THE LION IN WINTER: Blu-ray re-issue (Avco/Embassy/UA, 1968) Kino Lorber
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The age-old
axiom about ‘art imitating life’ has been exercised so often it has
acquired legitimacy as though one was virtually synonymous with the other.
History on celluloid has proven otherwise, if superficially, and far better to
captivate the imagination than any textbook writ large by legit historians. This
– at least, in hindsight – has been a constant source of sour grapes for those
who diligently do the real archaeological heavy-lifting. Over the last hundred
years, Hollywood has mined – and bastardized – virtually every period in man’s
evolutionary l’histoire. Not even The Bible has escaped the movie’s delirious fermentation to polarize it into such flights into fancy. And it remains a
genuine oddity about mankind, that what is presented to us visual is unquestioningly
taken at face value. Art overshadows life as history’s surrogate, canonized as
truth, no matter how far afield it skews from ancient texts.
Such is the case
of William Goldman’s superb 1966 play, The Lion in Winter reporting to
be a dramatization of the headstrong conflict enveloping the court of Henry II.
In truth, the high-stakes drama playing out in The Lion in Winter bears
no earthly resemblance to history. Virtually all of the dialogue and situations
are complete fabrications spawned from Goldman’s fertile imagination. There was
no Christmas court at Chinon in 1183. And no evidence to suggest Alais, the
half-sister of France’s Philip II Augustus, was Henry’s lover. By contrast, the
real Eleanor of Aquitaine was imprisoned by her husband for plotting his
overthrow, using their three sons as pawns in a diabolical game of botched
succession. The Lion in Winter cleverly mangles this latter historical
truth, using it as the crux of another intrigue-laden coup. As it stands, we
can either fault or excuse Goldman for his ‘artistic license’ because The
Lion in Winter is exasperatingly ambitious as a stand-in running parallel
to the truth. We can also forgive director, Anthony Harvey’s 1968 film
adaptation, perhaps even more since, not only has he assigned screenwriting
duties to Goldman (allowing him to further improve upon and embellish his
stagecraft) but also, because Harvey has assembled a superb cast for what is
essentially a mesmeric – if slightly wordy- two-person battle royale.
The supporting
parts, few and far between (for Goldman has chosen to remain relatively
faithful to his play), are filled by some tremendous ‘new’ talent, including
Jane Merrow as Alais; future James Bond, Timothy Dalton – her steely-eyed
brother, Philip II; Nigel Terry (Henry’s preferred heir apparent, John), John
Castle (the overlooked and malicious middle son, Geoffrey) and finally, future
fava bean-eater, Anthony Hopkins as Richard, the eldest and Eleanor’s
definitive choice for the throne. In the leads originally fleshed out on stage
by Robert Preston and Rosemary Harris, director Harvey has sent forth for
consideration two of the most accomplished actors of the twentieth century: the
formidable, Katherine Hepburn and consummate Brit-wit, Peter O’Toole. In hindsight, O’Toole is the more impressive,
particularly when one considers he was a mere 38-years-young at the time,
sufficiently aged to compliment Hepburn’s 61-year-old wily matriarch. It is the
verbal sparring between these two legends that proves so perfect a counterpoint
to this otherwise discordant mythology of deceit, lies, manipulations and
insults.
Goldman is
nothing if unapologetic about making Eleanor and Richard contemptible, often
repugnant usurpers of each other’s authority. This aged hen and her wounded
rooster, fighting for the same scraps of waning power neither shall possess in
their own lifetime. It remains a tribute to Goldman, and Hepburn and O’Toole,
that neither Eleanor nor Henry devolves into filthy hag or horror. Instead,
each is carefully weighed with deliciously vial, impertinent things to say,
expertly timed outbursts to challenge and defile the other’s reputation while,
miraculously, never tainting their own. Instead, we empathize with every vicious
barb. The aging King who has no viable heir to bequeath his throne, is under siege
from the empress of these ineffectual male offspring, forced to concede her
part in their bungled rearing. The Lion in Winter is essentially a
familial tragedy where personal domestic crises threaten to topple a nation. It
is a tale of one man’s legacy doomed to decay after his time because he has
failed to prepare his kingdom for a flawless transition in authority.
