NOTE: This is a new release and the review is based off a theatre viewing. This means the review won’t feature common elements like visual analysis, extended theme analysis, or long-form discussions of the cinematic techniques being used. Once I am able to get a copy of the movie to watch, pause, analyze, and get stills from the review will be updated to match the current site’s standard.

A woman, Marguerite de Carrouges (Jodie Comer), is helped into a black dress by a procession of women for a ceremony. As she’s dressed, two men, Sir Jean de Carrouges (Matt Damon) and Jacques Le Gris (Adam Driver) take up their own ceremonial outfits in the form of knightly armaments. Marguerite is made to stand and watch as the two men get on horseback and engage in a duel to the death with one another. Why? To right a wrong. This is a trial and justice must be rendered.

Marguerite claims that Jacques raped her while her husband, Jean, was out; thus, the duel is meant to settle testimonies. God will let the righteous side prevail. It is under this belief that the two mean ready their horses and charge at one another. Weapons clash against armor and damage is done, but before any outcome is revealed the film cuts to a black screen. Text indicates that Sir Jean de Carrouges’ “truth” will be shown.

This is but the first of three such “truths” that the film will explore, one of three perspectives chronicling the events leading to the duel at hand. The set-up immediately conjures to mind Akira Kurosawa’s masterpiece, Rashomon, a multi-perspectival recounting of a rape that demonstrates, out of many things, the way egoic identifications and layers of subjective distance render new accountings of truth that revel in aporia. While director Ridley Scott’s film shares many traits with Rashomon, namely the use and contrast of parallel retellings of a critical event, it’s far more focused on hammering home a particular set of feminist themes. Its parallel storylines don’t vastly differ from one another such as to offer multiple views of “reality”; rather, they offer vantage points by which to assess the method by which patriarchy renders women as nothing more than pieces of property.

The first two stories follow the truth as told by Jean and Jacques in that order. While the two men are different from one another, the former more battle-ready and the latter erudite, their tales and the manner in which they present their interpretations of the narrative are strikingly similar. Both see themselves as the heroes of their stories and cast the other one as the inferior imbecile needing their assistance. Both are focused on their honor and social victory in the eyes of their king and society at large. Even though their methods to gain the favor of commonwealth differ, their orientation towards the end of being symbolically enshrined – to be enshrined as “hero”.

Most importantly, this manifests in their treatment of Marguerite and by extension women in general. Jean views his wife as nothing more than dowry and the possibility of an heir – an extension of his family name and his symbolic stature. Jacques acts as though he sees her as kindred spirit, but, in reality, he effaces Marguerite’s difference in much the same way as Jean, conferring value to her only because of her proximity to what he considers valuable about himself; in other words, she’s nothing more than an vessel meant to give way for him. Scott emphasizes how the two men’s dispositions render Marguerite’s agency in the same way in spite of their perceived justness via long, often painful sex scenes where Marguerite is rendered nothing more than pleasure object. Rape and consummation are both depicted as nothing more than moments of gratification for their male storytellers.

However, the third “truth”, Marguerite’s perspective, flips the dynamic of both the previous narratives and reveals the dirty underpinnings behind what agency looks like in society where women are no more valuable than livestock kept in the barn, where law is determined by those same men who actively break it, where justice is a consequence not of procedure but of chance. Scott indicates to the viewer that this “truth” should be used as the lens by which to evaluate the other two recounts in the text screen that precedes the perspective. While the textual interludes before Jean and Jacque’s “truths” faded evenly, the one prefacing Marguerite’s lingers on the word “truth”. Her interpretation is the final and most important word for a reason.

Like the two men, Marguerite seeks to be the hero of her own tale. However, her pleasure is not oriented towards seeking some social recognition. As the wife of a boneheaded warrior in Jean, a man who admits to being jealous, she is forced to remain within the confines of his manor. In such a space, her agency is forced to express itself in the upkeep she takes on. Her focus is not on status or doing tasks the “proper way” but on a pragmatic liveliness, and the manner she engages with the world reflects that.

