One of the things about being king is the luxury of being able to bed many or most of the good-looking young women at court. Or so says this drama. King Louis XIV at age 28 has affairs of state to attend to which he nominally does. These mainly relate to roundtable talks about his enemies (foreign governments and armies) and the French peasantry (taxed into exhaustion and submission). But in his downtime, which is considerable, he’s more like a royal gigolo, power expressed largely by libido rather than by the crown at court or on horseback at the head of armies. Of course it doesn’t hurt that Louie is lean, svelte and has rock-star good looks, his hair dangling down in beautiful ringlets well past his shoulders (irresistible sight for the ladies). All the men at court, as a matter of fact, haven’t seen a barber in months or years, their unisex look compounded by powdered cheeks, frilly-sleeved shirts, tight-fitting tights and pointy shoes with golden buckles. Definitions of the alpha male change with the passing seasons and whims of fashion. At this stage in the evolution of Western Civilization (France, 1667) the silverbacks look like they’re from Alice Cooper’s band, circa 1972. If this all sounds like low comedy, it isn’t. In fact, quite the opposite, deadly serious and very political, the only smiles and laughter mainly occurring in bed.
How to make a drama out of all this? Simple. With intrigue, the spice in all the aristocratic machinations and manoeuvring for power and influence. Which means in turn that trust is in short supply. Who to believe when morality itself is so dodgy and flimsy? So this is the downside (or one of many) of being king. The crown sits heavily on the weary royal head, Louie stressed out most of the time when he isn’t naked and purposeful in immediate ambition.
Another thing that fills out the drama: toffs are always wonderful when it comes to idleness, as decadence and hedonism are second nature to them. Here at the palace they loll, simper and frolic when the affairs of state are temporarily suspended, the rock star analogy not so far fetched. Mostly it’s man on woman but sometimes also man to man, this drama aiming to tell it like it was.
But beyond the fantasies and private theatre life goes on, which in this case is not good, the politics of mid-17th century France wretched, the country is in a state of almost continuous warfare with Spain and with itself. The nobility is extremely restless. It despises Louie but kowtows to him as it must, he the Sun God, the man of divine birth. Whether this is actually believed as true or not is beside the point. It’s taken as read and must be adhered to. So the deadly farce goes on.
Louie for his part is content to play the royal game by his own rules. Increasingly he has grown tired of Paris, the main playground of the nobility. This incenses the toffs. Louie has the barmy idea to move the court to Versailles. Yes, Versailles! A nowhere rural berg on the extreme outskirts of the capital, a place for the pathetic poor, not the puffy frocked aristocracy. But the Sun God is nothing if not stubborn. His royal will aims to bring about the change.
In years past the king’s father had a royal hunting lodge built in the forests of Versailles. There the game was and still is fresh and plentiful — stags, wolves, wild boar, birds. Hunting is royal sport. So is riding. Louie hates the filth of Paris. He wants to be a green king in his way. And so Versailles in all its eventual modern splendour will be born, the great gardens, spires and Hall of Mirrors there, not in Paris. This, in other words, is a slap in the face of the aristocracy and they will spend the better part of the drama trying to get even.
To narrate a full season would lead to an extensive review that I have no ambition to undertake. I’ve just tried to fill in the decadent background to the story. But you can be certain that plotting, betrayal, cruelty and misery will ensue. And sex. Plenty of that to ease palatial tensions. And never mind that most of the women are married. What has morality got to do with ecstasy?
I realize this review sounds flippant. But what I really want to do is bring praise to this fine series. At first I was disappointed that it isn’t in French (for the sake of authenticity). No matter. It’s intelligently written, exquisitely acted, and looks beautiful — the gardens, palatial rooms, horses, forests and especially the elegant period clothing. It all feels quite real, so hat’s off to Studio Canal (the French version of ITV) for yet another splendid period production.
Two more seasons after this. I’ll see how much hedonism, decadence, debauchery, mendacity and hypocrisy I can take. The beautiful women may lure me back for more. Probably that was the clever intent of the producers.