Within the cinematic landscape of biopics, Napoleon is a paradoxical attempt; a film lasting over two and a half hours in which Ridley Scott’s ambition to paint a parodic yet grandiose portrait of Napoleon is mostly pulverized by the errors of its script, and the production – however decoratively spectacular – fails to hide the film’s contrived notes.

Its flight through history, decomposed in climactic battle scenes, proves itself as breathless. Covering almost three decades of history – the Siege of Toulon, the battle of Austerlitz, the invasion of Russia, or the the decisive battle of Waterloo – through a linear narrative that does away with most political nuances of Napoleon’s leadership, the film does not articulate a coherent discourse about the era that it describes, nor does it offer a contemporary reflection on the themes of imperialism o colonialism, which would justify the resuscitation of his historic figure in the cinematic landscape. To be fair, any attempt to portray Napoleon requires a large-scale production.

In the long list of biopics, the most notable would be Abel Gance’s 1927 silent film Napoléon, often hailed as a masterpiece of the silent era, renowned for its innovative use of filmmaking techniques: its pioneering use of portable cameras, fast cuts, and the triptych of the finale. Chaplin, Stanley Kubrick, and Steven Spielberg have all contemplated the idea of a biopic about Napoleon, but they ultimately abandoned their projects because of foreseeable difficulties. Kubrick was an especially famous case, due to the meticulous research he put into the project, which included the creation of a database of over 17,000 images from the Napoleonic era.

Galloping through a series of unfinished scenes that would find a better place under the umbrella of a series, the film doesn’t find a satisfactory solution to any of the directions that it approaches, leaving spectators hanging, or even drifting. Oftentimes, the epic narrative thread of war seems to enter a morbid competition with the romantic drama between Bonaparte (Joaquin Phoenix) and his future/current/ex-wife, Josephine (Vanessa Kirby), and the transition between the two usually end up limping, with very few negligible exceptions that are otherwise banal in terms of concept and execution. For instance, their exchange of letters, rendered in voice-over, a sentimentalist insert that somehow still managed to temporarily change the course of military violence in the trenches of war. Moreover, the portrayal of violence is quite disturbing, gratuitously so (is it just shock value?); graphic scenes, such as the brutal death of a horse or the gruesome decapitation of Marie Antoinette (Catherine Walker) in the very first shots of the film, with no prior warning for the hapless viewer who is just starting to get comfortable in his chair, are rendered with a clinical detachment that finds a correspondent only in Napoleon’s apathetic gaze towards the entire macabre act. The film is not much more than a vehicle for war scenes, as its intimate dynamics and political intrigue have a murky finality, from which there is no way that the illuminating strategic genius of the leader simply cannot shine through, or can the sentimental liaison of the protagonists. On the contrary, more than enough scenes of romantic or sensual anticipation end up as ironic and biting acts that render the alpha male into an emotionally immature and incompetent manchild who suffers from mommy issues, a typology that Phoenix seems to attract like a magnet (see the other film he’s featured in this year, Beau is Afraid). 

The film is not much more than a vehicle for war scenes, as its intimate dynamics and political intrigue have a murky finality, from which there is no way that the illuminating strategic genius of the leader simply cannot shine through, or can the sentimental liaison of the protagonists.

One could have found a redeeming force in the secondary characters if only they had not been so under-exploited: from the legendary mother Letizia Bonaparte, to Tsar Alexander, the Duke of Wellington, the generals and soldiers are all schematically treated. Time and again, the focus is shifted to Joséphine, but her role is always kept in a minor register, as the character is largely reduced to being the object of male desire and the target of petty court gossip, culminating in a divorce imposed by her inability to provide an heir to the throne. There are no hints whatsoever as to the psychological impact of infertility on the character; the spectators lie in waiting. Despite the last word spoken by Napoleon as he’s facing death (“Joséphine“), the film is unable to free its female protagonist from the area of pure circumstance, and thus (at least partially) follow the classical path of biopics. Even so, Vanessa Kirby’s performance, within the cramped confines of its space, is remarkable, and will quite likely garner some serious nominations. The glacial, weary look that oftentimes makes her seem sedated transforms her into a hypnotic figure, merely through her stage presence. Besides, all the characters, including Napoleon, seem to function rather in a decorative register, where the fascination of the filmmakers trips over the aesthetic details of the era, from the decor to the clothing. But the most tragic divorce occurs at a linguistic level; even if one were to overlook the ridiculous fact of adapting scenes of French history in English, the use of English itself is not that consistent either, oscillating between American and British English as a consequence of its casting, which makes the film sound more jarring than a piano falling down the stairs.

The scenes are picturesque, but here, too, there is an excessive amount of color grading, CGI, and choreography of the battles or of the coronation scene, which renders the huge financial investment into the production visible. All along his filmography, Ridley Scott was inspired by the fine arts, starting with his very first feature, The Duelists, whose final shot even referenced Benjamin Robert Haydon’s Napoleon Bonaparte, one of Scott’s latent admirations. The almost unreal scenes (due to their saturated colors and limited palette) usually take the film into a pretentious area, which courts ridiculousness with its ostentatious grandeur. The act of demystifying the Great Emperor through the use of imagery that is rather mistifying renders itself a contradictory endeavor.

Whether there is any anxiety brought about by the Napoleon Complex, or if it’s the creative hubris of directors that set out to complete a project that’s larger than life – hard to say, but for me, the film could easily be placed in a top of the most useless productions in the history of cinema, and I say this with all respect towards the work of the actors, set designers and costume department. It wouldn’t be far-fetched to suspect that Scott made this pretext up to reunite (under the guise of a film project) with one of his favorite actors, Joaquin Phoenix (and who could blame him?), in an attempt to resurrect the pulse of The Gladiator.

p.s. Napoleon is currently distributed in cinemas as theatrical cut, while the director promised to return with a more lengthy director’s cut; it has yet to be determined if more substantial as well. 

Ramona Aristide

Film critic. She graduated from Filmology at UNATC. She writes and sometimes moderates discussions.