‘Corsage’: Film Review | Cannes 2022

More cynical viewers than myself might say that the procession of feminist art films and high-end television about royal women being royally screwed over by the patriarchy — and rebelling through affairs, sulking and edgy fashion choices — is a trend that’s played out by now, post Spencer.

But wait, there’s more! Another season of The Crown is about to cover the juiciest and saddest bits of Princess Diana’s story in the U.K.. Meanwhile, European filmmakers are increasingly crafting their own revisionist looks at iconic lady monarchs.

Corsage, playing in the Un Certain Regard strand at Cannes, although a late entry to the disaffected royalty subcategory, is arguably one of the most interesting so far, much closer to the ludic, imaginative queen of the genre, Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette (2006).

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Lushly decorated and costumed, and cheekily anachronistic with its use of 21st century pop songs, salty language, rude gestures and the like, it takes a look at the later life of Empress Elisabeth of Austria, aka “Sissi” (1837-1898), played by a suitably regal and linguistically dexterous Vicky Krieps (Bergman Island, Phantom Thread), who speaks at least three languages here including Hungarian, and also takes an executive producer credit . In fact, Krieps reportedly first proposed the project to Austrian writer-director Marie Kreutzer.

Kreutzer’s previous features, such as  The Ground Beneath My Feet and We Used to Be Cool (which also starred Krieps), were more contemporary in their setting, focusing on modern women facing the stress of motherhood or other life crises. But instead of straining to conform to the conventions of period drama, Kreutzer finds in the Bavarian-born wife of the Emperor Franz Josef a woman with a very modern spirit who happens to be locked in a 19th century marriage.

Given that the shine has already begun to fade from her marriage and her surviving children have mostly grown up, a bored and restless Sissi here is met just turning 40 in the late 1870s. She’s taken to traveling ceaselessly around Europe, visiting old friends and former lovers, throwing herself enthusiastically into riding and other athletic pursuits in order to assuage her frustration with having no real political power. It’s a very different portrait of Sissi from the German-language films about her from the 1950s starring Romy Schneider, more typically stately historical dramas that found in Sissi a fashion-plate goddess, right for that particular era.

Kreutzer’s script keeps a reasonably tight temporal focus on these few years in Sissi’s life. But with nothing especially eventful happening in the story, it’s not clear why this period grabbed the filmmakers’ attention apart from the fact that it was around this time that the empress started to withdraw more from public life, and took to wearing a veil across her face. That said, in the last scenes the film really does make a melancholy swerve away from the historical record, but to explain how exactly would be to spoil it.

Kreutzer builds up an episodic but compelling portrait of a disaffected woman, but one with enough stoic wisdom to know that since she bought the ticket she might as well stay on the ride as long as she can. Like Diana the Princess of Wales, whose story will be a comparison point for many viewers, Sissi is seen suffering from an eating disorder brought on in part by a world that views her as little more than an influencer, to use the parlance of today, whose slightest change of hairstyle ripples through society. In fact, at one point, in despair over a number of recent emotional shocks, she decides to hack off most of her locks, provoking one lady-in-waiting to cry with despair on seeing what she considers her own, not Sissi’s, life’s work ruined.

Sissi is more of a depressive rather than a narcissist or someone suffering borderline personality disorder. Sure, she clashes with husband, Franz Josef (Florian Teichtmeister), over her more frequent absences from court and the infidelities both of them indulge in. But there’s still a strong sexual bond there, illustrated tenderly in a bedroom love scene where the couple have a quick bout of mutual masturbation in order to avoid an unwanted pregnancy. Being desired and considered beautiful is practically the only power Sissi has, and as that power wanes there’s little to replace it.

Krieps’ wry, amused mien brings a strong sense of intelligence to the role, and her own imposing physicality perfectly conveys the regality of Sissi’s presence. The supporting characters are less well drawn, apart from Ida Ferenczy (Jeanne Werner), Sissi’s sister and emotional-support courtier, one of the few people with whom she can speak frankly and honestly. Their bond echoes the nuanced depictions of female relationships in Kreutzer’s other work.

Indeed, without making a big fuss of it, there’s a strong sense throughout that the mostly female key crewmembers are pulling together to tell this woman-centric story through the lens of female identity — from DP Judith Kaufmann, blending natural sunlight and defiantly anachronistic electric illumination with style throughout, to composer Camille, whose dreamy, drifty contemporary songs add a charming atmosphere.

Special shoutout to costume designer Monika Buttinger, whose intricate creations, especially the corsetry, are so crucial to the story. If anything could make beaded face veils a hip new accessory in 2022, it’s Buttinger and her team’s work here that will do it.