This is best demonstrated in a moment repeated in all three “truths”. Jean introduces Jacques to Marguerite and has her kiss his former enemy in front of the large crowd around the group, visibly demonstrating the restoration of the friendship and socially sanctifying it. Jean’s interpretation of the scene starts with him offering the olive branch in the form of loud declaration followed by letting his wife give a peck on the cheek which he approves of. Jacque’s interpretation starts with him, instead of Jean, offering the olive branch in the form of the same loud declaration followed by receiving a peck on the cheek. He notices a smile on Marguerite’s face during and after the encounter. During both of these retellings, Marguerite is framed in the background of the frame, in between the two men, reinforcing her status as a prop in both of their worldviews.

However, the same scene from Marguerite’s view focuses squarely on her face, eschewing the faces of the men as they offer one another the olive branch. Unlike both of the men’s scenes which emphasize and focus on who actually offered the symbolic gesture, Marguerite’s scene could care less for disambiguating who really did it because to her, no matter who started the processions, she’s still a pretty bow meant to represent that gesture. She kisses because she is expected to do so by the social order and accepts the function, but she doesn’t grant it importance or legitimacy because it obfuscates her desires.

Unfortunately, what she thinks is important isn’t relevant, and the story showcases through the variations in its recounts that symbolic authority overdetermines the feminine subject so severely that even their pleasure is nothing more than a death knell of what women can be. As the wise men of the film explain, women’s sexual pleasure, in the most direct sense, is nothing more than confirmation that pregnancy has been achieved. The stipulation goes so far to imply that a woman who cannot get pregnant is responsible for that predicament because she isn’t achieving pleasure in the same way as her husband. In this way, women’s pleasure is subordinated and their desires are co-opted towards the child; she provides confirmation of her husband’s name in the world.

This is the central conflict at the heart of The Last Duel and what makes even subtle differences between the narratives damning for what they reveal about both truth and the extents people can go to transform it to fit their parameters. The primary actors juggle the nuances between multiple roles and shift between their projected heroic projections to villainous identifications made by someone else with ease. A character like Jacques goes from charming and suave to horrific without either representation tearing the other one down. Both images persist and reveal something deeper about the character and the society that surrounds him.

Speaking of the society, this is a Ridley Scott film and as such doesn’t skimp on the sets or the sense of grandeur. There are extras littering the frame in key moments and their faces reinforce the subtext constantly. Women look upset and distraught and are usually pushed further to the periphery of the frame, in the background. Men are usually jubilant or imposing and are often in the centers of the frame. While most of the film isn’t subtle about its gender analysis, viewing scenes where men and women react so viscerally distinct to the same phenomena underscores the way subjectivity is sutured. At a more basic level, the presence of hordes of people roaming around the lavish sets brings a vitality to the film as moments feel lived in.

However, there are moments where the film lags because of the scripts reluctance to embrace larger differences in the construction of its three respective narratives. There are large sequences that are repeated with subtle nuances that could be delved into but end up feeling, at least on first viewing, to be overly gratuitous. Especially given how explicit some of the themes are made by the characters, it’s an odd choice for how tame some of the narrative divergences are. As opposed to Rashomon, which relishes in provoking differences between its recounts to the point where characters morph entirely into clearly distinct points of view, The Last Duel feels like it scratches the surface of what its story allows. While the same level of variation as Rashomon isn’t necessary and would be a detriment to the stringency of The Last Duel’s themes, more experimentation with the way subjects color their actions would make repeated sequences easier to watch.

Lack of variation isn’t the only factor dulling the film’s momentum from time time. Most of the action set-pieces have a similar effect in causing narrative propulsion to stutter. These long, monotonous battle sequences fail to have the distinctive flair found in Scott’s previous action outings à la Gladiator, lacking the finesse or theatricality to leave meaningful impact. These moments also do little to demonstrate or reinforce character development, so they fall flat and feel semi-disconnected in the otherwise character rich story.

Thankfully, these bumps don’t hinder the otherwise captivating and poignant tale. By the time the final duel becomes the focal point of the film again, the stakes, both narrative and thematic, have been duly set, so there’s a vested interest in determine who wins the battle. The cost of establishing the truth and living by it is made abundantly clear.

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Go to Page 2 for the for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis.
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