Having avoided
his duties as husband and father, Henry is now faced with a bitter decision;
either, to place the sword of truth into the hands of his least effective son –
John – or bypass his motley brood outright by taking Alais to wife and bed,
despite her betrothal to Richard. Indeed, Alais would welcome this, as she
loves Henry, yet cannot abide his adult sons. Time is not only of the essence.
It has run out. Henry is old. His sons by Eleanor are of the ages to succeed
him. As Alais points out, any chance for her, as yet unrealized son,
supplanting Richard, John or Geoffrey can only be made concrete if the
aforementioned are put to death or imprisoned for the duration of their natural
lives. Despite her misgivings, Alais is hardly bitter. She is, in fact, a loyal
and devoted lover – compassionate too, making it all the more difficult – if
not entirely unbearable – to despise her.
On the flipside
is Eleanor; her ace in preventing Henry’s plan to coronate John, her retention
of the Aquitaine, a strategically important region Henry desires to possess,
but Eleanor holds dear and intends to bequeath to Richard, thereby ensuring the
power struggle endures in perpetuity. Of course, the wrinkle herein is neither
is fit to rule; John, the slovenly and pimple-faced stunted adolescent, easily
swayed by his misguided devotion to Geoffrey – who is loyal to no one except
himself – and Richard, whose keen militaristic intellect and stern maturity
bear the scars of a wounded childhood. This continues to haunt and slowly erode
his sanity. Neither would make a good King for obvious reasons. Determined he
should work out the kinks to his plan during the pending Christmas holidays, Henry
commands his trusted advisor, William Marshal (Nigel Stock) to gather his
scattered progenies to Chinon.
The first few
scenes in Anthony Harvey’s masterpiece are devoted to establishing the
psychological complexities of the three potential heirs. John is steadily
improving in his swordsmanship under Henry’s expert tutelage. Richard is
narrowly spared the torturous decision to decapitate his foe during a jousting
tournament. Geoffrey is ever deluded by his bloodlust in battle. Alais
questions Henry’s devotion to any of his sons. She loves him dearly, but is gravely
concerned his lust for former mistress, Rosamund Clifford – recently deceased –
has not abated. Alais also worries about Eleanor’s toxic influence. Perhaps,
Henry’s panged silence suggests a lingering attachment to Rosamund’s ghost. However,
he openly refers to Eleanor as ‘that bitch’ and ‘gargoyle’ who occupies no
residency apart from her imprisonment in Salisbury Tower.
The Christmas
reunification of these warring factions at Chinon will force familial enemies
to face one another. Almost immediately, Eleanor pledges Henry a rough time.
John, willy-nilly and blinded by his allegiance to Geoffrey, is acrimonious and
confrontational toward Richard. Eleanor, however, calls out each son, exposing
their deficits and venom toward one another. Eleanor is most enriched by her
sinister revenge, goading her excommunicated husband with insidious innuendoes:
how she bedded his late father, and throughout their marriage was passionately
intertwined with some of Henry’s most ardent detractors and closest friends.
She provides just enough speculation to make Henry question the loyalty of
those closest to his heart. Mere lies or cynically unvarnished truths, much too
difficult to digest? Who can tell? Eleanor is a devious hellcat, conniving one
moment, tenderly affectionate the next, employing soft-spoken intellect to weed
out the darker veracities concealed deepest from within.
An incalcitrant Henry
refuses to bend. Stalking his lonely castle by night, Henry commands his
inhabitance to stir and make ready for the instantaneous marriage of Alais to
Richard. While Alais is crestfallen, Richard is stunned – and highly
suspicious. Much to Henry’s chagrin, at the last possible moment he cannot
bring himself to cast off his mistress, revealing far too much about his own
devotion to her. Later, in private, Alais confides her great relief to Eleanor,
also her enduring admiration for Eleanor and her silently wounded love for
Henry. Try as she might, Eleanor cannot fault, condemn or despise Alais for her
affections. Into the thick of things arrives Alais’ brother, Philip of France –
an ambitious monarch with decidedly definite ideas about France’s future alliance
with England. In the pact originally made between Henry and Philip’s late
father, Alais’ was proposed in marriage to Richard. Regrettably, in the interim
since – and, after having already spent Alais’ dowry, Henry has fallen hard for
his son’s wife and lost all interest in preserving this tenuous alliance in
order to make Richard the future King of England.
