Flimsy Femininity: Unpacking Priscilla
A little late? Maybe! But Sofia Coppola's "Priscilla" begs for a response like a confrontational text- you're a little scared to speak on it, but you've got more than enough to say.
At first glance, Sofia Coppola's girlishly twee biopic Priscilla appears to exude the phrase “women's stories matter.” This certainly seems well within the director’s wheelhouse— after all, five films rest under her belt, each more feminine than the last. She serves as one of the only major female directors in the industry. Priscilla encapsulates the female gaze— so, why does it fail as a feminist piece?
Priscilla fits neatly as a response to Baz Luhrmann’s 2022 Elvis. Elvis suggests innate masculinity, full of flashy showmanship, pretty girls that screech and blush— even Austin Butler’s over-commitment to his performance just strikes as so manlike in nature. Coppola responds via a film with her typical feminine flair, chocked full of pastels, painted nails, and…a matching handgun for every outfit? Yet Priscilla never presents as the central character: the story constantly revolves around Elvis, much like the real Priscilla’s life seemingly did for the duration of their relationship. Regardless of intention, this choice leaves the audience constantly grasping for a sense of Priscilla’s character, which proves a difficult relationship to have with the protagonist of the film. Eyes magnetically follow Elvis, who gives the impression as much more fledged out in comparison, yet still lacking heaps of depth. His abuse of his child bride plays as textbook, much like his on the hour pill-popping, and the heavy-handed far from subtle approach comes off as amateur on Coppola’s part.
Cailee Spaegny’s Priscilla presents as a mere extension of Elvis from the moment she graces the screen— she blushes at his name within the first five minutes of the film. The audience hardly has time to familiarize themselves with the character as a girl before she upgrades to a living doll. Sure, Elvis’ Priscilla, played by Olivia DeJonge doesn’t stick out as a major player in Elvis’ story— appearing in only a handful of scenes, either as a prop positioned on Elvis’ arm or a classic woman in distress (ugh, so dramatic!)— but she doesn’t pretend to take any part in the storytelling. Both Priscillas fall short of first priority, yet only Lurhmann’s will acknowledge it.
As Priscilla wanders further into Elvis’ fantastical world, he introduces her to more and more of his people— his lackeys, their wives, an odd relative here or there. Almost each time without fail at least one character will comment on Priscilla’s age, reminding the audience that she’s young, just in case you’ve forgotten in the thirty seconds since someone else chimed in. Of course this reemerges as a major aspect of the Presleys’ relationship: Priscilla stands out as incredibly young when the two first meet, barely even a teenager, with Elvis already zipping through his twenties. It just feels like this is lacking expression through the character’s actions— for instance, many scenes take place in the hallways and classrooms of Priscilla’s high school— rather than writing for a moronic audience who cannot read between the most clear, obvious lines.
Jacob Elordi, to his credit, plays a solid King of Rock and Roll. He and Spaegny play well off of each other— she fits nicely as the meek, delicate girl to his big, strong man. Not only do their performances display this dynamic, it exists within their physicality, the way the camera dramatizes their difference in stature. Elvis holds the power, whereas Priscilla shrinks in his presence. The two click on screen, yet Coppola’s script snuffs out their chemistry. Each fight comes off as unbearably repetitive, the same three stock issues taking turns in the spotlight. After about an hour of this bickering you’d think they’d have exhausted every possible argument— and then Priscilla wears something patterned (big no-no), and the cycle begins again. I would go about describing this movie much like I would cheering up an incredibly vain woman, “Sweetheart, at least you’re nice to look at!”
When Priscilla works up the courage to tell Elvis that he can no longer exhaust their marriage, the result inspires…put delicately, disappointment. This stands out as the first moment of the movie during which Elvis’ wants do not directly affect Priscilla’s actions, the moment the audience’s spirits expect peaking, and yet. Nobody emotes, the pair deliver their lines flatly, it feels impossible to sympathize with either Presley because they both just seem so unaffected by every word leaving the other’s mouth. “You’re losing me to a life of my own,” Priscilla gently tells her husband— it feels as though Spaegnt repeats the line fed through an earbud, and she doesn’t even believe the things she says. “How could I be so blind?” Elvis asks, a question the audience echoes in shouts.
Priscilla, however dreamily shot and dolled up, remains in the shadow of Elvis— the story told by and for women falls short of feminist. It disappoints, because Priscilla’s story deserves telling, and falls victim to plenty of sugar coating in the past. Though this narrative pretends to emphasize her agency, it still seems as though Elvis’ presence stands too tall to compete with. Alas— what this movie might have achieved if just sandwiched between two fifteen minute segments of Priscilla existing independently.