband sexually (which determined his happiness and ability to rule), and uphold the Austro-Franco political relationship. Her happiness was not of any importance, since exhibition of emotions was taboo in the Royal Court – she was simply to act obediently, make others happy, serve the traditionally-patriarchal power structure, and seek the approval of those around her.
Rather than remember Marie Antoinette as a reckless, failed woman, Coppola encourages viewers to see the more emotional and human side of the famed Queen. By contrasting with traditional views on Marie that uphold the dominant view (usually that of the male), Coppola challenges their monopoly on remembering and telling of history. Marie’s character and behavior weren’t the only factors that led to the economic and social demise in France. Overall, the film invites the audience to critique the monarchal system of power and recognize its ability to influence and manipulate rulers into unnatural and uncomfortable positions. Modern elements make the story accessible to today’s audience, and lead us to be aware of current problematic or dangerous systems of rule. Coppola attempts to remove some of the stigma and prevalent stereotypes attached to Marie’s life, and encourages viewers to question the status quo and dominant ways of remembering. While the film may represent Coppola’s personal soul-searching journey, it also functions as an argument to resist distanciation with the past and to recognize the stereotypes that come from dominant story-telling. While these efforts seem admirable and useful, it is difficult to ignore the fact that Coppola tells the story from a dominant white viewpoint. A more radical representation of history, and Marie’s story, would result from a more complete resistance of such tradition and “protocol”. Such dominant systems are what held Marie in the “gilded cage” to begin with (Chocano 1); and it seems they will be around as long as everyone accepts their rigidity and inability to change.
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