Sofia Coppola’s eighth film as director, Priscilla depicts the life of Priscilla Presley as told by her. Adapted from her book, Presley also presided over the biopic as an executive producer. The film feels like a receiver finally being picked up; French manicured nails clicking on a rotary dial, a soft-spoken voice answering a phone that has been ringing since Baz Luhrmann’s disappointing Elvis.

Coppola’s films have often been described as ‘style over substance’, ‘for the girls and the gays’, and overly pretty or feminine, criticism easily dismissed by a closer look at her directorial decisions. Style over substance can be justified, for really style is substance; ‘girls and the gays’- well, what director doesn’t want to appeal to that huge, money-making demographic? Then too pretty, too feminine- this can be cast off as downright sexism. These usual comments don’t seem applicable to Priscilla, though. Rather, Priscilla doesn’t quite feel worthy of them.

Coppola is no stranger to Hollywood royalty: she is effectively the heir of her father’s (Francis Ford Coppola’s) filmic empire. She has certainly set herself apart from him over her distinguished career, an American Zoetrope title card the only reference to her background. Fame and sovereigns clearly attract Coppola, whose biopic of the Queen of France, Marie Antoinette, sparked controversy upon its release in 2005. It is difficult not to compare Marie Antoinette and Priscilla; both films are sympathetic revisitations of well-known female figures whose voices have been drowned out over history. It was the success of Lost in Translation as well as the Coppola name that allowed her to shoot the whole film on location in the Palace of Versailles, access that wasn’t available for Priscilla; the film was shot mostly in Toronto, far from the gilded gates of Graceland in Memphis. Presley herself has noted that the director is ‘for women’, perhaps thinking of Marie Antoinette- and, true to form, Coppola delivers an empathetic and thought-provoking portrayal of the woman who has yet been inextricable from her role as Elvis’s wife and ex-wife.

The film is worth watching, although it doesn’t live up to the likes of Marie Antoinette. When we first meet Priscilla, she is fresh-faced, in little makeup, with mousy brown hair and a timid disposition. Where the suburban mazes of The Virgin Suicides allow the Lisbon sisters to shine in comparison to it, Priscilla’s pending sparkle is dampened by the pale panelling of her family home. Bored by the lingering war outside and the relocation to Germany it caused, Priscilla feels like a real teenager. Yet unsure of who she wants to be, her family’s move from Texas to Germany isolates her from the world she knew and the friends she once had.

Enter Elvis. By pure coincidence, the fourteen-year-old Priscilla finds herself at the King of Rock and Roll’s house for a party. He is taken by her; she is enamoured with him. His pursuit of her is, of course, a successful one, as he grooms and manipulates her before she is even in high school. He seems obsessed with her immaculate, unblemished girlhood, a penchant that seems relevant today: 2023 was named the ‘Year of the Girl’ by Dazed. Priscilla pokes at what this idolisation of girlishness truly means; ribbons, pink, and nostalgia- but also an implicit fetishisation of youth and the purity synonymous with it. Early in their relationship, Elvis implores Priscilla: ‘promise me you’ll stay the way you are now?’ She answers, ‘I will’, although this is an impossible task.

What this causes is a relationship that stifles her in every way it can. Graceland itself works against her ever growing up or being seen, with carpets so lush they silence her steps and doorways so foreboding they shrink her as she enters. Her existence is one dependant on Elvis- he wants the bright, sharp cut of the spotlight to stay on him even if this means she is forever waiting in the wings, living in his shadow as a guttering flicker.

Unfortunately, the film’s emotional goals of provoking empathy for Priscilla fall flat against a weak screenplay and rather one-note deliveries. Phillipe le Sourd’s cinematography shines in some moments, glowing with a signature sparkle that lives in swinging skirt hems, oversized sunglasses, and thick pink carpets. Other times, however, the screen feels over exposed and washed-out. There is no middle ground- either the mise-en-scene dazzles, or it bores. There is a lack of unison between the two, a fault that makes the film feel much longer than it is. This may be due a simple lack of action, with Priscilla spending most of her time whiling the hours away in Graceland. Despite being an important and intriguing portrait of its titular lead, it is just that, a portrait: a still image.

Verdict:

Priscilla offers its heroine a chance to speak- this comes up short, since she says little. The film has moments of beauty and instances of strong acting, but overall there is a lack of cohesion between scenes and some repetition when it comes to the techniques being used. It feels as though a puzzle that could be stunning but is missing pieces here and there: an emotional climax, a tonal shift, some kind of action. Of course, the film is meant to demonstrate how stifling the relationship between Priscilla and Elvis was for her, how limited her life truly was;  this simply doesn’t translate all that well to the screen with the script the actors are working with. Although we certainly feel empathy for Priscilla, we can only watch the same scene so many times.

Rating: 6/10

Enjoyed reading this review? Check out some of our other full-length reviews:

Review: Oppenheimer | Redbrick Film

Review: The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes | Redbrick Film

Review: The Marvels | Redbrick Film