The Last Duel (2021)

 Score: 5 / 5

God bless Ridley Scott. It's been several years since I've seen a medieval epic like this, a genre in which Scott himself has made several top titles. One of the oldest directors still working, he continues to be one of the most prolific, releasing what will surely be two major awards contenders this holiday season. The first is The Last Duel, a constantly thrilling war movie and courtroom drama hybrid that takes place in France, during a cold winter in the late 1300s. A power struggle between two egocentric men -- each the "haves" of their society -- results in the rape of a woman; this, in turn, becomes popularized as the final legally sanctioned duel (read: public spectacle overseen by the king) in France. More than its expertly controlled action and drama, however, the film deftly handles weighty and timely themes of masculinity and misogyny, capitalism/feudalism, religious piety, wartime duty and marital duty, motherhood and dignity, and the hollow honors of duty and loyalty (in many ways, not unlike the magnificent The Green Knight released earlier this year). 

Written by Matt Damon and Ben Affleck (in their first writing collaboration, I think, since Good Will Hunting) and Nicole Holofcener, The Last Duel begins with the charge of rape and the men preparing to duel each other. We then are presented with roughly the story of How They Got There, told three times in chapters entitled "The Truth According to _____." First, it's the story of Sir Jean de Carrouges (Damon), a proud and violent knight desperate to improve his standing with the bitchy Count over him (Affleck) and the Count's cousin, King Charles VI (Alex Lawther). de Carrouge takes as wife the young Marguerite (Jodie Comer), whose father includes as dowry enough land and money to potentially save the knight's fortunes. When the Count prefers the company of de Carrouge's squire, Jacques Le Gris (Adam Driver), and gifts him with the land de Carrouge wanted, his fiery temper overcomes him and the knight and squire feud. Things come to a violent head when Marguerite accuses Le Gris of raping her.

Second comes the truth according to Le Gris. Often, we see scenes repeated with notable differences. Did de Carrouges save Le Gris on the battlefield at Limoges, or was it the other way around? Did Marguerite flirt with Le Gris at a banquet, or is she completely devoted to her husband? Is Jean a whining, whinging whelp desperate for honor and violent in bed, or the lordly, chivalric husband of any woman's dreams? Is Le Gris a socially climbing greaseball determined to win land and funds above his grade, or is he a good squire who constantly shields and protects his knight and thus deserves the woman he claims to love? It is in this chapter that we finally learn Marguerite's rape did, in fact, happen, and we are forced to watch Le Gris convince himself that she's enjoying his crime. When he confesses to his priest, it's to adultery, not rape; later, a cleric advises his defense, saying that rape is not a crime against a woman, but against her male guardian, as a matter of violating property.

Finally, we're treated to Marguerite's truth, or as the chapter title graphics indicate by remaining onscreen longer, "the truth." Now we finally see both Jean and Jacques as the chauvinist brutes they really are and the lies they've told themselves to justify their behavior. Jean, though arguably noble in finally sticking up for his wife, previously could not provide for her and gave no care to her well-being despite her hard work to keep his finances and land operating; he haggled over her price (dowry) with her father and dutifully shoves his penis into her prostrate body nightly in the hopes of a male heir. Jacques, to whom Marguerite gave almost no attention, is convinced she is in a loveless marriage and would be a ripe tool to use against his perceived rival to gain favor with the Count and King. Ultimately, and rightly, it is through her eyes that we see the final duel, men battling each other for honor while her life -- and the life of her newborn baby -- hangs in the balance.

The duel itself finally comes at the film's climax, and it is nothing short of breathtaking. But so is the rest of the movie, from its impeccably researched and recreated production design to its brilliant screenplay. The film's editor works hard to parallel certain scenes two or three times, filmed almost identically, with the performers changing the narrative each time. Did Marguerite coyly slip off her shoes before running up to her bedroom, or did they fly off as she stumbled in her retreat? Did Le Gris detect a note of lust when she greeted him with a kiss, or was she performing the wifely duty her husband demanded of her to his friend? Is de Carrouge's mother a matronly and wise woman, or a bitter old witch determined to have her son to herself?

The performers are all utterly brilliant in what was certainly a grueling shoot. Thankfully, they keep things grounded despite potential hang-ups: they all use a vague mid-Atlantic accent that is often Americanized British or outright American English and the screenplay is quite modern despite a few basic syntactical devices that make it sound mildly archaic. Never fear, there's no Shakespeare here! Or even Baudelaire, though perhaps some attempt at a mild French accent would have been preferable? Regardless, the movie deserves a lot of praise for its many elements, and it'll probably make its way onto my list of favorites for the year if only for its beautiful and haunting vision. The barbarism of medieval gender politics feels far too relevant, and the film's grayscale grittiness brings a dark level of urgency to the story that I did not expect. All hail Ridley Scott, and on to House of Gucci!