Like many Tudor films, Henry towers over Aïnouz’s Firebrand, and as the film concludes, the future Queen Elizabeth I, rather than Katherine, sits centre stage. But despite several flaws, Firebrand holds moments of brilliance as Alicia Vikander’s quick-witted queen escapes the clutches of a volatile, ailing king whose needs, beliefs, and power held court over a nation for thirty-six years. Beautiful and, at times, utterly enthralling, Firebrand may be flawed, but its performances are nothing short of electrifying. Firebrand will be showing in cinemas nationwide starting Friday, September 6.
For decades, Tudor Britain has been a go-to period in British history for storytellers, as the betrayal, plotting, revenge, sexual intrigue, and lies of King Henry VIII’s court enthral audiences young and old. Some films and shows have attempted to reflect the known history of Tudor Britain. In contrast, others have freely played with the facts, carving their own drama from the story of Henry, his advisors and his many wives. Adapted from the novel by Elizabeth Fremantle and directed by Karim Aïnouz, Firebrand takes more than a few liberties with history, but it also offers us Jude Law‘s electric and disturbing portrait of the ailing King Henry VIII.
In 1543, Katherine Parr became Queen of England and Ireland and the sixth and last wife of King Henry VIII. Just a few years into her marriage to Henry, the king suffered a leg wound from a jousting accident, leading to a long road of physical and mental decline. He had become obese, his leg a mass of sores and boils that never healed, and by all accounts, his mood and temperament had become even more volatile. Despite his condition, Henry insisted on undertaking a final campaign in France from July to September 1544, leaving Katherine as his regent.
Parr allegedly took on the role of regent with ease, following her beliefs while protecting Henry’s estate and the crown. Her rule was said to have inspired Lady Elizabeth, her stepdaughter and the future Queen of England. But that rule was brief, and Katherine’s liberal religious views caused disquiet in some corners of Henry’s court. Views that could and almost did lead her to the Tower.
From this historical standpoint, Firebrand honours some of the known history surrounding Parr and Henry’s relationship. However, Elizabeth Fremantle’s novel ‘The Queen’s Gambit’ is historical fiction, and like TV shows such as The Tudors, the history in Firebrand serves as a backdrop for a more fictitious retelling of Parr’s story. Alicia Vikander’s Katherine tentatively navigates the volatility of her ailing husband, attempting to protect the young Elizabeth (Junia Rees) and the young heir-to-be, Edward (Patrick Buckley), while forging her own path. She is a strong, sensitive, worldly woman who understands the delicate nature of her marriage and the even more delicate power that a queen in Henry’s court holds. But Katherine isn’t willing to stand on the sidelines, as her quietly confident beliefs in reform, writing, and secretive manoeuvres attempt to steer the court despite the known risks.
In court, whispers surround Katherine’s religious views; she has several uneasy allies in Edward Seymour (Eddie Marsan) and his brother, Thomas (Sam Riley), yet these alliances depend on them holding onto the power they achieved through a prior queen, Jane Seymour. Others, like Bishop Stephen Gardiner (Simon Russell Beale), search for any reason to throw her under the bus and dispatch another queen in the name of treachery and treason. Here, Karim Aïnouz’s Firebrand offers the classic Tudor drama and intrigue we have come to expect, alongside some truly stunning cinematography from Hélène Louvart, who creates scenes that almost resemble a richly detailed oil painting hanging in the National Gallery.
There is no doubt that Law’s dynamite performance as a volatile and ailing Henry steals the show; you can almost smell his puss-drenched leg and the rancid decay on his breath. His scenes alongside Vikander sizzle with tension as Vikander’s Katherine attempts to keep their relationship steady, as Henry lurches from a child-like need for care to jealousy and violence. However, apart from her scenes opposite Henry, there is little space for Vikander to explore Katherine’s inner turmoil and her firmly held beliefs in social and religious change. Here, Aïnouz’s commentary on religious oppression, misogyny, secrets and lies feels restricted by the runtime as Katherine is held in the shadow of a diseased and rotting royal jailor. Firebrand’s final scenes are equally problematic, as revisionist history leads to a finale that is narratively flawed and ultimately unnecessary.
Like many Tudor films, Henry towers over Aïnouz’s Firebrand, and as the film concludes, the future Queen Elizabeth I, rather than Katherine, sits centre stage. But despite several flaws, Firebrand holds moments of brilliance as Alicia Vikander’s quick-witted queen escapes the clutches of a volatile, ailing king whose needs, beliefs, and power held court over a nation for thirty-six years. Beautiful and, at times, utterly enthralling, Firebrand may be flawed, but its performances are nothing short of electrifying.
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