YOUR AD HERE! SEE SIDEBAR FOR DETAILS.

Keira Knightley is The Duchess

Allow me to preface this assessment of The Duchess (Paramount Vantage, 9/19, trailer)—which I saw last Friday—by noting that I, as a straight male, am not "supposed" to like it, let alone see it in the first place. And now allow me to explain why I did...

The Duchess, which is only the second film by the writer-director Saul Dibb, is without a doubt one of the finest films I've seen at this year's Toronto Film Festival. It can perhaps best be described as everything that Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette (2006) strove to be but no amount of hip music could make it—a star vehicle; a fashion photoshoot-come-to-life (right on the heels of another from this year, Sex and the City); and a celebration of the strength of women. My hunch is that women of all ages will strongly embrace it; that Academy members will strongly consider nominating it for Best Art Direction (Michael Carlin) and Best Actress (thanks to another fine performance in a period piece by Pride & Prejudice and Atonement star Keira Knightley, whose great beauty far too often causes reviewers to overlook her tremendous talent); and that it will almost certainly win Michael O'Connor the Academy Award for Best Costume Design.

[NOTE: Some minor spoilers follow.] The eponymous character in the film, Georgiana Spencer (Knightley), was the most famous woman in late 18th century England. At the age of 16, unbeknownst to her, her opportunistic mother arranged for her to marry the Duke of Devonshire (Ralph Fiennes) and assume responsibility for producing him an heir. The Duke, who is introverted and cold to everyone, including his wife, makes it clear from their first night together that he regards her as nothing more than a means to achieve that end. When her first two pregnancies bear females, however, he becomes increasingly cruel and unfaithful to her, causing a deep rift in their relationship. He orders her, "Give me a son, and until then stay here and do as I say," and thus she finds herself "imprisoned in my own house." What makes it all the more shocking is that the Duke, as another character gossips, "must be the only man in England not in love with his wife!"

The Duke is missing a sensitivity-chip, not unlike Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice, the film version of which also starred Knightley; the difference is that Darcy eventually finds one. The Duke is incredibly insensitive to his wife's feelings and needs, as perhaps best illustrated in a scene at their breakfast table, at which he sits far at the opposite end from her. A baby is ushered in, the Duke casually acknowledges to the Duchess that it is a child whom he has fathered out of wedlock, and he tells her that he expects her to raise it. ("It will be good practice," he mutters.) The umistakable symbolism of the distance between them in this dark, quiet scene must be an ode to a similar scene in another film that focuses on a domineering husband growing apart from his wife—that, of course, is Citizen Kane (1941).

Orson Welles and Ruth Warrick in Citizen Kane

For women of the Duchess' era, mental and physical maltreatment of the sort practiced by the Duke was not uncommon; to independently go forward and make something of oneself in spite of it, however, certainly was, and that is precisely what she does. A few examples...

• She involves herself in politics, speaking out against proponents of "freedom in moderation" and quietly advocating for women's suffrage... all the while retaining her good humor ("You politicians know nothing about fashion!").
• She understands publicity ("I have many faults, not least among them the ability to draw attention") anduses it to campaign for opposition party leader Charles Grey (Dominic Cooper of The History Boys), her childhood crush and future lover. [Incidentally, the hopeful and optimistic Grey reminds me of Obama (he even says, "Change is upon us!") while the dour and cynical Duke reminds me of McCain (he says of the much younger Grey, "He is a dreamer, like yourself. You both dream of a world that doesn't exist and never will"). It's as if she's married to McCain but in love with Obama!]
• She is in touch with her sexuality, experiencing an awakening of sexual pleasure fueled by her female friend, unmet by her husband, and satisfied by her lover. It demonstrates to her that a woman need not just go through the motions when it comes to sex or, for that matter, life, in general—that both can offer something more.
• And, above all, she's stylish! Known around town as the "Empress of Fashion," one speaker introduces her by saying "What we see her wearing tonight, I look forward to seeing you wear tomorrow!" (And even if Knightley and screenwriter Amanda Foreman don't like them, comparisons between Georgiana Spencer, after she became the Duchess of Devonshire, and her great-great-great-great aunt Diana Spencer, after she became the Princess of Wales, are completely understandable and appropriate. Both women were born into normal families, married into royalty at a young age, endured largely unhappy marriages for the sake of their children, became activists and fashion icons, and died far too young.)
  

