Priscilla (Sofia Coppola, 2023) (Patreon)

Although I found Priscilla rote and rather tedious, I have a sneaking suspicion that it will be the film of Coppola's that gains admirers in subsequent decades. It is a distillation of the director's stylistic fascinations -- female identity, solitude, stiflingly perfect art direction and mise-en-scene. At the same time it clearly aims for greater accessibility and a wider audience. This is probably built into the subject matter, but even still, it is jarring to see Coppola engage in hackwork like the Vegas montage, something that wouldn't be out of place in an Ocean's film.

Based on On the Rocks and to a lesser extent The Bling Ring, Coppola has been interested in making "normal" movies for quite awhile. This seems at odds with the hothouse insularity of The Beguiled or even the dissolute PTA-isms of Somewhere. It makes no sense to call Priscilla a transitional film, but it does go farthest in evacuating almost everything we might expect from a big budget film. It is still, often frozen; it is about boredom and is willing to get there by being boring. Drawing on Priscilla Presley's autobiography, Coppola manages to make the central character (Cailee Spaeny) into a petulant void, which in itself is an impressive subversion of the project.

In other words, Priscilla is about living in the negative space of Elvis, of presumably being his soulmate but spending most of your time literally trapped in Graceland with nothing to do (except homework, I guess) while your lover travels the world being an icon. By Coppola's lights, neither Elvis nor Priscilla are particularly interesting people. (Even when Elvis threatens to develop a personality, albeit an obnoxious one -- his interest in Eastern spirituality -- the unseen Col. Parker clamps down and tells him to drop it.) So really we get two stunted youths, except that one of them is forced to contend with superstardom while ostensibly protecting the other from that world, so she might remain pure and "keep the home fires burning."

Although Baz Lurhmann's Elvis is a better film in most respects, Priscilla is indeed a smarter one. Limited as we are to Priscilla's perspective, Elvis comes across as remarkably unsexed, and this no doubt pertains to our contemporary discourses on the perverting elements of global fame. Coppola's Elvis is a kissing cousin to possible pedophile Michael Jackson or, perhaps even more, to the asexuality and gay rumors that continue to follow "English Elvis" Cliff Richard. Elvis' deferral of sex with Priscilla until their wedding is of a piece with his cornpone southern Christianity, but fading to black and returning with Lisa Marie already gestating is a critical move on Coppola's part.

Still, there's a thin line between a movie about soullessness and a soulless movie. We understand right away that Priscilla Beauleau was an underage teenybopper swept off her feet and, as a result, never formed an actual identity. And we see that Elvis manages his infantile urges, his immaturity and need to see himself as a wholesome man, by popping pills and throwing furniture. And so the gender divide is crystal clear. The airbrushed sheen of the soda counter, Priscilla's parabolic hairdo, and the tasteless kitsch of Graceland just hammer the point home. Even when Coppola references Vertigo -- Elvis controlling what Priscilla can wear and do her makeup -- it quickly fizzles out. Really, there's no reason for this film to exist, and so like I said, it's quite possible that when Coppola is in her 60s or 70s, having made another twenty films, Priscilla will make sense in retrospect.