One hundred and fifty-seven minutes of lavish romance, intrigue, and politics, dished up by MGM's superb spectacle factory. There's an "entre act" and everything.<br /><br />The problem, for me anyway, is that the thing is so exquisitely dull. The first half -- before the entre act, that is -- is a kind of late 18th-century soap opera. Norma Shearer is the young Austrian bride of the future king of France, Louis XVI, played by Robert Morley as impotent and inept but not unkind. When Shearer learns of this arranged marriage, she positively kvells. "Oh, just think of it! I'll be the Queen of France!" Things don't turn out all that well for her, though. (Do they ever, in these genre movies?) She's resented as a foreigner and barbarian at the French court, especially by the waspish Madame DuBarry, the consort of Morley's grandfather, the current king. Such gossip you never heard. And then there's Morley's apparent indifference to her. ("I like to be alone.") What's a girl to do? She drowns her sorrows in wine and flings with lovers in seriatim. This is nice work, if you can get it. You get to indulge yourself in every sensory modality known to man or beast -- AND you get the sympathy of the audience too, because they know you're just being flighty out of a desperate loneliness.<br /><br />The second half turns a little darker, but then, as they say, it's always darkest just before it turns completely black. By this time Morley has come around enough to give Shearer two children, from whom she is of course eventually separated, giving the audience a reason for still more tears. Let's see. I checked the spoiler box so I guess I can give away the ending: Marie Antoinette gets her head lopped off.<br /><br />Kids, I hope I didn't ruin it for you but, see, this is the French Revolution and revolutionaries tend not to be very kind. All through history, it seems that some merciless dictator, like a king, mistreats his subjects until they depose him. Then they show that, unlike him, they are full of New-Testatment-mercy by slaughtering the deposed ruler, his family, and anybody who was ever associated with him. (Fidel Castro worked his way down to mailmen.) At that, the peasants are treated in this movie with the contempt the writers think they deserve. What an uncouth bunch! Shearer explains the unrest to her children this way: We didn't do anything, but they're ignorant and unhappy and must take it out on somebody. In this movie, nobody ever says "Let 'em eat cake." Most of the cast overact, but this is understandable because it's common to the period. I don't know what "charisma" is supposed to mean these days. It was originally used to describe the quality of someone who was blessed by God and exuded a magnetism that was religious in its properties. Now, the word is slung around loosely to describe rock stars. Whatever it is, and however it's measured, I don't think Norma Shearer has any. Joseph Schildkraut, effete and painted like a mannequin, gives the best performance. Robert Morley seems to have only one note on his instrument. In a relatively minor role as Shearer's one true love, Tyrone Power has a part that is familiar to devotees of these kinds of movies. The woman is haunted by demons, surrounded by knaves, impostors, ninnies, and exploiters -- and this is the only man who will return from time to time to rescue her from some folly or to reassure her with his understanding and candor. (Cf., Paul Newman in "I'll Cry Tomorrow" or Sam Shepherd in "Frances".) This must have been an eye opener in 1938. Today it seems stale and bound by conventions common to genre films. Anyone who wants a more balanced and adult point of view should see Ronald Coleman in "A Tale of Two Cities." It would be a far, far better thing to do. It will jerk almost as many tears but it will challenge you too.