Mark Reviews Movies: THE FAVOURITE

Become a fan on Facebook Follow on Twitter

Review by Mark Dujsik | November 29, 2018

It wouldn't be correct to say that the three women at the center of The Favourite hate each other. Indeed, there's a familial connection, as well as a sort of grudging acknowledgment that power games must be played in a royal court, between two of them. There's a dynamic of necessary loyalty—not to mention a sexual relationship—between each of those two cousins and the sitting Queen of England.

The Queen, as it turns out, is the one whose feelings toward and understanding of the two cousins are the most complicated, evasive, and nearly impossible to comprehend. That is, perhaps, until the film's final shots—a merging of two faces against a kaleidoscopic colony of rabbits, which fills the women's heads and, eventually, takes over the entire frame.

What's important to know is that, while the description of this image will make no sense outside of the context of this story, it only makes slightly more sense as the culmination of this devilishly funny examination of power, influence, and manipulation. It's less about the connection between the two women or the collection of rabbits. It's almost entirely about the look on the Queen's face, which, for the first time in the whole film, appears to be aware, resolute, and in control. The merging of the faces tells us the target of this seemingly newfound power, and the rabbits, by then a firmly established metaphor for loss and grief and the consuming nature of those things, explain why.

By the end, these three characters essentially get what they have wanted from the beginning, but there's a high cost for each of them in receiving those things. The degree of understanding for these characters in Deborah Davis and Tony McNamara's screenplay ensures that we feel satisfied with the rewards, and director Yorgos Lanthimos' acidic presentation of those characters guarantees that we're more than satisfied with the punishments.

At the beginning, Queen Anne (Olivia Colman) is mostly a figurehead of state in this England of the early 18th century. The country is at war with France, but the Queen appears to have little comprehension of or concern for the conflict.

Instead, she has planned a massive palace for Lady Sarah (Rachel Weisz), Anne's friend since childhood and current favorite, who serves as the Queen's closest advisor and confidant. Sarah's goals are entirely political. She's a loyal Whig, the party in power in Parliament, who believes the war must be fought until a decisive English victory. Ensuring that the Queen follows through on this is her patriotic duty. She's willing to sacrifice everything, even the life of her military husband (played by Mark Gatiss), if it means saving England.

Into this established dynamic enters Abigail (Emma Stone), a forgotten cousin of Sarah, who was once part of the nobility. Her father lost Abigail in a bet when she was 15, and since then, she has lived a difficult life filled with abuse and neglect. She arrives at the Queen's estate looking for employment. Sarah makes her cousin a scullery maid, but Abigail has her own ambitions. Creating an herbal remedy to alieve the pain of Anne's gout—and making sure the Queen knows that she was the one who did so—is the first step.

The story here—of assorted, conflicting schemes within the chambers of power—is nothing new or particularly special, but the approach—of seeing these machinations through thinly veiled spite, near-constant barbs, and actual violence—certainly sets it apart from the traditional period fare. Save for the Queen, everyone seems to understand what everyone else is doing—or at least to possess a suspicion that everyone must be up to something. They don't attempt to hide their disdain for their opponents, leading to a lot of cleverly cruel insults and, at times, schemes that either imply or attempt outright murder. In between, there are people like Harley (Nicholas Hoult, very funny with a speedily deadpan delivery), the leader of the Tory opposition, who, upon learning that the new maid has become closer to the Queen, tries to gain Abigail's favor—only to push her into a pit when she declines.

The dynamics between the three, central women are developed well, but there's also an intriguing dynamic in the distinct performances among the three stars. Weisz plays Sarah with a severe sense of rigidity, whose insults are always perfectly calculated and whose thinking is consistently rational. Stone's inherent comedic abilities are on full display here. Her Abigail is a unique concoction of physical humor (exaggerated movements and expressions) and seemingly spontaneous reactions, yet those characteristics never undermine just how manipulative or pained the character is.

Colman's Anne is unique among the whole cast of characters—an insecure monarch, whose days of plotting are apparently finished. The character begins as a joke, whining about perceived slights and weakened in body and mind to the point of appearing useless. There's much more to Anne than that, though, especially how she has 17 rabbits—one for each child whose life never began or ended before it actually had a chance to start. To attempt to determine which of these performances works best would be fruitless. They exist as separate entities but are bound together as a collective study of how and why people seek power.

The most impressive trick of the film, then, is how Lanthimos creates a consistent world out of these diverse performances and tones. The Favourite is cruel but funny, funny but thoughtful, and thoughtful but bizarre. That it is all of these things simultaneously is an impressive feat.

Back to Home

Buy Related Products

Buy the DVD

Buy the Blu-ray