The Other Boleyn Girl

The Other Boleyn Girl attempts to dramatize what must be considered one of the defining episodes of Western Civilization. The story of King Henry VIII’s decision to divorce his queen of nearly 20 years (Ferdinand and Isabella’s daughter) in order to marry one of her ladies-in-waiting in the hopes that she would bear him a son (and legitimate heir) is the perfect trifecta of politics, religion and celebrity-worship. The episode shook the foundation of England (a budding world power at the time), causing aftershocks that were felt for a century later. The effect on England’s social structure and religious laws were devastating. Henry had his best friends put to death over the matter, had his daughters declared bastards, broke with his Church, and made mortal enemies abroad and at home.

Can a movie tell this story with any hope of succeeding? It’s been done: Anne of the Thousand Days. A Man for All Seasons. Both are enduring and excellent examples of lofty achievement. Several Masterpiece Theater/BBC productions have been successful to varying degrees.

With these successes in mind, The Other Boleyn Girl is inadequate to the task. What a total pity, because it has a lot going for it. First of all, it is from Phillipa Gregory’s colorful novel, which takes liberties with the parts of the story that history can not unequivocally confirm, and gives it a compelling, beach-read feel. Kind of ‘Judith Krantz-meets-Antonia Fraser.’ Gregory’s novel should make a good leap to the screen. Secondly, it has three very strong actors playing The Boleyn sisters and Henry. Lastly, the costumer and set designer must have had killer budgets, because every inch of screen is alive with color, beautiful light, delicious gowns and fabulous castle interiors. This really should have been grand, if not great.

One cannot really dog this movie for running roughshod over history, because sometimes it must be done in the name of effective storytelling. But even if I was not altogether factual (it’s emphatically and inexplicably not), it falls short of the most important level. The actors playing the lead roles are just not enough.

Consider that despite Henry Tudor’s enduring legacy as a paranoid villain of epic dimension, in his early reign he was widely recounted as a magnificently charismatic, energetic, and attractive man who could charm a room (and a country) with his storytelling, his extemporaneous poetry and song, his love of dance, and his abilities as a cultured conversationalist. That king is not in this movie. Eric Bana is attractive and charismatic. But not in this movie.

This Henry is tepid and one-note — not particularly powerful, and not particularly commanding. That two indisputably lovely ladies fell in love with him can only be attributed to his wardrobe, which is absolutely gorgeous. He stamps his fist on a a table and insists he wants his council to find a way out of his marriage, damnit.  Ooooh, scary. (and just where did they hide Cardinal Wolsey? Leaving him out of this story is like leaving Louis out of Casablanca.)

Scarlett Johansson executes the role of sweet, compliant Mary Boleyn prettily. This version of the sister who is first prostituted out by her monstrous uncle and father to bed the king is perfectly pliant and willing … just as Mary is reported to have been. Johansson uses the same guileless expression and wide, trusting eyes and smile that she used in Girl With a Pearl Earring — and to much the same effect. But not much more.

Anne Boleyn has been portrayed as a pawn in her family’s bid for power and influence, as a heedless firebrand bent on making her own name in a man’s world, and a desperate gambler playing for her life after her male relatives coldly forced her into a deadly game. Natalie Portman either cannot decide which Anne she is portraying, or she is just not a big enough presence to carry off the storied Anne Boleyn. Narrowed eyes and vituperative remarks do not a legend make.

Making it all somehow worse, the director (Justin Chadwick, of Masterpiece Theater’s excellent “Bleak House” 2005 adaptation) sets up each personal tete-a-tete by shooting it through curtains, through a crack in a door, half-glimpsed from behind a post or pilaster. Are all these encounters supposed to be secret? Why, when there is absolutely nothing about the way this story is told that implies secrecy? Characters are almost laughably overt and lacking in subtlety. Henry does nothing to hide his affairs. Anne’s uncle, Thomas Howard, baldly announces his plan to shove Mary and Anne into the king’s bed to all involved. Catherine of Aragon (by most accounts a preternaturally dignified and polite monarch) marches up and declares Mary and Anne to be whores in hearing of the entire court. The sly camera work is contradicted by the ham-handed story and script.

The story of Anne, Henry, Mary and the changes wrought by their strange, damaged relationships deserves a better attempt than The Other Boleyn Girl.