Generally speaking, men don't understand women when it comes to clothes. We hate being dragged along for shopping sprees, we hate the idea of attending a fashion show, and most of us wouldn't spend more than a minute or two gussying ourselves up were it not necessary to do so to attract women. Therefore, it is not surprising to hear the Duke ask the Duchess, "Why must women's clothes be so damn complicated?!" It is enlightening, however, to hear her thoughtful response, especially considering the time period in which the story is set: "I suppose it's just our way of expressing ourselves. You [men] have so many ways of expressing yourselves, whereas we must make do with our hats and dresses." Indeed, for a woman as trapped (literally and figuratively) as the Duchess, clothes are a small outlet, and for even us hardened men it is hard not to be impressed with her stunning assortment of them. Indeed, numerous scenes in the film look like Vanity Fair photoshoots come-to-life (e.g. when the Duchess is given instructions for how to deliver her illegitimate child).

The saddest part about the film is watching the Duchess struggle to navigate the uncharted territory towards progress that she eventually walks. Upon catching the Duke philandering with her best friend under her own roof, she exasperatedly asks him not "What is wrong with you?!" but "What is wrong with me?!" Her own mother blames her for her husband's infidelities. This was the cultural zeitgeist, or spirit of the age, and it is tragic to look back upon. "You don't have to please others all the time," her lover chides her, to which she responds, "It's what I've been brought up to do—it's hard to unlearn."

When that lessons finally sinks in, and she learns to love herself, the Duchess feels inevitable regret ("I fear I've done some things in life too late and others too early"), but also discovers newfound courage. As she prepares to leave her husband, he warns her, "This will be the mistake of your life!" to which she responds, "No, I made that many years ago." Oh. snap. But when he thrusts their children into the mix by threatening to keep them from her forever, she is forced to reconsider, for she, like most mothers, values them above even herself. I won't give away her decision, but needless to say either option—to return or not to return—would come with great pain and sacrifice.

The film reminds me a great deal of the better melodramatic women's weepies and sumptuous period costume dramas of Hollyood's Golden Age. This is the sort of project that Douglas Sirk would have wanted to direct (think Written on the Wind, or better yet Imitation of Life) and feisty Bette Davis would have been assigned to star in (remember her role—and red dress—in Jezebel?), probably opposite, say, Laurence Olivier as the cold Duke and Robert Taylor as the forbidden lover.

The film treats the Duke far more fairly than he ever treated the Duchess, showing flickers of humanity beneath his cold attitude—teaching his lover's boys about guns; awkwardly admitting his own ineptitude at expressing himself; and looking out a window at children playing while speaking his final, revealing lines in the film: "How wonderful to be that free." It acknowledges that this was a far different place and time than the one we know today—the Duchess' best friend's husband beat her and stole her children, but as she tells the Duchess "the law is on his side." But it rightfully celebrates a woman who was generations ahead of her time and who hoped for better.

Even if the Duchess was unable to achieve her dreams in her own lifetime, she put on a brave face, the requisite stiff upper lip,  and fought onward. History says she left a few cracks in that "glass ceiling" for women that has been invoked frequently, of late. For that reason, it seems fitting that The Duchess, which celebrates the courage and strenght of women, should be released now, in 2008—it's the 88th anniversary of women's suffrage in the America, and it's the year that Hillary almost became the first female presidential nominee, and Sarah Palin, for better or worse, could become the first female vice president. Things are far from perfect or equal for women, but they are getting better every day, and as modern women ponder their options of what they'd like to do and where they'd like to go, a movie like The Duchess will remind them of how far they've come, and serve as a reminder of how far they can go.