something rotten in denmark
by
Douglas Messerli
Nikolaj
Arcel and Rasmus Heisterberg (screenplay, based on a book by Bodil
Steensen-Leth), Nikolaj Arcel (director) En
kongelig affære (A Royal Affair)
/ 2012
In
2009, in a conversation with Polish writer-director Zbigniew Kaminski, I was
asked if I knew of any good new books which he might adapt for film production
in Poland. Having just read Per Olav Enquist’s historical fiction, The Royal Physician’s Visit (see My Year 2001), I suggested that title
and, if I remember correctly, even loaned him my copy of the book.
He felt, evidently, since he felt the
film would have to be shot in Denmark, it would be too expensive for his
company. However, some film company did ultimately buy those rights, planning
to make an English-language movie, but evidently had difficulty in getting
funding.
Meanwhile, Zentropa Entertainments,
Danmarks Radio, and a consortium of other producers told the same story, this
based on a work by Bodil Steensen-Leth, Prinsesse
af blodet. Knowing
of the other project, the scriptwriters,
Nikolaj Arcel (also its director) and Rasmus Heisterberg, worked hard with
Enquist to discover what was documented and what were the fictional scenes that
he had added in order to avoid any question of rights.
The result, A Royal Affair (2012), is a resplendent tale of the beautiful
Caroline Matilda of Great Britain (Alicia Vikander), her mad young husband,
Christian VII of Denmark (Mikkel Følsgaard), and Johann Friedrich Struensee
(Mads Mikkelsen), the royal physician with whom Matilda has an affair.
With the royal court as its setting, the
film is absolutely breathtakingly lovely to look at, and the plot is filled
with court intrigue, particularly with the plotting of Ove Høegh-Guldberg
(David Dencik) and the queen dowager, Juliana Maria of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel
(Trinen Dyrholm). Yet Struensee is himself involved in an attempted takeover of
the government, working with two former courtiers, Enevold Brandt (Cyron Bjørn
Melville) and Schack Carl Rantzau (Thomas W. Gabrielsson).
In Enquist’s version of the tale, Christian—whose
major passions appear to be theater and whores—is perceived as quite literally mad;
but here we are more uncertain about his mental instability, having to wonder
whether, as the wise physician seems to suggest, if it isn’t simply a pose to
free himself from the responsibilities of state. Struensee, who quickly
befriends Christian, does just that, freeing the young king by rehearsing
Christian’s daily new proposals and, ultimately, after doing away with the
privy council, taking over the bill-signing himself.
Although Matilda does have a son,
Frederick, with Christian, mostly she is deserted, keep apart in an unfriendly
world where even several of the books she has brought with her from England,
are taken away, having been banned in Denmark.
Is it any wonder that, as the physician
and she come together to discuss ideas, that she falls passionately in love with
Struensee, becoming pregnant with his daughter, who later would be related to
many of Europe’s royal families. Her daughter, Caroline
Amalie, for example, would become Queen of Denmark.
In a sense Mathilda, of whom Christian
continually refers to as “mother,” and Struensee, who clearly plays the role of
a loving and doting father, are almost destined to their own
spousal-like relationship, the later joining
her in bed every night. And at moments, particularly when the troubled
Christian falls into the arms of genial and clearly loving physician, it almost
seems that the relationship between this trio is a kind of perverse ménage-a-trois, particularly when,
discovering that she is pregnant with Struensee’s daughter, Mathilda is forced
to encourage Christian to return to her bed as a ruse to hide the fact that her
child is a bastard.
When the queen dowager actually does
perceive that Mathilda and Struensee are love, however, there is little hope
Struensee can stay alive, even though Christian is quite ready to forgive him
and stay his execution. But the privy council has returned to power, and the
evil Høegh-Guldberg ignores Christian’s reprieve, beheading one of the few men
of the country who had a truly good mind and caring constitution.
Mathilda is sent away, and her son
Frederick eventually comes to power, an afternote letting us know that he later
restored many of the reformations previously ordered by his father, as imagined
by his physician.
In
the end, we might almost see this film as a presaging of the liberal,
open-minded and economically successful country that Denmark is today. Perhaps
the royalty, after years of inter-breeding, needs a good dose, now and then, of
a county doctor of German peasant stock. If nothing else, Mathilda, brought an
aura of what Christian describes as “the dramatic” into the oppressive Danish
court. It’s too bad that film did not incorporate the fact that Mathilda, far
from being the fragile beauty as she is here represented, often appeared in
men’s clothing and appeared in formal occasions in riding breeches.
Los Angeles,
December 23, 2016
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