The King

The first thing you notice about David Michôd’s The King isn't the sweeping vistas of medieval England or the heavy political machinations of the 15th century. It’s the silence. It’s a quiet, brooding film that seems to exhale a long, weary sigh before every burst of violence. I watched this for the first time while nursing a lukewarm cup of peppermint tea and trying to ignore a persistent squeak in my floorboards, and that domestic stillness actually paired perfectly with the film's claustrophobic atmosphere. It’s a "Netflix Movie" in the truest sense of the late-2010s era—high budget, impeccably cast, and possessed of a certain digital sheen that feels designed to look best on a high-end living room setup rather than a dusty multiplex screen.

While the marketing leaned heavily on the star power of Timothée Chalamet, this isn't the shimmering, romanticized Shakespeare you might remember from high school. There are no "St. Crispin’s Day" speeches here designed to make you want to charge over a hill. Instead, Michôd and co-writer Joel Edgerton (who also stars) have stripped away the iambic pentameter and replaced it with a grim, nihilistic look at how young men are chewed up by the ambitions of old men.

The Boy Who Would Be King

Timothée Chalamet plays Hal, the wayward prince who would become Henry V, with a sort of hollowed-out exhaustion. He begins the film as a drunken rebel, hiding from his father’s court, but even then, he doesn't seem to be having much fun. When the crown is eventually forced onto his head, he wears it like a physical weight that’s slowly crushing his spine. Chalamet’s bowl cut is arguably the most intimidating thing in the movie, a severe, monastic choice that signals his transition from a boy of the people to a cold instrument of state.

I was struck by how much this film feels like a product of our current moment. In an era where we are constantly dissecting the "legacy" of leaders and the murky origins of international conflict, The King feels deeply skeptical of the "Great Man" theory of history. Hal wants to be different; he wants to be just. But the machinery of the monarchy—represented brilliantly by Sean Harris as the whisper-quiet, serpent-like William Gascoigne—is designed to turn even the best intentions into a bloodbath. Sean Harris is a standout here, delivering lines with a rasp that makes you feel like you need to clear your own throat just listening to him.

The Agincourt Nightmare

The centerpiece of the film is, of course, the Battle of Agincourt. If you’re expecting a choreographed dance of swords and heroism, you’re in the wrong place. Michôd treats the battle as a slow-motion car crash in a swamp. It is bone-crunching, undignified, and terrifyingly brown. Men don’t die heroically; they trip over each other in the muck and get stabbed in the gaps of their armor while gasping for air.

During this sequence, the sound design is overwhelming. You hear every thud of a mace against a breastplate and the wet slap of boots in the mire. It’s a stark contrast to the flamboyant entrance of Robert Pattinson, who shows up as the Dauphin of France. Pattinson is playing a different movie entirely, and thank God for it. With a ridiculous, over-the-top French accent and a sneer that could peel paint, he provides the only spark of dark levity in an otherwise somber affair. His performance feels like a meta-commentary on the absurdity of the whole conflict—a peacocking prince who views war as a sport until the mud finally claims him too.

Mud, Sweat, and Streaming Trivia

The production of The King was a massive undertaking that leaned into the "gritty realism" trend of the 2010s, but there are plenty of quirks behind the scenes that give it that cult-adjacent flavor:

The Mud Crisis: The Agincourt scenes were filmed in Hungary during a heatwave. To keep the "mud" from drying out and looking like cracked clay, the crew had to constantly spray thousands of gallons of water and a food-grade thickening agent. The actors were essentially rolling around in a giant vat of lukewarm gravy for two weeks. Pattinson’s Rogue Accent: Robert Pattinson reportedly didn't work with a dialect coach for his role. He just showed up on set and debuted that polarizing French accent, much to the surprise (and eventual delight) of the directors. Edgerton’s Long Game: Joel Edgerton and David Michôd (who previously gave us the fantastic Animal Kingdom) had been developing this script since 2013. It only got the green light once Netflix saw the potential for a "prestige" awards play. The Bowl Cut Controversy: The internet's reaction to Timothée Chalamet's hair was so intense that it trended on Twitter for days. Chalamet later admitted he kept the cut for months, even when he wasn't filming, which must have made for some very awkward Starbucks runs. A Royal Romance: At the time of filming, Chalamet and Lily-Rose Depp (who plays Catherine of Valois) were a real-life couple, adding a layer of genuine, albeit brief, chemistry to their stiff, political marriage at the film’s end. Armor Weight: The suits of armor worn by the lead actors weighed between 40 and 60 pounds. Chalamet, who isn't exactly a powerlifter, had to undergo significant physical training just to look like he could walk in it without toppling over.

The King is a film that demands your patience but rewards you with a hauntingly beautiful, if deeply cynical, look at the price of power. It lacks the soaring rhetoric of Shakespeare’s original plays, but it replaces it with a tangible sense of dread that stays with you long after the credits roll. Lily-Rose Depp arrives late in the film to deliver a reality check that recontextualizes the entire plot, proving that even a "King" is often just a pawn in a much larger, uglier game. It’s a solid entry in the modern historical epic genre, even if it leaves you wanting to take a very long, very hot shower afterward.