Pigeons spell out the Empress' nickname. 19-year-old Romy Schneider polishes off the last of the Hungarian resistance to her rule, and heads back to Vienna. However Dread Movie Disease strikes and it is only when she overhears her husband the Emperor saying he cares for nothing but her, that her back stiffens. This gives her the will to go to Madeira (actually Campania) for her health, but to no avail; it is only when her mother shows up and makes her climb mountains and go to Corfu that she recovers. Then it's back to Vienna, and the diplomatic grind.
(In reality, the Empress Elisabeth was a health nut who had gyms installed everywhere, and may have been bulimic. However, can't let that interfere with such beautiful nonsense.) Anyway, it's off to northern Italy, where they turn every snub to triumph in glorious Technicolor.
My reviews of this and the two earlier movies in this trilogy have been cynical, but that has been impelled by the utterly simple-minded fairy-tale nature of the movies. To look at a serious drama that considers real problems in some fashion commands my respect; to look at a comedy that mocks its subjects, even as it offers us reasons to love them, gives my ironic eye no crevice to slip a knife in. To look at these movies, which attempt to dazzle us with bright colors and easily proved lies, no matter how much I may wish for simple, nostalgic answers, offends my sensibilities, and always has. A sword's stroke may cut a Gordian knot, but it destroys the useful rope. That is something I understood even as a child. As much as we may wish it, there are no simple answers to complex questions. The illusion that there was a bright, shining Golden Age exists only in the minds of those who did not have to struggle with the problems of those ages.
Certainly Romy Schneider felt this, or something like this. Director Ernst Marischka wanted to make a fourth Sissi movie, but despite being offered a huge salary, Miss Schneider turned him down. She was anxious to get on to other, more interesting work.
This movie, like the previous two, is a lovely bit of fluff, full of bright colors, beautiful people in beautiful clothes in beautiful settings, doing things that must have had the folks in Vienna, out for a bit of strudel with some schlag after the show sighing for the good old days. Nowadays, of course, we sigh for that era.
(In reality, the Empress Elisabeth was a health nut who had gyms installed everywhere, and may have been bulimic. However, can't let that interfere with such beautiful nonsense.) Anyway, it's off to northern Italy, where they turn every snub to triumph in glorious Technicolor.
My reviews of this and the two earlier movies in this trilogy have been cynical, but that has been impelled by the utterly simple-minded fairy-tale nature of the movies. To look at a serious drama that considers real problems in some fashion commands my respect; to look at a comedy that mocks its subjects, even as it offers us reasons to love them, gives my ironic eye no crevice to slip a knife in. To look at these movies, which attempt to dazzle us with bright colors and easily proved lies, no matter how much I may wish for simple, nostalgic answers, offends my sensibilities, and always has. A sword's stroke may cut a Gordian knot, but it destroys the useful rope. That is something I understood even as a child. As much as we may wish it, there are no simple answers to complex questions. The illusion that there was a bright, shining Golden Age exists only in the minds of those who did not have to struggle with the problems of those ages.
Certainly Romy Schneider felt this, or something like this. Director Ernst Marischka wanted to make a fourth Sissi movie, but despite being offered a huge salary, Miss Schneider turned him down. She was anxious to get on to other, more interesting work.
This movie, like the previous two, is a lovely bit of fluff, full of bright colors, beautiful people in beautiful clothes in beautiful settings, doing things that must have had the folks in Vienna, out for a bit of strudel with some schlag after the show sighing for the good old days. Nowadays, of course, we sigh for that era.