When most people think of the word 'heritage', what comes into mind from a British perspective are old castles or houses, kept in good order so that we in the twenty-first century may get a glimpse of what the world was like for our forefathers. Andrew Higson, in his essay "Re-presenting the National Past", states that heritage is not only about 'the preservations of values and traditions', but also that it has become a key component in a country's tourist industry . Moreover film, perhaps the most user-friendly and widely popular medium, can become another means of 'heritage' by showing certain ideas of the past and in doing so, preserving them. Just as visitors from other countries are spellbound when they go to the famous old London landmarks such as the Tower or St.Pauls, transported back in time to an imagined past by the fanciful stories told by their guides, so movie-goers are tourists when they watch contemporary visual representations of the perceived way things used to be. Higson explains that this genre, the 'heritage film' that became so popular in Britain in the 1980s, turns history into 'spectacle, something to be gazed at' as opposed to something that the 'tourist-historian' can be subjective about .
France too, like Britain, has made full use of the heritage film genre to depict scenes from bygone ages for modern audiences to enjoy. The reasons for the popularity of such movies is perhaps based in a desire to escape from the present, which in the 1980s and early 1990s was a time of disillusion and failure following economic boom, which Phil Powrie states are the 'appropriate conditions for nostalgia' . I would like however to look at how the past is depicted in Patrice Chéreau's La Reine Margot (1994). Set amid the ferocious wars of religion, which plagued Europe in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, this film deals with the events surrounding the St.Bartholemew's Day Massacre in Paris on August 24, 1572, in which around 6,000 Protestants were slaughtered. It focuses primarily on the increasing tension within the Valois dynasty, the Royal Family of the period, dominated by the Florentine Catherine de Médicis, and the 'marriage of convenience between the catholic princess Marguerite de Valois and the protestant king Henri de Navarre. A gripping and violent court drama; but does this film lend itself well to the heritage genre as explained by Higson?
La Reine Margot is based on the original 1845 novel by père Alexandre Dumas, although unlike producer Claude Berri's previous heritage film, the 1993 adaptation of Zola's Germinal, it gives itself much more freedom from the text. The actors themselves, as Guy Austin points out, did not have to read the original novel . Higson, however, claims that in most cases of heritage adaptation, original texts tend to be 'as much on display as the past (they) seek to reproduce' . The idea of the past being on 'display' is central to Higson. He quotes Frederic James when stating that these films tend to use a 'vast collection of images' to 'delight the modern day tourist-historian' (p.112), and it is fair to that the resplendent and colourful wedding scenes near the start of the film, with their use of high angle shots inside the church and in the courtyard where the celebrations are taking place, conform to some degree to his analysis of the 'typical' heritage film. Yet after this sequence this style of shot quickly becomes much less the case, being replaced by many claustrophobic interior shots, mostly within the palace. The viewer never gets the feeling of wide open space in which to marvel at the scene, as one does in films such as La gloire de mon père (1990, Yves Robert), which in many ways is the diametric opposite to La Reine Margot. That film extols the virtues of the family unit, whereas Chéreau's film shows us a highly dysfunctional family at the head of the French State. In terms of camera style, there are virtually no tableau shots in La Reine Margot, nor shots of grand open countryside so beloved of the heritage genre, save for those in which La Môle's boat approaches the white cliffs of Dover, and then in the next shot is seen riding a horse towards the distant Amsterdam. But the rarity of such imagery in this film makes these particular shots look almost out of place in the movie. Even the street scenes in Paris are enclosed: high buildings, lots of people everywhere, winding streets, these being pre-Haussman times. During the massacre, it appears there is nowhere for the Huguenots to run to, and La Môle himself is forced to take to the rooftops while fleeing an angry Catholic mob. The viewer is constantly squeezed through nervous crowds at body level. While the initial panic is sweeping through the palace that same day, we are taken with Margot, scared and shocked, as she runs against the flow of people up the stairs. This same technique is used during the wedding scene as the viewer passes through the revellers, being drawn to smaller groups, and also when the Royal Family are hassled on the stairway by an angry crowd on the news of Coligny's attempted assassination.
