Young Victoria

This movie was a lovely escape into an imperfect world brightened by love. Victoria, played by Emily Blunt, (very different from her role in The Devil Wears Prada), and Albert (Rupert Friend) were both a sight for sore winter eyes and brought lots of nuance to their lines. Of course the costumes were a delight, and I assume these were the real palaces, full of gold and crystal and no towering piles of books on the tables.

As a writer of historical fiction, I admired how some historical footnotes were developed. Victoria’s dolls seem eerily silent. As young Victoria thumps the iron bars of a gate like any child, then peers between the bars, we get the feeling of her being imprisoned in a gorgeous place. Her childhood wish to be good is such a worn note in history that it’s usually mocked, but here the actress makes it new as she breathes her hope into a pillow. A palace rule was that the queen-to-be must hold someone’s hand while descending the elegant staircase to keep her from harm. As a teen, we see her vexed or I’ve-had-it expressions, her well-trained posture, as she repeats this, then how, on becoming queen, she walks down the stairs alone. With lovely close-ups, we can almost smell the sealing wax broken on letters, before Albert calmly asks, “Will I ever be able to read a letter first?” We know how things will turn out, but the tension between royal machinations and sincere feeling kept me so riveted, I was shocked when the summary ending, with its touching glimpse of one of Albert’s jackets, started rolling.