Sofia Coppola's new film, "Marie Antoinette," is as tasty as a bonbon and about as filling.
Hidden somewhere in the lavish and unconventional period production is some sort of social commentary, but exactly whom Coppola is lampooning and what she is commenting on is about as clear as poorly translated French. Luckily, French sounds beautiful even when you don't understand it, and that's the case with "Marie Antoinette" as well.
In the first third of the movie, Marie (Kirsten Dunst) is betrothed to the soon-to-be king of France (Jason Schwartzman) to establish an alliance between his country and her native Austria. She quickly finds the absurdly opulent court of Versailles to be a complex social minefield. But Marie finds escape and fulfillment in her newfound purchasing power.
By the third act, even being awash in luxury isn't enough and Marie has isolated herself — physically, mentally and emotionally — both from Versailles and the seething, unseen peasants her class fatally ignores.
Coppola's inexperience as a director (this is only her third feature film) shows in that she isn't entirely successful at weaving these three parts together. Some scenes feel like they come too early or too late, which makes the film's rhythm uneven.
But in other regards, Coppola's touch is spot-on: The movie is beautifully filmed and the art direction and period recreation are exquisite. Coppola was given the rare honor to film at Versailles, so the palace's every gilded edge and superfluous flourish is captured on camera. The costumes — Marie's in particular — give "eye candy" a lavish new meaning.
Period films can be stale and overstuffed, but Coppola has infused her offering with a stimulating 1980s theme. Marie rocks out to 80s hits like Bow Wow Wow's "I Want Candy" and wears deliberately anachronistic hot pink and powder blue gowns. While not subtle, the references certainly are sly.
Between Coppola's agenda and the overriding importance of art, sets and costumes, acting gets lost in the shuffle. The actors appear suspended between Versailles and an 80s food court. Dunst (and the film) plays Marie as a victim of circumstance. As such, she has no personality beyond a girlish delight in shiny new playthings. In one scene, Marie bears an uncanny resemblance to the wallpaper behind her. Commentary? Sure, but by way of a mannequin-like protagonist.
Utlimately, Coppola delivers a beautifully gift-wrapped, indistinctly focused message with "Marie Antoinette." Certainly, the packaging distracts from the payload, but so what? No one eats a bonbon to get full, anyway.