So the idea of 'heritage space', explained by Higson as 'a space for the display of heritage properties rather than for the enactment of dramas' (p.117), is denied by the direction of the camera, which is never static, and often very fluid. In the wedding scene, as Margot remains silent before the priest, the camera follows the worried looks of the main characters seated behind her as they each look to their left. In the scene in which René le Florentin is exhibiting his make-up to the young ladies of the court and passing poisoned lipstick to the young Catherine, the camera follows different looks expressed around the room as observed by Margot. The effect is that we are involved in what the characters are thinking, conveying the fear and paranoia that persists within the film. The dialogue is interesting in its use of space too, for the most part being delivered in a series of whispers or intimate exchanges.
How then does the 'national identity' emerge within La Reine Margot? Does it go along with Higson's view that it tends to come across 'not only as aristocratic, but also as male-centered'(p.114)? Certainly we are dealing with the highest members of the French aristocracy, the Royals, yet they are effectively governed by the will of the matriarchal Catherine de Médicis. Margot herself, while appearing as a strong-willed woman, is nevertheless portrayed as being used by the male characters of her family as a pawn. Henri says this to her early in the film in the bedroom scene, telling her that her brothers and mother hate her and use her. France itself, though, is shown to be a deeply divided place, with the first family being symbolic of its disorder. We see two opposing 'gangs' unhappy about having to sleep in the same bed as it were, a situation shown quite literally in the first scene of the film. The marriage itself is not unusual for the period; for centuries it was the case that an arranged marriage might bring about some political alliance, yet invariably it tended to make things worse. We have then a kind of reverse Romeo and Juliet situation, whereby the marriage is not through love, but 'pour la paix' as Margot tells Henri. The viewer in 1994 however would perhaps ask different questions as to what the film is really trying to say - is it merely an important but tainted era of French history, or does this film tell us about our world today?
The time of production is important to Higson - although he says that within the heritage film the past 'becomes once more unproblematic, a haven from the difficulties of the present' (p.125), he does make it clear that it is 'above all a modern past', seen from the perspective of a 'present too distasteful to confront head-on' (p.113). In the mid-nineties there was once more war in the Balkans, and the grim reality of 'ethnic cleansing' hung worryingly over events in Bosnia. The same was happening in Rwanda in Central Africa, and the memories of the Second World War and the Holocaust were still very fresh in Europe's collective memory. There is the case of the Spanish Jew in Amsterdam, saying how he's had everything taken from him and not allowed to marry a Catholic, because they wished that 'le sang reste pur'. This phrase itself of blood remaining pure is a direct echo of the Nazi period. Austin points out that to 'reflect on Bosnia through a literary period drama is altogether more unexpected' . The dark and menacing score was even provided by a Serbo-Croat, Goran Bregovic. The intense bloodiness of the film, going against the perceived sterility of the heritage genre, makes us aware of the terror of such circumstances, and since we are put right into the thick of it all we are forced to confront the situation.
The visual style portrayed in the character's costumes is also interesting. The Huguenots mostly wore simple black, not only as symbols of their piety but also to allow them to stand apart from the icon-worshipping Catholics. Margot wears very revealing clothes, showing her intense sexuality, but the costumes and looks of her mother and brother are striking to the viewer. De Médicis, played by the Italian Virna Lisi (winner of the Best Actress award at Cannes in 1994 for the role), is noted for her high forehead and her tendency to wear lots of black, supposedly symbolic of her mourning for her long dead husband but also reminiscent of the image of the witch. This idea is strengthened by her belief in René's poisons and prophecies (in real life she was greatly influenced by Nostradamus). Her son the Duke of Anjou, who would become the next King of France Henri III, seems to represent the Devil, with his narrow eyes and blood red suit. His look is reminiscent of that of Prince Vlad in Bram Stoker's Dracula, the Francis Ford Coppola film from the year before.
This is perhaps an example of the filmic intertextuality often found in postmodern films of the 1990s. Higson cites the use of the same pool of actors within British costume dramas as 'the intertextuality of the heritage cycle' (p.115), but here we see references to other films. One of the strongest, coming back to the idea of 'gangs', appears during the wedding scene, when we are taken into Catherine de Médicis' office for her talk with Marreval. She asks him to perform an assassination for her, at the same time setting up De Guise. This echoes perfectly the opening scenes of another Coppola film, The Godfather, when Don Corleone gives private audience away from the party at his daughter's wedding. This is supported by Lisi's strong Italian accent.
I feel that this film is very different from Higson's ideal of the typical heritage film in many respects, but I would not say that it does not present heritage. It reminds us of our bloody past in shocking and violent images, while at the same time asking us to reflect on our present day world. This is what nations, if not humanity in general, inherit; this is our heritage.