It could be stated nearly as scientific fact that Ridley Scott is one of the greatest living filmmakers. His filmography, made up of thirty-eight installments over the course of forty-six years, is not remotely perfect; but his “hits”—including Alien (1979), Blade Runner (1982), Thelma & Louise (1991), and Gladiator (2000)—are an invaluable contribution to the whole of cinema.
Ridley Scott’s filmmaking ethic conjures a lyric from the Broadway musical, Hamilton: “How do you write like you’re running out of time?” Many of the living “greats” of cinema are watching the sands of their creative hourglass fall from one funnel into the other: Martin Scorsese, Francis Ford Coppola, Woody Allen, Roman Polanski, and more are joined by Scott in a collective effort to tell more stories, while they still may. Scott has himself been extremely productive in recent years; in 2021 alone he released two films, The Last Duel and House of Gucci, and shows no sign of slowing down. When asked if he shares the same fears of time running out as Scorsese, he told The Times, “Since he started Killers of the Flower Moon I’ve made four films. No, I don’t think about it.”
When The Last Duel was released, it flopped. Scott blamed his audience, made up of people “who were brought up on these f—ing cell phones.” They don’t want to be taught “anything unless [they] are told it on the cell phone.” (He’s responded to criticism similarly throughout his long-tenured career: he once framed a scathing review of Blade Runner from The New Yorker and hung it in his office, claiming the critic “was so wrong. I was just way ahead of her.”) There was a prescient point embedded in Scott’s unwillingness to accept The Last Duel’s box-office failure, to be sure, but the fact of the matter is that his film (distributed by Disney) failed, money-wise. Of course, that’s not to say it’s a failure as regards filmmaking. Blaming one’s audience doesn’t change that fact; but it does make Scott sound either like a snob or a resilient filmmaker—successful despite the world’s wishes. Time and again these categories have linked and unlinked, but these days I’m inclined to think it is primarily the former.
Unsurprisingly, Scott made such remarks regarding his latest film, Napoleon (2023). As trailers and early screenings appeared across the world for his Joaquin Phoenix-led historical epic, historians quickly pointed out inaccuracies they saw. In a profile for The New Yorker, Scott’s response to such criticisms was neither classy nor humble, but it was succinct: “Get a life.” Similarly, after receiving backlash from French critics who claim the film is “Barbie and Ken under the Empire,” and that it is—predictably—“a very anti-French and very pro-British” rewrite of history, he responded, “The French don’t even like themselves.”
Scott even confessed to doing little personal research before recreating one of the most famous moments in Napoleon’s career: the Battle of Austerlitz. “There are 10,000 books about Napoleon, and they’re full of both truth and conjecture,” he said, when asked about the scene’s inaccuracies. But he “left reading the books” to David Scarpa, “the poor [expletive] who had to write the screenplay.”
Thankfully, Scott has an advocate in Joaquin Phoenix. Concerning the film’s approach to Napoleonic history, he said, “If you want to really understand Napoleon, then you should probably do your own studying and reading. Because if you see this film, it’s this experience told through Ridley’s eyes.” So too, Scott told Letterboxd that his primary goal for Napoleon was not a history lesson—people these days “don’t like to learn anything,” he says—but rather a character study: “I must look at the central character of who this man was. And, of course, this obsession with Josephine.” And so he did. He took a shot at superhero films, saying people seem to be “inundated” with them, “so dare I make a big period piece?”
Fair enough, I say. The year’s other massive historical films, Oppenheimer and Killers of the Flower Moon—also directed by critically-acclaimed veterans of the craft—had their share of creative liberties as well. But the difference between Scorsese, for example, and Scott is that the former is a joy to listen to, read about, and be a fan of, while the latter is exceedingly less so.
Killers of the Flower Moon is clearly a Martin Scorsese film. As I watched it, I saw hints of The Irishman and his other films which were worth noting: quick zoom and pan shots, long moments of dialogue, and fast, jolting kills, to name a few. Yet Scorsese made it a priority, even as he told his own perspective of the story, to be reverent, honorable (especially among the Osage), and classy. Similarly, in stark contrast to Scott, the cast of Oppenheimer read “American Prometheus,” the book upon which the film is based. This, in my opinion, is a crucial and telling difference to the filmmakers’ approaches to historical storytelling and filmmaking.
