Mary, Queen of Scots and the Ethics of Historical Fiction
Image: Mary, Queen of Scots (Left) and Queen Elizabeth I of England (Right) in History.
Josie Rourke’s latest costume drama, Mary, Queen of Scots (2018) offers a refreshingly contemporary take on the relationship between the eponymous Queen (played by Saoirse Ronan) and her cousin, Queen Elizabeth I of England (Margot Robbie). The film strikes a fine balance between the symbolic and the real, portraying its events through a lens of dichotomies: Mary vs. Elizabeth, Scotland vs. England, Catholic vs. Protestant, and Male vs. Female. It also departs from the Anglocentric view of Mary’s figure as merely a threat to the Tudor dynasty and English sovereignty, instead giving us an overtly sympathetic version of the sixteenth-century Scottish Queen’s story.
The film emphasizes the male-dominated nature of the worlds inhabited by both Queens, and puts an empowering spin on Mary’s reign and life, which has, throughout history, been repeatedly reduced to a mere tragedy in previous representations. Rourke’s feature proposes that the main and overlooked causes of enmity between the two Queens were the patriarchal forces that drew them and their courts into stark opposition against each other, while the monarchs personally attempted to maintain a civil sisterhood.
These feminist overtones are certainly gratifying for a modern audience, but what are the implications of representing historical events in a way that is so fitting to contemporary liberal values, especially if this is done at the cost of historical accuracy? I’ll explore how Rourke attempts to persuade the viewer of the film’s version of history, whether she exhibits an awareness that this version presented is inherently biased, (as is the case to some degree of all historical representation in art), and finally the ethical implications of fictionalizing a historical event to fulfil contemporary values that are at odds with those of the period in subject.
Historical (In)Accuracy
We should be careful not to draw too-rigid conclusions about the accuracy of any historical representation, as we can’t re-experience these events ourselves, and even if we could, each of our perspectives would be clouded by pre-existing personal opinions. What we should investigate instead, is whether writers, directors and artists alike, can tread finely enough the line between offering new and interesting representations of historical events that are self-conscious of their possible bias, and merely re-writing these events in line with popular values, at the risk of overplaying or downplaying certain historical factors.
In Rourke’s case, it is clear that the film does not attempt to persuade the viewer that the narrative it offers is true per se; the symbolisms and beautiful contrasts, (Scotland’s vast landscapes versus England’s claustrophobic interiors in the opening scenes, for example), are testaments to Rourke’s breath-taking cinematic style, but not so much to the film’s authority in deciding historical truth. It seems that Rourke is aware of, and actively communicates the subjectivity of her interpretation, most prominently through the portrayal of a pro-girl-power Mary Stuart who aligns with more contemporary feminist values than Elizabeth, who renounces her femininity.
The most obvious historical falsity in Mary, Queen of Scots is the scene of an imagined meeting between Mary and Elizabeth amongst rows of hanging cloth sheets. Rourke’s theater background shines through here; as Mark Kermode said on BBC radio; it would have worked brilliantly on stage. In a live performance, the sheets would physically come between the Queens’ meeting and the audience, making it all the more clear that the meeting represents their relationship in a more figurative than literal way.
Historian and author of Rival Queens: The Betrayal of Mary, Queen of Scots, Kate Williams said; “the drama of the relationship between Elizabeth I and Mary is strong in their letters… They are constantly meeting within their letters, but they never met in person.” Rourke portrays the relationship figured in their letters, (exchanged over years), as a physical one, in order to create a screen-friendly understanding of their personal closeness. Williams also notes how it is unlikely for films in general to accord much screen-time to letters, text messages, emails, etc. - we go to watch movies, after all, not read them.
Critics who have taken issue with the film’s historical inaccuracies are right to point these out in terms of their impact on a general audience’s view of historical events, but on a directorial level, Rourke creates a clear distance from which we can behold the events portrayed. In the scenes that introduce Elizabeth’s face, the viewer is presented distorted versions of her face through a stained-glass window, a mirror and a portrait - all representations of, but not actually, the real:
Besides this, the film does not completely depart from what historians already know about the figures of Mary and Elizabeth. Writer Rachael Jezierski wrote that; “her personal rule was marked by tolerance and moderation”. In light of this statement, Rourke’s proto-feminist heroine turns out not to be merely idealistic, but rather revives Mary, Queen of Scots’ posthumous reputation, which, as historian Jayne Lewis has noted, has never been an especially Scottish nor good one.
A crucial part of Rourke’s characterization of Elizabeth is her reference to the Queen’s famous Tilbury speech, in which she claims; “I know I have the body but of a weak and feeble woman; but I have the heart and stomach of a king, and of a king of England too”. In Rourke’s dramatization, Elizabeth says instead; “I am more man than woman now; the throne has made me so,” thereby fuelling the binary interpretation of Elizabeth and Mary as, respectively, masculine and feminine.
Elizabeth juggles resolute strength with glimpses of true vulnerability as she admits her jealousy towards Mary’s beauty and fertility, (a complex characterization which Margot Robbie delivers with brilliant nuance).
Mary, Queen of Scots subverts the traditional narratives of Mary as either a victim, or too empowered for her own good, instead giving us a pro-Mary historical fiction that at the same time draws our awareness to the highly gendered forces behind the enmity that brought both Queens’ detriment. In this way, the film is imbued with the values of our contemporary understanding of social issues to suggest how contingent our views of history are on the ways we think of it as a culture. Overall, Rourke successfully pitches a feminist perspective of the regent rivalries in the debate over their tenacities as monarchs, whilst still being careful not to overstep the balance between creative license and historical authority.
Sources
Eleanor Evans, ‘Did Elizabeth I and Mary, Queen of Scots Really Meet?’ in History Extra, September 7 2019.
Thomas Mallon, ‘Does Fiction Based on Fact Have a Responsibility to the Truth?’ in New York Times, October 27 2015.
Rachael A Jezierski, ‘Mary Queen of Scots and the Religious Question’ in SCOTIA: Interdisciplinary Journal of Scottish Studies, 2015.
Jayne Lewis, ‘The Reputations of Mary Queen of Scots’ in Études Écossaises, 2005
Queen Elizabeth’s Tilbury Speech in The British Library.
Mark Kermode, Review of Mary, Queen of Scots on BBC Radio, January 19 2019.