The Favourite

Intrigue covetously schemes while fortune miraculously hounds, the enthused generosity of an imposing caregiver insolently betrayed by dissolute ambition, a lack of opportunity blended with flogged discourtesy no doubt encouraging rank desperation, and as circumstances ameliorate postures tempt then beckon, botanical connaissance herbaceously imploring, as Yorgos Lanthimos embroils The Favourite.

An odd mixture of innocence and ferocity emerges, Queen Anne's (Olivia Colman) impulses potently distracted, Lady Sarah (Rachel Weisz) guiding them with discreet intention, Abigail Hill (Emma Stone) recognizing habitual laidback verse.

To rest at play with one's rabbits on sunny afternoons as thrush critique, bray, and scold, evenings, inopportune.

What's overlooked?

What seeks cultivation?

What is she ignoring?

Devoutly genuine dissimulation.

Dark motivations speculate as calculation courts royal favour.

Ingratiation husked, unsettled.

Gratification crudely extolling.

Nevertheless, The Favourite seems to dismiss base flattery to uphold honest criticism, even if Duchess Marlborough (Weisz) isn't contentiously disposed.

In fact she blends blunt observation with composed praise in skillfully threaded admonishing coddles, poignantly yet starkly depicting stately decorum, ironically lost in assured security.

She's heavily relied upon, and has become somewhat stern, Abigail cunningly enacting a playful counterpoint, the Queen falling for her carefree license.

Who's to say, honestly, some people flatter to solely promote themselves, others have an agenda, some seek altruistic goals, some like to revel but still respect their obligations.

And personalities change over time and in different situations (Foucauldian Power).

The Favourite excels at providing mischievous illustrations of the upper echelons at play, presenting political duty more like an afterthought, or something someone considers when writing about such things.

For subject matter this multifaceted I would have preferred a larger cast, even if it's primarily focused on Marlborough and Abigail's rivalry, its political backdrop still lacks exploratory depth, for which we aren't adroitly compensated.

Lanthimos has created his own otherworldly tragic comedic bizarro aesthetic that brightly resonates with thoughtful disillusion.

But as profoundly melancholic as The Favourite may be, it still promotes poised bewilderment.

I'm assuming it's safe to say, "goal, achieved."

Brashly articulated.