There’s nothing like launching a costume drama with a good old-fashioned beheading. Unfortunately, in Ridley Scott’s highly-anticipated period piece, the head belongs to one-scene wonder Marie Antoinette. How many times does that history-trampled French queen – her beautiful face pale as baby powder, her eyes wide and wild, her hair a platinum frizz – have to put up with such indignity? She’s the 18th-century equivalent of Bambi’s mom. Give me Sofia Coppola, or give me death.
It’s 1789: something the American audience knows because of the large print sub-and-super-titles. Overused, these give the entire movie the feeling of a middle-school film strip.