Is there something special that draws writers to stories that mix royalty with sex? I don't mean contemporary stuff, in which the princess runs off with the chauffeur, but stories like this, historical epics full of billowing robes, stone walls, and someone hidden behind the curtain. Think of the many monarchs with sexual and emotional hang ups -- Mary Queen of Scots, Elizabeth and Essex, Othello who, like the daughter of Isabella and Ferdinand here, loved not wisely but too well. They've all had movies made about them, whereas nobody has ever made a movie about Ethelred the Black or Ethelblack the Red.
An operatic story of Joan of Castile, married as a teen ager to Philip the Archduke of Flanders or something. One of those arranged marriages under dun skies that never clear up. She's sent to Flanders virgo intacta and after a perfunctory ceremony Philip carts her off to bed. She evidently undergoes the transport of St. Teresa and she loves him too. She bears him child after child, never seeming to grow beaten under the strain of her fecundity. She even gets a tickle out of breast feeding the baby, a scandalous act at the time, but why not? It releases the hormone oxytocin which induces a mild high.
Philip is a different story. He's tall, dark, handsome, muscular, and very virile. He has money and power and all the social graces. Other women fall for him immediately. In fact, he resembles me quite a lot. Alas, though, he can't keep his pantalones on and he's soon doing various courtesans and ladies-in-waiting and whatnot, one of them a passionate but duplicitous Moor who tries to put a spell on him. She doesn't need to try very hard.
By this time, Queen Isabella -- she's the one who invested in Columbus -- is dead and Joan becomes in effect the Queen of Spain and Philip is her "consort." Even if you don't know exactly what a consort is, as I don't, it sounds pretty cheap, doesn't it? And who are you? "I am the queen's CONSORT. I consort with the queen, and sometimes she consorts with me when she doesn't have a headache."
The happy couple move to Castile. Philip brings his advisers with him and they suggest that the queen is getting a little too jealous over Philip's peccadilloes and that maybe she's mad and Philip should take over and become ruler of Spain in her place. And, to be frank, Joan is acting a little crazy. She challenges her sexy Moor rival to a sword fight. She has her defenders at court but she evidently doesn't care as much about the throne as she does for her husband. Otherwise, when the parliament accuse her of being mad, why would she say, "Mad? I'm not mad, just terribly hurt." Well, she didn't say it. Groucho Marx did, but you get the idea. She's more angry and anxious about Philip's infidelity than anything else.
Pilar Lopez de Ayala is Joan, the principal figure, and she's convincing as a queen. There's something regal about her looks, chiefly her large ears, I think, and that promontory of a nose. She has fierce, coal-black irises and is quite handsome. I don't know why Philip had to go nosing around elsewhere. It doesn't do either of them any good. Philip dies of plague and Joan is confined for life to a cell, until her oldest child is of age to rule.
There are no momentous battles or duels. It's not a swashbuckler. But the set dressing, wardrobe, and make up seem suitable to the period. It's all rather colorful, though never gaudy. Not under those clouds.
Almost accidentally, the film raises an interesting question: What constitutes insanity -- in a ruler or in anybody else? On the screen she seems more consumed by jealousy, more reckless than nuts. But reckless rulers are hardly unknown.
An operatic story of Joan of Castile, married as a teen ager to Philip the Archduke of Flanders or something. One of those arranged marriages under dun skies that never clear up. She's sent to Flanders virgo intacta and after a perfunctory ceremony Philip carts her off to bed. She evidently undergoes the transport of St. Teresa and she loves him too. She bears him child after child, never seeming to grow beaten under the strain of her fecundity. She even gets a tickle out of breast feeding the baby, a scandalous act at the time, but why not? It releases the hormone oxytocin which induces a mild high.
Philip is a different story. He's tall, dark, handsome, muscular, and very virile. He has money and power and all the social graces. Other women fall for him immediately. In fact, he resembles me quite a lot. Alas, though, he can't keep his pantalones on and he's soon doing various courtesans and ladies-in-waiting and whatnot, one of them a passionate but duplicitous Moor who tries to put a spell on him. She doesn't need to try very hard.
By this time, Queen Isabella -- she's the one who invested in Columbus -- is dead and Joan becomes in effect the Queen of Spain and Philip is her "consort." Even if you don't know exactly what a consort is, as I don't, it sounds pretty cheap, doesn't it? And who are you? "I am the queen's CONSORT. I consort with the queen, and sometimes she consorts with me when she doesn't have a headache."
The happy couple move to Castile. Philip brings his advisers with him and they suggest that the queen is getting a little too jealous over Philip's peccadilloes and that maybe she's mad and Philip should take over and become ruler of Spain in her place. And, to be frank, Joan is acting a little crazy. She challenges her sexy Moor rival to a sword fight. She has her defenders at court but she evidently doesn't care as much about the throne as she does for her husband. Otherwise, when the parliament accuse her of being mad, why would she say, "Mad? I'm not mad, just terribly hurt." Well, she didn't say it. Groucho Marx did, but you get the idea. She's more angry and anxious about Philip's infidelity than anything else.
Pilar Lopez de Ayala is Joan, the principal figure, and she's convincing as a queen. There's something regal about her looks, chiefly her large ears, I think, and that promontory of a nose. She has fierce, coal-black irises and is quite handsome. I don't know why Philip had to go nosing around elsewhere. It doesn't do either of them any good. Philip dies of plague and Joan is confined for life to a cell, until her oldest child is of age to rule.
There are no momentous battles or duels. It's not a swashbuckler. But the set dressing, wardrobe, and make up seem suitable to the period. It's all rather colorful, though never gaudy. Not under those clouds.
Almost accidentally, the film raises an interesting question: What constitutes insanity -- in a ruler or in anybody else? On the screen she seems more consumed by jealousy, more reckless than nuts. But reckless rulers are hardly unknown.