Jeanne du Barry
In 1761, a girl named Jeanne Bécu who had no money wrote a letter to her “dear friend” and said that she loved him and that she didn’t want to “continue being a shopgirl” but desired to be “a little more my own mistress; therefore I would like someone who could keep me.” Her proposal was this: “To keep me and my head-dress will be the only expense (which will not cost you anymore rent) give me a hundred livres per month for those.”
The man did not take her up on it. But these were the words of boldness from Madame du Barry, also known as history’s most famous mistress. She was an illegitimate daughter of a cook with a monk. Not good. She needed protection. That’s when Jean-Baptiste du Barry came into play as her protector. It was not long after that she met King Louis XV and moved into Versailles as his mistress where everything changed.
But what story? Does the narrative of Madame du Barry tell us anything about history or reveal historical events? I believe so. Unfortunately, French director, actress Maïwenn’s “Jeanne du Barry,” in which she plays opposite Johnny Depp as King Louis XV, takes too superficial an approach to this famously controversial figure.
There is no denying “Jeanne du Barry” is visually beautiful; cinematographer Laurent Dailland makes full use of those stunning rooms and vistas, with candle flames ala “Barry Lyndon” lighting up dark rooms throughout the film and Jürgen Doering deserves major credit for his costume design. But the intriguing complexities of the story are smoothed over, buried beneath and considered less interesting than the lovers’ breathtaking surroundings.
The movie begins with voiceover an omniscient voice giving us Jeanne’s early history in flashcard form we see her as a child, and 10 seconds later she’s a teenager refusing to undress as an artist’s model. Another ten seconds, she’s been thrown out of her job as a lady’s companion after sleeping with the woman’s two sons. Ten seconds after that, she is the most celebrated courtesan in Paris. How on earth did this happen? There is no real examination of how practical it was for this woman (as evidenced by the above letter) to do what she had to do.
Once she has established herself in Comte du Barry’s household (Melvil Poupaud), La Borde (Benjamin Lavernhe), King Louis’ adviser (OK, procurer) approaches her. He sets up a meeting with the King. La Borde schools Jeanne on royal protocol (one can’t help but think of Julia Roberts being taught table settings in “Pretty Woman”). A doctor examines Jeanne with a speculum straight out of a Spanish Inquisition torture chamber. Everything appears to be in order with her vagina. And so begins Jeanne’s “affair” with the King
Because it is Versailles, “affair” means something different here. Royal mistresses were de rigueur, but Jeanne du Barry was no Madame de Pompadour (the mistress before her). Pompadour wielded immense power as a patron of the arts and political advisor, the court loathed Jeanne, and the King’s daughters turned their backs on her. In “Jeanne du Barry,” the liaison between Jeanne and the King is a sanctuary of calmness. Their eyes meet across a crowded room, they instantly understand each other’s value. The nature of their connection is not examined with any specificity. Is she flattered by his attention or just dazzled by the jewels? (These include the famous necklace scandal that would rear its head 10 years later and help bring down Marie Antoinette.) There’s nothing strange about the power imbalance with Louis; what’s odd is that there’s no interest in probing it. The relationship isn’t accounted for, we’re simply supposed to take it on faith.
Depp was a controversial choice for this role probably one of the reasons why equally controversial filmmaker Maïwenn cast him but he mostly seems dispirited in his fabulous outfits and plumed hats, sleepwalking through the part. Maïwenn’s Jeanne remains a cipher in an amorphous emotional state of playfulness, humor and tenderness; she hardly registers as having any faults or flaws at all. There’s no edge to this performance, nothing specific about it. The most moving turn in the movie comes from Lavernhe as Borde, who brings shadings of humor and kindness to what could have been a perfunctory part.
The film presents Zamor the slave child given to Jeanne by King Louis, literally presented in a box with an enormous bow on top in an uncritical way that feels uncomfortable now. He is played as a child and then a teenager by Ibrahim Yaffa and Djibril Djimo, respectively, and their relationship is depicted as idyllic and childlike, the two of them frolicking around the palace while the open-minded Jeanne rises above the racist court. This is simplistic if you know anything about what actually happened not to mention dishonest. When revolution broke out a decade later, Zamor joined the Jacobins, calling for Jeanne’s arrest; he detailed her love of aristocracy, her outrageous spending habits, her “ownership” of him. He brought about her downfall; she was beheaded in 1793.
At the end of the movie, we’re told that Zamor did what he did “out of distress or spite.” “Spite”? That sounds suspiciously like “he bit the hand that fed him.” It’s the tell this is how the film wants us to see Jeanne. It seems “out of justifiable anger” might be a better way to put it. But “Jeanne du Barry” is more interested in two nondescript people having an exquisite clothes love affair in stunning rooms than in any reality that would ultimately sweep away those rooms, those clothes and those people within just a few years’ time.
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