In his long and varied career, the director Bertrand Tavernier has frequently had cause to address aspects of French history, sometimes in a lively, irreverent style (1994's Sophie Marceau swashbuckler D'Artagnan's Daughter), sometimes in a manner altogether more considered and scholarly (2002's Laissez-Passer). The 16th century-set The Princess of Montpensier, adapted from a novel by Madame de la Fayette and unfolding against the backdrop of the French Wars of Religion, falls closest in tone to Tavernier's sophomore film Que la fête commence... (a.k.a. Let Joy Reign Supreme, 1975), particularly in its portrait of the French aristocracy as plotters and schemers. This powerbroking, like the swordplay its leading lights indulge in for sport, is fun to begin with, but constantly threatens to have somebody's eye out - we're not too far away from the St. Bartholomew's Day Massacre, for one. (There's some overlap with Patrice Chereau's darker-hued La Reine Margot.)At the film's centre is a spirited, convent-educated young woman qui, in the immortal words of Alizee's "Moi Lolita", enchante tout autour d'elle. Marie (Mélanie Thierry) has her heart set on the thrusting Duc de Guise (Gaspard Ulliel), yet with the Duc absent on the battlefield, her social-climbing father insists on marrying her off to the dullard Prince of Montpensier (Grégoire Leprince-Ringuet). That she has come to be regarded as an object, an offering, is evident from the way her wedding-night deflowering becomes a public event, with a buffet laid on for those dignitaries invited to pull up a front-row seat as the Prince first takes ownership of his bride. Marie, however, longs to be loved as a woman - for whom she is, rather than what she might represent.
Further confusing the picture are the affections of Montpensier's court tutor Chabannes (Lambert Wilson), an accomplished former soldier who finds himself, against his better judgement, falling for his charge. At times, The Princess of Montpensier threatens to turn into yet another of the French cinema's Lolita fables, but Tavernier seems as hesitant as the tutor himself in endorsing this latter relationship, no matter that it plays as a meeting of minds rather than older and younger bodies.
An idea of youth remains central, however, and it's by casting young that Tavernier transforms the film into a radical proposition: a drama about individuals trapped within a hierarchy that values them only as pawns in a power game, to be manoeuvred as their elders see fit. Even the sparky Duc d'Anjou (the rakish Raphaël Personnaz, channeling Errol Flynn and any number of New Romantic popstars), sat at the right hand of Catherine de Medici, bemoans the fact he's being forced to learn Polish to sit on one of Europe's tiniest thrones, and pushed into marrying the bald, fiftysomething Elizabeth I to secure a tactically advantageous political alliance. The scent of imminent and bloody insurrection hangs heavy in the air.
And yet The Princess of Montpensier remains a film of immense pleasures, not least the ripsnorting battle scenes, which plot a skilful path between the muddy, the scrappy, and the properly epic. The performances are no less vivid. Leprince-Ringuet overcomes the dullness of the Prince as conceived on the page with a shy, insecure smile that grows on you; Thierry, fierce-eyed and determined of jaw, glows in that way all French actresses do before they go off to Hollywood to make romcoms with David Spade; and Wilson - who, as the recent Of Gods and Men made clear, does gnawing human doubt better than just about anyone - is perfectly cast as the old warhorse who cannot declare his heart and finds himself being punished for it. British distributors have been going overboard seeking out French alternatives to the standard summer fare: this blue-chip costume drama - a fusion of intellect and passion, slyly written and beautifully staged - is the one that will most deserve any crossover success.
The Princess of Montpensier is on selected release.
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