I hope not to place filmmakers in a box, and surely not to censor their speech on the reception of their work, but I do find Scott’s rebuttals—if you could call them that—quite frankly, repulsive. What lack of humility has he, that, when faced with legitimate criticisms of a largely historical film, he crudely replies with bully-like comments. I’d be no more surprised if, during Napoleon’s press tour, he answered every legitimate historical and cinematic criticism by stopping his ears and repeating, “la-la-la-la-la, I can’t hear you!” I am glad, though, that the initial shock-factor press is over, and Scott’s better thoughts about making Napoleon are receiving their due coverage.
Despite my personal preferences for classiness on press tours, Ridley Scott truly is one of the greats, and I surely would not “cancel” him and one of my most-anticipated films of the year over a few annoying remarks. Though my excitement waned after reading his comments, I saw Napoleon.
The curtain rises on the fall of Marie Antoinette. France is in uproar—unhinged in search of justice on the peoples’ terms. Enter Napoleon Bonaparte.
Napoleon’s colorization, cinematography, and production design are stellar (a large bicorne hats-off to Dariusz Wolski and Arthur Max) from start to finish. Bleak grays and blues provide the backdrop for stark reds in the film—those from bloodshed to Napoleon’s uniform.
As a character study, Napoleon excels. Joaquin Phoenix is the perfect casting for the emperor tragically in love with Josephine, played by the enamoring Vanessa Kirby. Ridley Scott’s goal—of highlighting Napoleon’s fatal obsession with Josephine—was well-accomplished. This, however, did not distract me from the historical inaccuracies Scott’s critics mentioned. As a historical epic, as a retelling of decades of French history, it does not so easily succeed. The battle scenes—especially that of the Battle of Austerlitz—were incredible. Well-shot and well-orchestrated, they are some of the best parts of the film.
Perhaps the most annoying part of the film that I could not ever truly surpass was how belligerent Scott was in allowing French accents. Phoenix is a professional; so too is Kirby. He “dared” to make a sweeping “period piece” and character study of two French figures, but the title character had the most white-washed American accent, while the other’s was British. It seems entirely too paradoxical to his goal: he wanted to study and recreate their lives, but didn’t care enough to represent them accurately with accents. I’d sooner take a poor French accent from both of them than American and British accents as they play the French.
On all other fronts, however, Joaquin Phoenix was perfect for the part. He perfectly delivered the tragic and comedic portrayal of Napoleon. I enjoyed the comical aspects of his relationship with Josephine; at times it felt like Napoleon’s drab seriousness was balanced by his goofy, dumbstruck love for his wife. His odd personality behind closed doors did not minimize his dreadful outlook on the battleground—a testament both to Phoenix’s acting and Scott’s directing.
The perfect person to counter-balance Phoenix’s stellar performance was Vanessa Kirby. As Josephine, she played the spastic, deeply personal but unstable wife of Napoleon. The scene of their divorce, particularly, was award-worthy acting from both of them. Also, the coronation scene proved Phoenix and Kirby’s chemistry and charisma as bold and epic as the film they starred in. These moments, and others, are truly spectacular cinema.
The costumes and set design for Napoleon were incredible; everything contributed to a mostly accurate depiction of a crumbling France and Napoleon as the initially skittish opportunist who rose at the perfect time, to become the greatest general in the world. Watching his rise and tragic, naïve descent was great. The directing and screenwriting for Napoleon as the eventually pathetic—and still belligerent—general he became was satisfactory.
The Battle of Austerlitz might be one of the best battle sequences in film, in years. Sweeping, intense, dreadful, and genius: every bit of it was as astounding as Napoleon’s battle strategy in real time. My favorite cinematography and editing are in these scenes—blood mixing with water; top-down shots of soldiers fleeing as cannon-balls break their sure footing into pieces; soldiers floating and grasping for safe ground. It was, simply, masterful filmmaking.
In all, Napoleon was a very good film. It was a very good experience and—apart from some awkward and entirely unnecessary sex scenes, and unbearably wrong accents throughout—a joy to watch this sweeping film on the silver screen.
Ridley Scott set out to make “a big period piece,” but he did so with little care to the history which made that period. He set out to recreate epic battles (i.e., Austerlitz and Waterloo)—and he delivered—but historical inaccuracies still loom in the background of his trustworthy filmmaking. “Dare I make a big period piece?” he asked. He dared to do it on his own terms, which led to some stark mistakes, in my opinion. They didn’t crush an otherwise great experience and wonderful film, but they surely cast a great shadow over it that I wish I could elude.
Ridley Scott doesn’t give a… but maybe he should.