Napoleon
Directed by Ridley Scott
Written by David Scarpa
Starring Joaquin Phoenix, Vanessa Kirby
Rated R
Runtime: 2 hours, 38 minutes
In theaters November 22

by Ryan Silberstein, Managing Editor, Red Herring

The opening scene of Napoleon is not the titular tyrant’s childhood or an early part of his military career. Rather, it opens with the execution of Marie-Antoinette (Catherine Walker). While the scene does serve as historical orientation for the audience, it also provides a reminder of the mindset of France during Napoleon’s (Joaquin Phoenix) rise to power. The entire country was destabilized by the Revolution, but the death toll reaching well over 35,000 people also created lasting psychic damage. That kind of death toll is almost unheard of before the 18th century, and in some ways presages the mass killings under fascism in Spain, Italy, Germany, as well as the Soviet Union and other authoritarian regimes around the world. Combine the victims of the Reign of Terror with those killed during Napoleon’s war campaigns, and it becomes almost impossible to wrap your head around the number of dead (which would only be overshadowed by future conflicts like the American Civil War, World War I, etc.). 

This backdrop of death haunts Ridley Scott’s film as it oscillates between historical epic and biopic. While there are plenty of battle sequences in Napoleon, with Toulon, Waterloo, and other famous battles getting the epic scale treatment, they are presented as something closer to vignettes. Scott is not all that concerned with showing the length of these battles. The focus is on showing the brutality of the conflict (this is likely a tough watch for horse lovers) and the brilliance of its central figure. The inclusion of the French artillery shelling the ice at Austerlitz–widely considered more myth than fact–is also a signpost for Scott’s lack of concern around strict historical accuracy. These battle sequences are also a chance for Scott to create impressive compositions. Ships aflame in the harbor of Toulon, thundering calvary charges, and the mess of bodies as lines of infantry collide all make for stunning imagery. These scenes evoke something akin to William Sadler’s famous painting of Waterloo, trying to drive home the scale and import of a historical moment in a single image. 

But the core of the movie is the relationship between Napoleon and Josephine (Vanessa Kirby). He is captivated by her the moment they meet, and the dynamic between the two lovers clearly inspired by his yearning–and often erotic–letters to his paramour. Early in their courtship, Josephine tells him of her time in prison, and the horrors within. Both Napoleon and Josephine have seen horror first hand, and this trauma is hinted at over the course of the film: the pain and uncertainty they carry with them informing so much of what they do. Kirby continues to demonstrate her range, giving Josephine a different feel from her Mission: Impossible character and Princess Margaret while incorporating the sultriness of the former and the tragedy of the latter. She also more than holds her own opposite Phoenix, telling him that without her, he is “nothing,” “just a brute.” Their relationship here is not entirely different from that in The Phantom Thread, and Napoleon’s obsession with Josephine drives him even more than his attraction to Alexander and Great and Caesar. 

While some of Napoleon feels choppy–as it tries to fit in so many Classic Napoleon Moments into its runtime–anytime Scott returns to scenes focused on their relationship, it feels less hectic. The relationship between lovers is complicated and nuanced but also the most relatable and human aspect of the film. Behind closed doors with Josephine is where Napoleon seems the most comfortable and the most at ease. These scenes have a markedly different feeling from the rest of the film. Battle scenes, be they military or political struggles, are cut together far more rapidly, while encounters between the lovers are composed of longer takes. Less ambitious biopics might focus only on one aspect or the other, Scott wants to balance both: not just to give us more breadth to the story but also to provide the contrast between the two–and ultimately reinforce the narrative about Napoleon’s success rapidly deteriorating after his divorce from Josephine. 

Obviously, a lot of Napoleon rests on the crown of its lead. Joaquin Phoenix may seem like an odd choice, but his awkward and often strange energy does suit this depiction of the Corsican. Rather than make him seem stately, this depiction of the tyrant makes him seem petty, brash, and self-important. While not an outright satire, Scott and Phoenix pepper a lot of comedy into the film’s central figure, whether he is spitting mad at a representative from England  that “you think you’re so great because you have boats!” or he is expounding on how he is destined to eat a lamb chop. Rather than following the “great man” view of history, this humor humanizes its historical icon by showing him as his eccentric and strange self. These quirks are not imparted with meaning, nor is Napoleon held up as a genius. Instead, it is his ambition and confidence that allows him to attempt to conquer Europe. But his background and lack of political shrewdness ultimately become his downfall. While the historical Napoleon was not as short as the myth, there’s a reason that image sticks in our minds. History is not moved by the vision of great men but by the pettiness of small ones.