Elizabeth Film The Golden Age
Jennifer Kovachick
By now, it\u2019s no secret that I am one of those who worships at the altar of Cate Blanchett. In my (not so humble) opinion, she is one of the finest actresses of her generation, able to bring out the remarkable strength and deep vulnerability of her complicated characters, whether that\u2019s the the anti-femininst crusader Phyllis Schlafly or Galadriel, arguably one of the best Elves Tolkien ever created. For my money, however, her best role will always and forever be as Elizabeth, first in the simply-titled Elizabeth (released in 1998) and then, almost a decade later, in Elizabeth: The Golden Age, in which she plays the same queen several years into her reign. In both cases, she gives us valuable insight into one of the most formidable, and enigmatic, rulers who has ever sat a throne.
By the time the film begins, it is 1585 and Elizabeth has survived against all the odds, having faced down the plots and treasons of the previous film, which saw her elevate Francis Walsingham (Geoffrey Rush) to the position of her most trusted counselor. However, now she faces an even graver threat, from both without, in the form of the vengeful and zealous Catholic Spanish king Philip II and from within, from the imprisoned Mary, Queen of Scots (Samantha Morton). At the same time, she also has to contend with her growing feelings for the handsome Walter Raleigh (Clive Owen) who, in his turn, finds himself falling for Elizabeth\u2019s lady-in-waiting Bess Throckmorton (Abbie Cornish).
From the very beginning, it\u2019s clear that this is a film that is going to be, in large part, about the epic clash of civilizations, with Philip and Elizabeth squaring off as the avatars of Catholicism and Protestantism, respectively. The opening narration\u2013a staple in films like this\u2013sets the stage, with the script unfolding against a stained glass tableau. In it, we see the legions of the Catholic king of Spain preparing to invade England, with only Elizabeth, the warrior goddess, standing in the way.
Given this opening\u2013and given the very unflattering portrait of King Philip that it paints\u2013it\u2019s not at all surprising that the film, like its predecessor, has been accused of an anti-Catholic bias. While there is certainly some truth to this, it makes sense when considering the fact that The Golden Age is trying to immerse the viewer in the mindset and the atmosphere of the later reign of Elizabeth. From the English (Protestant) point of view, the Spanish were the enemy, and it is true that Philip, with the pope\u2019s blessing, saw the Armada and its invasion as yet another front in the holy war he had already waged across much of Europe (most notably in the Netherlands).
But, of course, we\u2019re not really here for the politics, are we? We\u2019re here because we want to see the divine Blanchett bring Elizabeth to life in the way that she did in the earlier film, and boy, does she deliver! The Golden Age\u2019s Elizabeth is just as tempestuous as she was in Elizabeth for all that she has learned some hard lessons about putting one\u2019s feelings aside for the good of the realm. When the dashing Sir Walter Raleigh\u2013played by the very handsome and charming Clive Owen\u2013comes to court, she soon finds herself swept up by his undeniable charisma. Before long, she\u2019s found herself enmeshed in yet another love triangle, since Raleigh is just as smitten with the lithe Bess Throckmorten (a woman he can actually marry, it should be noted) as he is with the glamorous VIrgin Queen. And, let\u2019s be real, who wouldn\u2019t fall in love with a man like that?
It\u2019s worth pointing out, though, that Elizabeth\u2019s attraction to him is just as much due to his freedom as it is his personal charms. Unlike the queen, who is constantly imprisoned by her duties and her throne\u2013her face caked with white makeup, her body encased in robes so ornate and so heavy that they act like a suit of armor\u2013he can do what he likes. While she must always do what is best for the nation, he can dash off and undertake his next adventure, whether it\u2019s founding a colony in the \u201CNew World\u201D or taking part in the battle against the Spanish Armada. To some extent, Elizabeth seems to realize this for, say what you will about her, she is a woman who knows her own mind and her own desires, just as she knows what it takes to be an effective ruler of a Renaissance kingdom.
