“What family doesn’t have its ups and downs?”
It’s always hard to get caught up in family disagreements. And I imagine it’s especially hard when that family happens to be arguably the most powerful in western Europe, with the grievances of each member coming with a vast array of consequences that could span multiple kingdoms and decades. The Lion in Winter is about one such critical dysfunctional family, that of an ageing King Henry II of England as he debates who of his three surviving sons -two of whom had just participated in a failed rebellion against him with the aid of their now imprisoned mother- ought to succeed him. It is the Succession of the 12th century, and it is just as dramatic and subtly funny -especially against the backdrop of what’s intended to be a warm Christmas reunion.
The original play by James Goldman (elder brother of William) is not based strictly in fact -although there was an apparent royal Christmas court the prior year to when this story is set; and the various political ambitions and general character of the parties involved does not appear too far from the historical record -most of Henry’s family did it seems hate him by the end of his life, and he wasn’t so much succeeded by his son Richard the Lionheart as he was overthrown shortly before his death. And the astonishing family drama that brings that about is showcased quite intently in this film adaptation of the play, directed by Anthony Harvey.
Goldman adapted it himself, which was the right move in insuring the fidelity of the play’s critical language. Characterized by so much bitterness and politicking, yet also wry observation and comfortable irony, the dialogue of The Lion in Winter has a brilliant kind of post-Shakespearean gravitas: poetic and flowery, yet it’s also exceptionally sharp, witty, and thrillingly provocative in a modern sense. A very delightful and quotable text: “What shall we hang... the holly, or each other?” “I could peel you like a pear and God himself would call it justice.” “My God, if I went up in flames there's not a living soul who'd pee on me to put the fire out!” “Of course he has a knife, he always has a knife, we all have knives; it's 1183 and we're barbarians!” So much of the movie is people who know each other intimately exploiting each other’s passions and vulnerabilities in the most shrewdly phrased ways possible -I didn’t make the Succession comparison for nothing.
And in the hands of brilliant actors, some of whom were plucked from the English theatre scene for their debut movie ahead of illustrious careers, such performances and deliveries are all the more enticing. However none are showcased better than the film’s pair of magnificent leads: Peter O’Toole and Katharine Hepburn -who would go on to win her historic third Oscar for this performance. O’Toole, at thirty-four, was sixteen years younger than his character, and twenty-five years junior to his on-screen partner, but he plays the fiery, indignant middle-aged King with an astute rigour and believability that rivals any of the elder acting titans of his day. It is a brilliantly written part and it is so enthralling watching him play it, every facet with razor-sharpness. And the only figure on screen who may be better is Hepburn, who in spite of her well-trodden persona and star power delivers I think one of the best performances I’ve seen her give. This came the year after Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner? and it was her first movie after the death of Spencer Tracy, an extremely sad and vulnerable period for her; and while it does show in certain sectors of the movie, she is also as assured and powerful as ever -more than an even match for O’Toole, both in passions and wit.
They play to perfection the highly complex relationship between Henry and Eleanor, these people who claim to hate one another and yet are entirely dependent on each other -their interactions at times almost resemble Shakespeare’s Benedick and Beatrice, a flame of the old affection still exists between them no matter how often Eleanor schemes with one of her sons against Henry or Henry makes political plays to acquire her lands in Aquitane. Fury and misery are still there, as when Henry stages a mock marriage to his mistress Alais (Jane Merrow) to spite Eleanor, and his fuming desire to go to the Pope to have his marriage annulled as a way of making this a reality -Alais having a dowry of land in France that is quite politically valuable- and forgetting the rocky relationship he is on with the church over the murder of Thomas Becket (whose own story had been the subject of a movie made four years earlier in which coincidentally O’Toole had also played Henry). The fiendish power plays by all parties, though never fully executed in the span of this story, come with real ego and emotional consequences, especially for the collection of characters merely waiting for Henry to die.
What makes it additionally thrilling is that they are several significant historical figures in their own right, seen here before much of their reputation has been established. As is retroactively the truth for their actors. Probably the most important of these is Richard, the future Richard I, played by a thirty-year-old Anthony Hopkins, recruited explicitly by O’Toole himself for this first leap from stage to screen. Playing the angry and impatient prince, very unlike the Richard of record (he is also implied to be closeted), Hopkins makes a strong impression -clearly in his element in the time period and dramatic theatrical weight. John Castle plays Geoffrey -with the biggest case of middle-child syndrome, and a future King Arthur, Nigel Terry, plays the snivelling John -his father’s favourite but with the weakest will. As France’s Phillip II, brother of Alais and the son of Eleanor’s first husband, also involved and vying for power against Henry’s efforts to seize it is a barely twenty-one year-old Timothy Dalton, who plays the part with a quiet elegant menace not all that unlike some of his later roles. He too gets a lot to chew on, this text being very generous with its dramatic weight.
The interplay between all of them is really thrilling, and the characters are well enough drawn that the politics hardly matter. At one point Henry gets into a sword fight with all three of his sons -at the height of their individual tensions, and it’s as comical as it is dramatic. One of the things The Lion in Winter does so beautifully is ground everybody in the context of family, where we see what in a history book might look like grand strategic moves or region-shaking power plays as simple expression of petty familial squabbling. In a way it even encourages that mindset towards re-examining much of the history of kings and queens and succession as just bitter yet amusing family drama.
The interplay between all of them is really thrilling, and the characters are well enough drawn that the politics hardly matter. At one point Henry gets into a sword fight with all three of his sons -at the height of their individual tensions, and it’s as comical as it is dramatic. One of the things The Lion in Winter does so beautifully is ground everybody in the context of family, where we see what in a history book might look like grand strategic moves or region-shaking power plays as simple expression of petty familial squabbling. In a way it even encourages that mindset towards re-examining much of the history of kings and queens and succession as just bitter yet amusing family drama.
The Christmas setting makes this all the more tangible, but it also gives the movie a real colour. It’s rare to see a Christmas movie outside of maybe an adaptation of the Nativity set before much of the Christmas iconography that we all know has been set down. There is a tree but not so much decoration in the barren halls. Instead the holiday atmosphere is relayed through the air of cold, the warmth of a fire, the way the cinematography might occasionally pop in shades of green and red. The Lion in Winter is a late 60s medieval period piece and so it looks good as a matter of course, but it’s still worth appreciating the costumes and regalia and authentic sets. There aren’t a lot of people populating the film beyond its main characters (another way in which it rather dwarfs their world and isolates their feuds), but this allows the vastness, sometimes the darkness of the space its own character. The castle architecture around everyone is a monument, one that has and will outlast all of these characters and their respective regimes. And it’s the sort of thing that is only quietly apparent; true of the cinematography in general -by Douglas Slocombe, who would later shoot Jesus Christ Superstar and the Indiana Jones movies. It doesn’t instantly draw your attention but it is subtly very superb.
Overall though, The Lion in Winter’s qualities are not subtle. It is a brilliantly written, brilliantly acted piece that proves a worthy showcase both for its established stars (it’s one of my new favourite O’Toole performances, and again, in the upper echelons of Hepburn’s -she fairly earns that Oscar), as well as its newcomers -Hopkins especially making a sizeable first impression. The politicking is engaging, especially if you have some familiarity with the historical context -but even if you don’t the personalities are more than gripping enough. And it’s yet another wonderful alternative holiday movie -after all there aren’t a lot in that established canon about bickering with the family, truly one of the most pervasive of Christmas traditions.
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