The Other Boleyn Girl

The movie adaptation of Philippa Gregory’s “The Other Boleyn Girl” is a far cry from the frivolous story of gossip, seduction, and intrigue on which it is based. Those looking for a romantic chick-flick will find themselves disappointed or even mildly disturbed. “The Other Boleyn Girl” examines the relationships destroyed, the hearts broken, and the lives taken under Henry VIII’s reign, and, from a more modern perspective, the commerce of women between upper-class families.

The film, directed by Justin Chatwick, is as tragic and gory as it is decadent and passionate. It tells the fictionalized story of the rise of the Boleyn daughters—Mary and Anne—in the English court of King Henry VIII, and how both come to bear his children though only one ascends the throne.

Natalie Portman ’03 (“V for Vendetta”) gives one of her most convincing performances as Anne Boleyn, the coy but spirited queen who eventually loses her grip on Henry VIII (Eric Bana, “Munich”). Mary, played by Scarlett Johansson (“Lost in Translation”), is Anne’s quiet and obedient younger sister—the other Boleyn girl—who goes unnoticed until the King brings her to court.

For a story laced with courtly flirtations and extravagant revelry, “The Other Boleyn Girl” is unexpectedly dark. What is even more surprising is how well the saturated lighting suits the pale, delicate creatures of the glamorous court.

The score includes undertones of the whispering, scheming courtiers and the distant, outraged cries of the English public. It deftly builds tension and suspense to the point where it quite sufficiently replaces extraneous dialogue. Intimate interior scenes are spliced with establishing shots that show the sky in fast-forward, the clouds moving rapidly over the castle and its walls, as though the film is moving towards an inevitable and grim ending.

But despite the film’s dark outlook, it does not drag. Instead, “The Other Boleyn Girl” darts forward with the energy of Anne’s schemes and her family’s ambitions. Many of the scenes are short but pregnant with meaning. In several shots, Mary and Anne wear the same dresses in different colors, which transforms them into a strange sort of yin and yang.

The actors are repeatedly viewed through the lattices of windows and gates, as if they are trapped inside against their wills. The somber gray of the castle walls further highlights the painful directness of the lines. After spending a night with the King, Mary’s uncle asks matter-of-factly, “Did he bed you?” Then, “More than once?”

Beneath the film’s overt sexuality runs a feminist current that, while not present in the novel, seems glaringly anachronistic. Anne cynically tells Mary that “love is of no value without power,” just after their mother advises Anne to “let the man think that he is in control.”

The film departs even further from the novel at points, leaving several subplots and characters undeveloped. However, the heavier emphasis on the rivalry between the sisters and the effect on their relationship allows the film to explore this dynamic in ways that make the sacrifice seem worthwhile.

The film’s finest achievement, however, is in convincing the viewer to fall in love with Anne, just as Henry VIII does. Ironically, it does so by oscillating between Anne’s ugly psychological turmoil and her beautiful, calculated, eloquent exterior. In fact, it is in the moments that Anne herself becomes “the other Boleyn girl”—isolated, vulnerable, and afraid—that the film feels closest to history rather than fiction.

—Staff writer Jenny J. Lee can be reached at jhlee@fas.harvard.edu.