Jackie (1h, 39m, 15)

 

Some 53 years after his assassination, the death of John F. Kennedy hangs over the twentieth century, and indeed over the role of president, like a spectre-it is no surprise that such a period-defining moment has been focused upon or formed part of many films. Less focus has been placed upon his widow, Jacqueline-yet, Pablo Larraín's Jackie is no mere biopic, instead focusing upon the role of Jackie in building and shaping her husband's legacy, framing Kennedy's memories of her husband and the fabled "Camelot" of the Kennedy administration through an interview with Life Magazine just days after her husband's funeral.

Beginning with the interview, Larraín then moves us back and forth, first largely focusing upon the aftermath of the death of Kennedy, the swearing in of LBJ on Air Force One, and the impact of Kennedy's death upon the American psyche. Throughout all of this, Jackie Kennedy, played exquisitely by Natalie Portman both physically and vocally, most notably in the re-creation of her tour of the White House, is focused upon-indeed, the decision to shoot on 16mm film makes these transitions and re-creations of iconic moments almost seamless.. In almost every single frame, she is present, the camera often close-up, as though Larraín attempts, via these very close shots, to break the surface, to truly understand what she is going through. Yet, Kennedy is far from a passive figure or a grieving widow-later on in the film, she makes the decision to remain in the blood-stained pink suit, still spattered in her husband's blood, as she exits Air Force One, to not only show the assassin of her husband what he has done, but to show the American people.

As with the original Time article, her dedication to her husband is profound-and it is this bond between absent husband-even in sequences before the assassination, he is often a background figure or entirely absent from shot-and wife that truly defines the film, with Jackie remaining with the body, commenting later in the film that she wishes that she could have shielded him from harm, and driven to create a lasting legacy for her husband. Comparisons to Lincoln are made throughout the film, not only in his legacy, but in his funeral, and the concept of longevity and the quasi-mythological, particularly in the case of both Kennedys' fascination with the musical Camelot and its score.

Thus, in these pre-interview scenes, we go, with Jackie, through the tour of the White House in 1962, and her clear love and interest in the past, and indeed the present of the "People's House", through to Dallas and her husband's assassination, and into its aftermath, his funeral and the Kennedy family departure from the White House. At points her face dominates the screen, searingly intense-tear soaked or bloodied or simply staring into a mirror or indeed mirrors, for some truth or direction. Throughout these scenes, there is a sense of building tension-but Larraín also turns what could have been a beautiful if somewhat linear film into a fractures whole, starting scenes that focus upon her role in the White House, only to come back to them much later, as if Kennedy, after a long discussion around a different subject, remembers some painstaking detail, and briefly returns to this. It is striking that Larraín only shows us the assassination once, towards the end of the film, as though Jackie has skirted around the issue, but has now managed to steel herself to recounting the terrible events-nevertheless, even if it is almost unavoidable, it is still shocking, a jolt to the system, and almost frighteningly visceral. Even an earlier gunshot acts to shock the audience, although the motorcade scene here is far more muted, the fatally wounded president shielded from view.

Alongside Portman, the cast and crew are uniformly superb, even if, in the case of Richard E. Grant and John Hurt they are mere bit-part players-Caspar Phillipson, as with Portman, captures the visual as well as vocal mannerisms of JFK, whilst Peter Sarsgaard makes for a superb Robert F Kennedy, at times trying to do the best for his brother, at times combative against what he perceives at the excesses of her vision of his funeral, whilst Billy Crudup plays a reporter who acts almost as a calm, collected foil to the passionate Jackie. However, the other truly great role in this film is Mika Levi's score, part Verdi-esque elegy, part nightmarish, with strange, queasy bends on strings akin to Johnny Greenwood's score for There Will Be Blood; at points her score dominants proceedings, leaving Jackie the sole focus of often crowded shot as sound drains to be replaced with uneasy, often unsettling violins, ill-omens of the violence to come. Only occasionally does other music, the opening and closing numbers from Camelot seep in, and these are placed at pitch perfect moments throughout the film.

In the interview scenes that bookend and punctuate the film., Kennedy is even more strident-here, as in other scenes, Larraín turns Jackie from the mere debutante, overspending on the White House Budget, into an active, intelligent and and surprisingly sharp-witted woman, who verbally edits herself to the reporter, carefully manages her self-image-at one point she notes that he is not to mention that she is smoking-suggests additions that the reporters should make as to her appearance or mannerisms.

Kennedy, only days after her husband's death, it could be suggested, is already writing her husband's legend-is she an unreliable narrator? At points she certainly smooths over the rougher parts of her husband's personality, the fact that they have not shared the same bed for a long period of time, the fact that she resents his dismissal of the arts, of the beautiful paintings that he balked at the price of. Is she simply a grieving widow who is heartbroken at the loss of her husband? The film certainly seems to fall somewhere between these poles, but leave us with a fuller, more rounded idea of who Jackie Kennedy was during her husband's time as President in a way few other biographical films have.

Rating: Must-See.