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The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex

You make your royal bed, and you lie in it.

The title is a misnomer: nothing these two get up to is private.

Bette Davis brings Queen Elizabeth I to twitchy, mercurial life here, as if she’s embodying Elizabeth’s political might and will and then expressing it as the jangled, overwhelmed nerve endings of the physical body containing it. She has incredible power, but her outlets for it are narrow: she’s supposed to be a nation—royalty loves synecdoche—but remember to behave as a woman, but she’s also supposed to constantly remember that she’s not only a woman but a nation. If that sounds complicated, it’s because the first use of “woman” here is gendered and the second isn’t, or is less so. She’s supposed to be feminine but not a person.

This is all more or less embedded in Davis’s kinetic and sometimes exasperating performance, which saves the movie from being a “won’t someone think of their majesties” film. It takes Elizabeth’s position for granted and moves on from there, finding drama rather than sentiment and resolving her core dilemma in an unexpected way.

Elizabeth has a lover, the Earl of Essex (Errol Flynn). Everyone knows he’s her favorite, and that sets some of her other high-ranking courtiers scheming against him; she’s also some years his senior, which makes her fret over him receiving attentions from young women. This is “poor Elizabeth and Essex” material, but it’s energized by screenwriters Norman Reilly Raine and Aeneas MacKenzie1 keeping their history in mind in focus as well as outcome. Ultimately, this is always about the big picture.

There’s a Shakespearean quality to these larger-than-life human disasters, because no matter how petty they get—and they get exceptionally petty: at one point, Elizabeth is essentially losing a war because she thinks Essex has left her on Tudor-era read—they commit when it comes to what matters to them. Not love. Not human life. Power. As Elizabeth tells Essex, when he tries to have both her and England, but not in that order: “What you really wanted, you have taken.”

Their private lives are supposed to be the story; this is a title that promises scandalous, intimate secrets, as if these quiet embraces and this unverified love affair will remake history for us. But it’s the public story here that resonates, because no amount of sweet nothings can outweigh an execution. And—in a paradox this intense, vibrating Elizabeth could probably appreciate—it’s in accepting that they want to be public figures, not private citizens, that these two do achieve genuine pathos and tragedy after all. I’m not especially moved by their thwarted love and all its attendant high school-style drama, but Elizabeth ordering her lover’s death so she won’t lose sole command of her throne? Essex willingly walking to his own beheading because he won’t pretend he doesn’t want to be king? That’s where the film hits hardest.2

They’re not really people anymore. They decided not to be. They’ll never need privacy again.

The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex is streaming on HBO Max.

  1. Congratulations on your name, sir. ↩︎
  2. Which unfortunately means that it doesn’t really sing until the last twenty-odd minutes. ↩︎