The Lion in
Winter is not particularly interested in resolving any of these plot points in
any concrete way. Henry briefly entertains the clumsy notion to free the Queen
from Salisbury Tower. However, the price for her freedom is the relinquishment
of all rights to the Aquitaine. It is an offer fraught with incalculable uncertainty
– particularly for Eleanor. Alas, Henry has proven to be a fairly ineffectual
King - fickle in his decisions. He contemplates imprisoning his heirs in the
dungeons of Chinon for the rest of their natural-born days at Alais’ request,
merely to ensure whatever children she bears will rule in their stead. Seizing
the opportunity to bribe a guard, Eleanor skulks to the dungeon to free John,
Richard and Geoffrey, instructing them with knives to rise up against their
father. Enraged, Henry challenges his boys to take up arms against him. Even
Richard is unable to comply. Coward that he is, John flees, followed by
Geoffrey. Richard is disillusioned, startled perhaps to discover his deeply
wounded conscience. He storms off in a huff. Alais now realizes her dreams of
marrying Henry can never be. His heart begrudgingly belongs to Eleanor. As our
story concludes, nothing is decided. Eleanor departs on a queer note of
satisfaction for her return to Salisbury Tower with Henry promising to release
her for Easter.
Deriving its namesake from the latter period in Henry's troubled reign, The Lion in Winter is
an extraordinary medieval soap opera. Yet, rarely does it devolve into fits of
subjective pique. James Goldman’s screenplay is occasionally slavish in
anchoring politics to its platitudes. But these are neatly counterbalanced by
an even wittier spate of salacious barbs situated in a place of less-than-cerebral
palace intrigues. It really is an earthy and occasionally disturbing,
lust-driven saga, sustained by the expertly nuanced performances of a superior
cast. Goldman has taken every human frailty, the malicious and the fractured,
and condensed its sincerity and sinfulness into a compendium or darkening will,
as compelling and unbridled as the polarized ambitions of fateful/fitful greed.
The magic here derives from the hurly-burly between Hepburn’s queenly harridan
and O’Toole’s curmudgeonly liege, a subtly emasculated pussycat in lieu of
teething lion. Douglas Slocombe’s
cinematography captures the bleakness in this winter’s tale, as black as Henry’s
heart, and as coldly cruel as the vengeful gleam flickering in Eleanor’s eyes.
Oh no…not again.
The Lion in Winter made its North American debut via Kino Lorber in 2017,
heralding refurbished elements transferred to disc in 4K. Pause and cause for
excitement. Except that MGM – the present-age custodians of UA’s catalog, have
missed the mark here. The image harvest sports tangible, and occasionally
distracting gate weave (easily corrected). There’s also hints of edge
sharpening, and a few disturbing halos, more directly evidenced during the main
titles. Color saturation is mainly solid, although a handful of scenes look a
tad more anemic than they ought. Contrast is good, but blacks tend to fall into
a deep-ish gray spectrum. Film grain looks solid. Really, though – it’s MGM’s
responsibility to have curated this one more carefully. And Kino’s fault for agreeing
to distribute such a flawed offering. The reissue of The Lion in Winter
corrects none of the aforementioned anomalies. The DTS 5.1 audio is
occasionally out of sync, ever so slightly, but enough to be frustratingly
transparent in projection. Extras include a hold-over commentary from director,
Anthony Harvey, plus a brief interview with sound specialist, Simon Kaye. Bottom
line: The Lion in Winter deserved better. If you already own Kino’s
first flawed bite at this apple, a second chomp reveals no attempt made to
improve the rotting from the core.
FILM RATING (out
of 5 – 5 being the best)
4.5
VIDEO/AUDIO
3
EXTRAS
2
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