★☆☆☆☆
One Star
Grace of Monaco sees Nicole Kidman play the saintly Grace Kelly, international movie star extraordinaire turned radiant princess, as she bravely defends the principality of Monaco on behalf of her unloving husband, Prince Rainier III, against the villainous French, led by Charles de Gaulle, who want to annex the tiny state because (gasp!) they don’t pay any taxes. Using all the weapons in her arsenal – namely good looks, charm and, er, more good looks – our heroine takes it upon herself to single-handedly save her beloved underdog city of billionaire tax-avoiders. After a journey of self-discovery during which she gets drunk and watches her wedding video with a priest (yes, really), Grace “I am Monaco” Kelly makes a stirring speech about love conquering all and warms even the stony heart of de Gaulle, thus preserving the freedom of her adoptive people to gamble forever.
Saccharine doesn’t cover the half of it. Any film in whose title the main character is referred to by first name is in immediate danger of being overly familiar – imagine if Senna had been called “Ayrton” or Mandela called “Nelson: Long Walk to Freedom”. Bleurgh. From the opening shot, the adoring gazes of male extras at the divine Kelly set the sentimental, patronising tone of the film. Kelly, Rainier and Alfred Hitchcock become Gracey, Ray, and Hitch as the main characters; in one scene, Kelly and Hitchcock indulge in name-dropping so awful and preposterous that it is almost unbearable (“How is Cary?” asks Grace).
Grace of Monaco is a film that doesn’t understand its own irony. The message is clear: poor Grace is just so tired of furs, pearls and those silly velvet gloves she has to wear. Despite her difficult life in the gilt palace, Grace cares about normal people. Grace knows about European geopolitics. Most importantly, Grace flouts those silly Monégasque royal customs. Between scenes of horse riding, swimming in the palace gardens and banquets, Grace finds time to complain about how complicated everything is. It would be galling if it wasn’t so astounding.
Rupert Murdoch famously once remarked that his only qualm in funding Titanic was that everyone knew the ending. I would argue that James Cameron’s success represents proof that a historical film can still be good when one knows the outcome. Grace of Monaco is not that film. Anyone who knows that Monaco is still a sovereign nation knows what is going to happen to Grace and Rainier, and so the drama is utterly flaccid as a result. Equally, the film’s emotional moments are cheesy and contrived. Kidman flounders without any substance to work with in the script; by no means is she to blame for the contradictions of her role, but she is the one who suffers for it.
The cast, too, could have delivered something brilliant had anyone other than Kidman and Tim Roth, playing Rainier, been given more than a bit-part. Robert Lindsay, Derek Jacobi and Olivier Rabourdin all tease the viewer with their potential, but are obscured by the overwhelming attention lavished on the titular character. Roth and Frank Langella, who plays a priest close to Kelly, are both decent but again, are given little to work with.
I’m acutely aware that as a twenty-year-old male, I’m perhaps not this movie’s intended viewer. Nonetheless, I really don’t believe anyone would give a damn about the struggles of the unfortunate Princess Grace. Grace of Monaco doesn’t manage to be offensive or even entirely boring, but ultimately it is impossible to sympathise with Grace Kelly, and even more so via this woefully-written and poorly-executed endeavour.
