Set during the Restoration in 1820s Paris, The Duchess is a film adaptation of an Honoré de Balzac novella about two star-crossed lovers at the height of their social popularity. The married Duchess, Antoinette, starts a flirtation with the hero of the Napoleonic wars, General Armand de Montriveau, only to find the relationship end in sadness and separation. (Don’t worry about spoilers: this is a film that starts where it ends, and we know the lovers are apart at the beginning of the film—just as we do in the book.)

The General’s company is sought by many. He is one of the most powerful men in the country because of his war triumph, yet he is rather awkward in social graces. He is more fit for the battlefield and does not know how to act at the stylish balls and parties. When he sees Antoinette for the first time, he knows he must have her for his own: she is one more battle he must win. For her part, Antoinette is merely toying with the General at first, a fun plaything to hear exotic stories from every night.

Yet when Armand’s patience runs out, he stops responding to her and she realizes she actually is in love with him. Try as she might, she cannot get him to return her affection and thus sets in motion their final separation—she to a nunnery, he off to find her after he has come to his senses.

I have not read this Balzac novella and therefore cannot speak to the films authenticity to the story. I do know that Balzac is a very descriptive, but in the film trying to live up to Balzac’s style—which would be hard for a film to do, perhaps because three pages of room-interior description can be shot on film in seconds—it fails to ever really pull the viewer in. Regardless, the story plods along, much like Armand with his stiff injured leg, with little of the excitement or verbosity expected from a film based on the work of such a novelist.

The actors as well lack any type of chemistry, leaving one to wonder why they love—or why they claim to love—each other. Armand, who is supposed to be aloof and obtuse, never gives any other beat than “brooding” or “angry.” He brings to mind an Austen-ish Mr. Darcy type, but with none of the romance, nor glimpses of Darcy’s restrained heat or passion. There is no reason, with this performance, that a well-sought-after Duchess would fall for this clumsy sullen man, hero or not.

Antoinette, who hardly seems to think that a single man visiting her private chambers every night is something to be concerned with (where is her husband, anyway, who is absent in all but name throughout the entire film?), does nothing to convince us of her change of heart other than to throw herself on the bed and heave her chest a bit. Indeed it is not until Armand is nearly torturously cruel to her that suddenly she realizes she loves him. But what woman could love a man who threatens to literally brand her forehead? Perhaps it is his brutality, in a world that does whatever she says, that excites her; but we are given no hint of that.

While the devotion of the two to each other falls flat, the staging and production design are lovely enough to keep one’s attention. The costumes are sumptuous and the sets show a breathtaking opulence. I became fascinated by how Antoinette would button her gloves or tie ribbons in her hair. That’s certainly a nice touch to a film, but points to the fact that the main thrust of the film—the story of the lovers—is lost due to boredom and disinterest in the uninspired and passionless tête-à-têtes.

If you are in the mood for a beautifully-staged French period piece, where the story is an excuse to look at fanciful costumes and manors, then I would recommend renting the film. If on the other hand, you’re looking for an Anna Karenina type heated but doomed romance, you are probably better off reading the Balzac… or the Tolstoy.

The Duchess of Langeais is not rated, but I would classify it is a PG-13. There is no nudity and no sex.

Courtesy of a local publicist, Jennie attended a press screening of The Duchess of Langeis.