“The Princess of Montpensier”: A delicious French bodice-ripper
A gorgeous cast and a vivid glimpse of 16th-century love and life make "Princess of Montpensier" a delight
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Every name-brand French director has to take on the historical costume drama sooner or later — and don’t start groaning about it, either. You only think you don’t like this kind of movie, and as Bertrand Tavernier’s “The Princess of Montpensier” reminds us, when it’s done well this is a uniquely satisfying genre. Freely adapting a well-known 17th-century novella by Madame de La Fayette (which is set almost a century earlier, during the devastating civil war between French Catholics and Protestant reformers), Tavernier has created a sweeping and intimate spectacle that’s rich with bodice-ripping passion, grim and bloody battle scenes, fascinating historical detail and the peculiar romantic philosophy of the Renaissance.
There’s something wonderful to see in almost every shot (the masterful cinematography is by Bruno de Keyzer, who also shot such Tavernier classics as “A Sunday in the Country” and “‘Round Midnight”); I kept wanting to stop the camera and take in the fragments of late medieval commerce, agriculture, medicine and domestic life happening at the edges of the frame. And then there are the faces and bodies in the middle of the frame, where Tavernier has assembled one of the most gorgeous ensembles in recent film history, beginning (but certainly not ending) with the luminous Mélanie Thierry, a 29-year-old with a stunning complexion and regal disposition who may be on her way to superstardom. She plays the eponymous Princess Marie de Montpensier, who has married an awkward young aristocrat (Grégoire Leprince-Ringuet) she barely knows, but still keeps a torch burning for the roguish, scarred Comte de Guise (Gaspard Ulliel), her childhood love.
Then there’s the smirking, arrogant Duc d’Anjou (Raphaël Personnaz, who perfectly captures the odd effeminacy of lady-killer aristocrats in that era), brother to the king, who is used to taking what he wants. Observing all this is Marie’s husband’s one-time tutor, the shadowy Comte de Chabannes (played by French screen legend Lambert Wilson), a shadowy figure who serves as this story’s Nick Carraway. Chabannes has betrayed both the Catholic crown forces and the reformers, and is in grave danger of losing his head. That isn’t enough to stop him from falling in love with Marie himself, and using his privileged position in her household to steer her through the shoals of romantic danger.




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