Corsage

The first thing you notice in Corsage isn't the opulence of the Austrian court or the sprawling landscapes; it’s the sound of lungs being compressed. Empress Elisabeth of Austria, played with a serrated edge by Vicky Krieps, is being laced into a corset so tight it looks like an act of state-sponsored torture. It’s 1877, and "Sisi"—once the most celebrated beauty in Europe—has just hit the catastrophic age of 40. In the eyes of the monarchy, she has transitioned from a person to a monument, and monuments aren't allowed to age, change, or breathe.

I watched this while trying to peel a particularly stubborn, thick-skinned clementine, and the frustration of trying to get to the fruit beneath the rind felt accidentally perfect for this movie. We’ve seen dozens of "sad royal" biopics, but director Marie Kreutzer (who also wrote the screenplay) isn't interested in a history lesson. She’s interested in a heist—specifically, Elisabeth stealing her own life back from a system that wants her stuffed and mounted.

The Weight of the Lace

If you know Vicky Krieps from her breakout in Paul Thomas Anderson’s Phantom Thread, you know she specializes in characters who refuse to be told where they belong. Here, she’s basically a 19th-century wellness influencer on the brink of a whole-body nervous breakdown. Elisabeth measures her waist daily, weighs herself with religious fervor, and survives on thin slices of oranges. It’s a performance of immense restraint right up until the moments it isn't, like when she gives the middle finger to a room full of dignitaries or fakes a fainting spell just to get out of a boring dinner.

Her husband, Emperor Franz Joseph (Florian Teichtmeister), is less a villain and more a bureaucrat of tradition. He loves her, but only in the way one loves a very expensive, very temperamental piece of jewelry. Their relationship is a series of cold rooms and missed connections. The film captures the suffocating stillness of their lives—long takes where nothing happens except the ticking of a clock and the slow erosion of a woman’s soul. It’s a drama that understands that the greatest tragedies often happen in silence, over a bowl of clear broth.

A Modern Rebellion in a Vintage Frame

What sets Corsage apart from the usual costume-drama fodder is its deliberate, punk-rock disregard for total accuracy. Much like Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette or Yorgos Lanthimos’s The Favourite, Marie Kreutzer peppers the 1870s with anachronisms that remind us we’re watching this through a contemporary lens. You’ll spot a stray tractor in the background of a rural shot, or a modern-looking exit sign. The score by Camille is haunting and decidedly non-classical.

These aren't "mistakes"; they’re reminders that Elisabeth’s struggle with her public image and the "male gaze" (to use a very 2024 term) hasn't actually changed that much. The film engages with the current conversation about how we treat famous women as they exit their "marketable" youth. In an era of Instagram filters and "anti-aging" obsessions, Elisabeth’s desperate battle to maintain her 18-inch waist feels uncomfortably familiar. She’s a woman trapped in a literal and metaphorical cage, looking for any exit—even if that exit is a slow-motion descent into madness or a radical, bobbed haircut that sends the court into a tailspin.

The Shadow Over the Screen

Interestingly, the film’s legacy has been complicated by real-world events that feel very "now." Shortly after its release and Oscar campaign (it was Austria’s official entry), Florian Teichtmeister was embroiled in a massive legal scandal involving the possession of child pornography. It cast a dark cloud over the film’s distribution, leading some theaters to pull it and forcing the production team into a defensive stance.

It’s a bizarre, grim footnote that reminds us how contemporary cinema is inextricably linked to the personal conduct of its stars in a way the Golden Age of Hollywood usually managed to hush up. Despite this, the film remains Vicky Krieps’ triumph. She actually came up with the idea for the movie and pitched it to Kreutzer, wanting to explore a version of Sisi that wasn’t the sugary-sweet "Romy Schneider" version audiences grew up with in the 1950s.

The cinematography by Judith Kaufmann is gorgeous but bleak. She uses a lot of natural light that makes the palace look drafty and grey, stripping away the "Disney-fied" glamour of royalty. This isn't a film that makes you want to be a princess; it’s a film that makes you want to burn the palace down and go for a long walk in a pair of sturdy, modern boots.

Corsage is a sharp, melancholic, and surprisingly funny look at a woman who decides that if she can't be young, she might as well be dangerous. It’s a slow burn, for sure—if you’re looking for Bridgerton-style romping, you’re in the wrong castle. But for anyone who has ever felt the pressure to perform a version of themselves for the world, this film cuts deep. It’s a haunting reminder that some cages are made of gold, but they’re still made of bars.