'Priscilla' Review: An Earnest Story of Solitude From Which There Is No Escape

Sofia Coppola has an eye for telling stories about women in solitude – almost like characters in a fairytale trapped in high towers and inaccessible palaces. And while her latest Priscilla might not be a fairytale in theory, it starts to play out like one. Coppola’s biographical film portrays the marriage between Priscilla Beaulieu and the singing sensation Elvis Presley by separating the glamour from the latter and focusing firmly on the former. 

While Baz Luhrmann’s Elvis doubled down on the singer’s stardom and magnetic appeal for the masses, Priscilla sees the man from a more nuanced lens. Elvis (Jacob Elordi) and Priscilla (Cailee Spaeny) meet in 1959 when she is just 14 years old. The power imbalance here is clear as day from the age difference between the two but there is more to it.

Coppola explores how insidious a power imbalance and control can be in a relationship – as Elordi towers over Spaeny physically, Elvis almost envelopes Priscilla and her life.

From moving her away from her older life to deciding what colour her hair should be, what felt like a fairytale romance to Priscilla at first soon begins to chip away at her. Their first kiss, also when Priscilla is too young, feels almost haphazard and alien – while words like ‘abuse’ don’t enter the film’s vocabulary, the film’s visual language keeps it at the forefront. 

“It’s either me or a career…When I call you, I need you to be there for me,” Elvis says and you almost shudder from the implications. 

We see how teenage Priscilla is taken in by the glitz and glamour of Elvis’ world and by the allure of his affections, even as multiple female fans constantly fawn over him. We see his stardom in glimpses, often at the corners of the frame. 

Spaeny is brilliant as Priscilla. It’s like the character is constantly simmering within her, introducing newer shades as she grows older and more aware. In the beginning of their relationship Priscilla is doe-eyed and rebellious (as teenagers often are) and Spaeny captures every little detail. When Spaeny acts out the titular character’s later years, your heart twists in agony as you take in her disillusionment. 

On the other side, the singer too is well-portrayed by Jacob Elordi who chooses a less glamorous style than Austin Butler did in Elvis. He cuts an imposing figure and yet comes across juvenile – all superstar yet flimsy. His body language changes from violent to manipulative to begging in an instant; it’s like you will blink and miss the moment he decides what part to play. 

All of this is bolstered by Philippe Le Sourd expertise as the cinematographer. The claustrophobia, elegance, solitude, and even the tenderness of their relationship are captured in every single frame. It’s like you’re watching the film unravel inside out. 

In her earlier films like Marie Antoinette, Lost in Translation, and The Beguiled, Coppola has shown that she understands the female experience. This is no exception. We see how Priscilla is increasingly isolated from everything and yet constantly on display. Even when Elvis takes her shopping, they’re in his entourage’s company. When she must say goodbye to him, she is left behind by a scurry of fans; even the announcement of her pregnancy is proclaimed to an audience. 

The film is glaringly devoid of Elvis’ music. It only helps to separate the ‘art from the artist’ (if you will). I did however find myself wondering why we don’t get to see how Priscilla felt of Elvis’ music or how she came to view him as the ‘star’ that she did.

Priscilla’s languorous pace does work against it in some parts, especially in the latter half. Some of the film’s more volatile sequences feel a little rushed; there is little time to truly let the weight of the happenings seep in. 

But Coppola ties the film off well - as Priscilla exits to ‘I Will Always Love You’ ringing in the background, you can’t help but notice how well the music suits the situation. Unlike Mario Antoinette, here is a queen who did love her king but like in Somewhere, she needed to choose the voice inside her head telling her to change her circumstances. 

“If I stay, I’ll never leave,” she half-laments. You watch a new Priscilla emerge at the end – one so different from the one we see when the film opens. You see how a lack of agency and autonomy has affected her but as her hair slowly starts to turn back to her natural shade, the film ends on a note of hope. 

Priscilla is a triumph for Coppola as a filmmaker too – you leave the theatre wondering if Coppola was telling the story or Priscilla herself.