None of this keeps her from exploding in rage when she discovers that Raleigh and Bess have wed without first obtaining the royal blessing and that Bess is now pregnant with his child. It\u2019s a master class in performance, as Blanchett gives full vent to Elizabeth\u2019s fury as she attacks Bess and banishes them both from court. Now, it is important to point out that Bess and Elizabeth were not nearly as close in real life as the film would have us believe. However, it is certainly true that Elizabeth was well-known for her Tudor rages (she was her father\u2019s daughter, after all), many of which were often directed at the foolish young people in her court who decided to carry on affairs, or got pregnant, without seeking her permission first. Some of this was no doubt genuine, as it was Elizabeth\u2019s sworn duty to protect the virtue of the young women in her care; what they did reflected on her. And, in some cases\u2013as with her cousin Catherine Grey\u2013it was a matter of state, as Catherine, like Elizabeth, was a descendant of Henry VII, a woman whose claim to the throne would be bolstered by the production of male heirs (Catherine produced two).
Yet her behavior also makes sense on a personal level as well and, though there are few explicit references to Shekhar\u2019s earlier film, there is one which comes to bear a great deal of weight. As Elizabeth sits on her throne, watching Raleigh and Bess dance\u2013a coupling she has commanded take place\u2013we see a series of flashbacks, showing a young Elizabeth dancing (presumably) with her former favorite, Robert Dudley, who was banished from court due to his participation in a plot against her throne and her life. It\u2019s a powerful and poignant moment, reminding us (and Elizabeth) of just how much she has given up to become the woman that she is. As she remarks at the end of the film, she has eschewed all of the things which would normally constitute a woman\u2019s life in the Renaissance\u2013namely, a husband and children\u2013in order to be both wife and mother to her nation. Yet, as this vignette makes clear, it has not come without a cost.
This sense of regret permeates the entire film, and it is remarkable the extent to which it is able to move through so many registers and how effectively it juxtaposes Elizabeth\u2019s own sense of wistfulness with the triumphalist message it ostensibly celebrates. There are, certainly, plenty of moments when Elizabeth shows extraordinary strength, such as when she rides out in armor to rouse her soldiers gathered at Tilbury but, I have to be honest, that particular scene fell rather flat since they excised so much of the original speech. More moving, I think, is the moment in which she strides through the halls of her palace, convulsed with paroxysms of grief at having ordered the execution of Mary, Queen of Scots, her cousin and fellow anointed monarch.
Aesthetically, Elizabeth: The Golden Age is even more sumptuous than its predecessor. However, whereas Elizabeth tended to emphasize the claustrophobic nature of the Tudor court, The Golden Age features soaring shots (many of them from overhead), and the surroundings are, as a rule, far more expansive. This is a court of marble and gold and light, rather than wood and panels and darkness, an appropriate reflection of the golden age it is meant to depict. This aesthetic extends to Elizabeth herself who is, as she was at the end of Elizabeth, a creature of stiff fabric and white face paint and elaborate wigs, far more icon than human. Only at rare moments do we see her as she truly is: an aging woman, sandy hair growing thin, face showing lines of the strain and the life she leads. It\u2019s to Blanchett\u2019s tremendous credit that she allows us to see the human behind the mask, without ever allowing Elizabeth to slide into the realm of the abject or the pitiable.
All in all, Elizabeth: The Golden Age shows us England at the height of its Renaissance powers, with Elizabeth bestriding it all. By the end of the film, she has once again learned to embrace her identity as the mother of her nation, the woman who was willing to put aside her own desires\u2013which were, as the film makes clear, often quite strong\u2013in order to become a mother to her people, an icon they could worship in place of the ones displaced by the Reformation. It is, in some ways, the inverse of its predecessor and, though it does make her more human, this ultimately makes her return to her iconic status all that much more meaningful. Just like her subjects, we can forever regard Cate Blanchett\u2019s Elizabeth as truly\u2026Gloriana.
Cleopatra wants to make an impression in Rome, accompanied by her son, Caesarion, born of her relationship with Julius Caesar. She therefore decides to wear an outfit that represents her power. Arriving on a monumental chariot adorned with a sphinx statue, Cleopatra seduces the Roman public, as well as Mark Antony, with her golden dress, extraordinary cape, sculptural headdress decorated with snakes surrounding the sun, tribute to the god Ra.
A spectacular headdress is reminiscent of a phoenix, a legendary bird with the power to come back to life and a symbol of Cleopatra's ambition. The phoenix is also depicted on the cape made of 24-karat gold, sheared into thin strips of golden leather decorated with thousands of beads sketching the wings of the bird, and in the dress adorned with feathers. This stunning costume matches the one worn by Caesarion, the child king presented to the people as future Pharaoh of Egypt.
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