The first frame of Sofia Coppola's masterpiece is the Rosetta Stone not only to the entire film, but also to Coppola's identity and attitude as a filmmaker. That's right: you read the word "masterpiece," for this film is a consummate personal statement from one of the most important directors working in American cinema today.
Upon its theatrical release, Marie Antoinette (and Coppola herself) got quite a raw deal. The film was dismissed as "boring," "historically inaccurate," "untraditional," "bratty," and "smug"--in short -- Lost in Translation Goes to Versailles. Any and all of these statements would be true, were it not for this first shot of the film.
The above criticisms of the film and Coppola judge the film in relation to the traditional historical biopic, but, as this Frame of Reference tells the viewer, to expect the film to conform to the demands of the historical biopic genre is to misread the film entirely. In this shot, Coppola tells the viewer, quite cleverly, both how to read the film and where s/he can go if this is not what s/he expected.
The clues begin before the first shot even appears as Gang of Four's "Natural's Not In It" rips across the soundtrack. The viewer is immediately confused: what is British Marxist Punk Rock from the late 1970s doing in a film about Marie Antoinette? Well, this ain't no Merchant Ivory picture, and Coppola's not gunning for any statues from the Historically Accurate Advisory Committee. This is a personal film wearing the corset of the historical epic, a corset many viewers find more binding than Coppola expected.
But Coppola perhaps knows what's up, because this first shot gives the viewer all the cliches s/he would expect to see in a film about Marie Antoinette. There are cakes everywhere, way more cakes (and shades of pink) than necessary, and nothing going on save leisurely extravagance. This is beyond excessive, indulgence carried to the point of parody. Which is the whole point. The shot is a parody of conventional expectations; it is meant to be unrealistic and perplexing.
While the film is in part a chronicle of excess and indulgence, Coppola dramatizes indulgence as Marie's escape from a confining and patriarchal world -- French society tells her how she should behave, and she rebels by immersing herself in the only world allowed to her: vanity. There's no other place for women in the world of Versailles apart from childbearing and adornment. Marie tries to escape from such confinement, but finds that achieving freedom is impossible. Later in the film, Marie will again approach this level of excess as the world of Versailles becomes too stifling. The shot is both a critique of Marie's opponents and a harbinger of things to come. Marie is trapped in the static frame, and no matter how much she dances about or decorates her cage, she is still imprisoned in a life she did not choose.
But what the shot's really all about, the coup-de-grace, is Kirsten Dunst's look at the camera. Coppola acknowledges the audience's confusion at the film's anachronistic, hyperbolic tone. The audience asks "are you for real?" and Coppola has Dunst deliver a look that says "Yeah. This is my Marie Antoinette. Don't like it? Oh well ..." It's an audacious start to a bold film that demands the viewer meet the film halfway and accept it on its own terms. For a fairly mainstream film, such a demand is very uncommon, almost verboten. However, if the viewer does welcome the film on its own terms, s/he will be treated to a groundbreaking personal work. If not, s/he will only grow more frustrated and disinterested as the film progresses. But if the viewer continues to expect Marie Antoinette to fit the biopic mold, then s/he is being just as stubborn and indulgent as s/he claims Coppola is here, for Coppola has already disclosed the style, tone, and point of the film to the viewer in the first shot. It makes little sense to complain about not getting something that was never promised.
Furthermore, this frame can be read as autobiographical. Coppola has received fairly harsh treatment by audiences ever since her role in The Godfather Part III -- like Marie, confined in a role that was not of her choosing (Papa Coppola put her in the film after Winona Ryder bailed out at the last minute). Although her directorial career ought to have redeemed that performance by now, there's still the nasty specter of nepotism following her around. It seems that no matter how accomplished Coppola becomes as a filmmaker (and each of her films has improved upon the last), people will still believe that she is only where she is because her father is Francis Ford Coppola. Of course, her father did open doors for her, but no amount of nepotism could account for the length and success of her career. She has proven herself, and, like her Marie Antoinette, audiences need to accept Coppola as her own person and not as a woman trading on her father's legacy.
In this shot, with this look from Dunst, Coppola confronts her detractors and tells them quite bluntly that she does not care what they think of her. No compromise, no equivocation, no apologies -- how many other directors, male or female, get to strike such a pose? Coppola's the boss here, and if one of her detractors is watching this, her third film, then she's already won.
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