Chevalier (2023)

Directed by Stephen Williams. Starring Kelvin Harrison Jr., Samara Weaving, Lucy Boynton, Ronkẹ Adékoluẹjo, Alex Fitzalan, Marton Csokas, Sian Clifford, Minnie Driver, Henry Lloyd-Hughes. [PG-13]

Account of Joseph Bologne, Chevalier de Saint-Georges (Harrison), the man behind a little-known footnote—the first person of color to receive wide recognition (and adulation) as a classical composer—has spirit, but also uncertainty. There are bold moments and choices here, even when those choices favor (melo)dramatic license, like the silly yet arresting opening scene where Bologne engages in a “violin duel” with none other than Mozart, but if you’re willing to venture into the land of fiery revolution, of hindsight revisionism, of aristocratic bodice-ripper, then you’d best come to indulge. Yet director Stephen Williams and writer Stefani Robinson settle too often on the clichés of a biopic, and fail to paint a full portrait of the buzz surrounding this dark-skinned outsider in a France on the brink of upheaval. Lucy Boynton brings little personality to Marie Antoinette, and with attention fixated on Bologne composing operas, having a tryst with a married lead singer (Weaver), and dealing with intolerance, the hero’s personal crusade doesn’t tie in with the bigger picture; later scenes where he tries to reconnect with his once-enslaved mother (Adékoluẹjo) and find an identity within his own racial community get brushed over in a hurry. We know Harrison can tackle simmering resentment with the best of them, and anachronistic behavior and dialogue are mostly forgiven by the offbeat “emotional biography” approach (although it would have been nice if some of the cast members at least attempted a fleeting whisper of a French accent), but it doesn’t come together in the end like it should. Partial blame belongs to the all-too-convenient contrivances of the final act, including one conversation apiece between Bologne and the queen and his ex-lover, and the charge for the composer’s arrest being led—pistol in hand as protest turns to revolution before their eyes—by the dastardly cuckold of said ex-lover. Jess Hall’s photography of all the frilly court attire and powdered wigs can be quite ravishing at times. Debuted back in 2022 at the Toronto International Film Festival.

61/100