'Spencer': A Salve for Biopic Dread
Kristin Stewart as Princess Diana in her childhood home. | Photo courtesy of NEON
(REVIEW) Miracles are nowhere and everywhere in Spencer. Princess Diana (Kristen Stewart) stops by a remote diner while driving to the royal family’s Christmas retreat. Alone and without security, she glides to the register in search of directions. Everyone gawks. These reactions contrast her family’s disenchantment toward her. As ever, Diana finds herself the fixation — adoring or damning — of her country’s mind. Spencer outwits the biopic genre, pulsating with the macabre of Diana’s psyche.
Director Pablo Larraín avoids a mechanical structure by romanticizing the princess less than she’s traditionally been. Spencer isn’t another excuse to relish Diana’s glamour; it’s an opportunity to depict how fettered she felt as a royal. Aided by Timothy Spall as Major Alistair Gregory, Sally Hawkins as Maggie and Sean Harris as Darren, the film pokes at Diana’s raw flesh. Larraín forms his depiction into a representation rather than a recreation. There’s more universality to be had in a plot spanning three days than a sprawling life story.
A critique on conformism lies at the center of Spencer. Major Alistair Gregory likens Diana to an untamable horse. Symbols like this adorn the screen: the ingestion of pearls, a decaying jacket on a mannequin, the spirit of Anne Boleyn (Amy Manson). Larraín and writer Steven Knight make one brace for Diana’s unraveling. Together they examine the fragility masked by her defiance. Like the security outside the princess’ curtains, the audience is omnipresent.
The symbolism, though rich, is heavy-handed. The Anne Boleyn theme is redundant; Diana donning her clothes is past obvious.
Spencer’s magical realism heightens the film’s narrative stakes. With the use of horror elements, Spencer embodies Diana’s declining mental state. Despite Diana’s legendary status, the film doesn’t delineate her entire life. Rather, the work explores the intricacy of her trauma. Spencer does, unfortunately, verge on trauma porn. Larraín and Knight’s treatment of Diana is dignified enough that the blunder is avoided.
Spencer’s cinematography emphasizes Diana’s isolation. Cinematographer Claire Mathon uses back shots to focus on the princess’ gaunt figure, conveying her melancholy. Lingering close-ups of her face mimic her scrutinization. Shots of a scarecrow near Diana’s childhood home represent her withdrawal from obligation.
Spencer honors Diana’s beliefs more than her legend. Stewart pairs the princess down from royalty to a perceptive and disturbed young woman. Stewart’s Diana is spunky in scenes involving her sons or the royal staff. The choice makes for a scrappier Diana.
Toward the film’s end, Diana and her sons sing about miracles. Larraín concludes with a joyous respite from a gruesome journey.