Mary Queen Of Scots Review - Two Queens.

Mary Queen of Scots is electric on paper. The idea that two powerless queens who wanted the best for their kingdoms were nothing but pawns in the hands of men is so deliciously dark to watch, that it should have flown. And in parts, its visually sumptuous narrative soars. The source material, John Guy’s Queen Of Scots: The True Life of Mary Stuart, is roaringly feminist and details the life of this hidden icon. Its extravagant sets, mostly dimly lit within the unforgiving stone walls of castles, its lavish costumes and the stunning hair and makeup by Academy Award-nominated Jenny Shircore are all things to admire.

But these are only externalities. Films need an ebbing and messy narrative and conflicts to come alive, but this one is inept for the most part. Debutante director Josie Rourke, who’s working off a script by Beau Willimon, is well within her zone here. She portrays both Elizabeth and Mary as full-fleshed characters. We get so familiar with them that we even get close-up shots of Mary’s period. This is how intimate the experience gets. We watch as these two cousins write letters to each other, hoping to create a co-existent relationship, one where both the crown of England and Scotland can work in harmony and not discord.

The catalyst of this film is the schism within the Roman Catholic Church, creating the Catholic and Protestant sects of it. Mary is a staunch Catholic teenage widow who must preside over a majorly Protestant country. The two queens are portrayed by Academy Award nominees and easily the best actors of their generation, Saoirse Ronan and Margot Robbie. Both the women imbue these characters with a full-bodied set of emotions. So, Mary is hopelessly optimistic and Elizabeth is a pessimist who lives out her days in fear that somebody is trying to usurp her throne. The strokes are broad, but these actors run with it.

In one scene, Mary angrily declares, “I will be the woman she is not. I will produce an heir, unlike her barren self.” Nothing is off limits here. For the throne of England, which Mary considers hers, everything - blood, kin, sex, bodies, children, abuse and love - nothing is off limits, all is fair. Which makes the movie experience uncomfortable. Sex is a liberating thing to see in a period historical, which is usually stiff and laboured, but Rourke overuses it. There’s too much sex, but it feels alien and impersonal. We never see these women in touch with their own bodies, and therefore we’re detached.

The film opens with Mary being escorted to the guillotine for beheading. It then cuts to her in a beach in Scotland, in 1561, being the recently returned teenage window of a French prince. We’re supposed to follow her through her journey - which involves divorce, death, betrayal, punishment, children, lust, greed and love. But, the end result is so convoluted, drawn out and stretched, that even when the film sparkles, you’re just too tired to appreciate it. But, it commands your attention in the last fifteen minutes, when the two queens finally come face to face. This is completely fiction because they never met. But it doesn’t matter.

Because when they finally meet, it is absolutely magical. The two of them are separated by translucent white clothes. Mary scrambles to find Elizabeth, while she tries to hide herself. In this jumbling maze, the two of them talk about how they want the same things - peace and prosperity for their kingdoms, but the circumstances have changed. A distraught, teary-eyed Mary exclaims - ‘I know your heart has more within it than the men that council you.’ It’s heartbreakingly raw and emotional, while being rousing and electric at the same time.

It’s no doubt that the two queens, both in the story and acting in the film, drive the narrative holistically. There is nobody else who makes half the impression that Ronan and Robbie do. Mary has a brittle exterior but a strong core. She fights for what she wants. When she cries as her gay friend is stabbed to death in front of her, you almost want to console her because Ronan’s eyes perfectly register her helplessness.

Keeping pace with her is the knockout Margot Robbie. Elizabeth is insecure, because her cousin is a younger, more attractive, energetic version of her. Her skin has blisters and is permanently chafed. Her hair has fallen apart and like her body, she’s shutting down - mentally and emotionally. In this knockout scene, she gets angry because this array of flowers she has spent quilling for days, isn’t colour coordinated. Robbie perfectly captures Elizabeth’s gradual descent into madness, and in the climax, she steals the show, as she cries - hoping that her loving cousin can forgive her, for all her sins.

Mary Queen of Scots isn’t perfect. It’s bumpy, erratic and less than satisfying. But Rourke infuses the entangled narrative with a vitality that is the sheer joy of watching two women as their worlds crumble around them.

The two queens are the soul of this film. Interpret that how you may.