Starring Cailee Spaeny and Jacob Elordi, Priscilla is adapted from Priscilla Presley’s autobiography, Elvis And Me, and chronicles the whirlwind life of Priscilla Presley as she goes from small-town army brat to global style icon and American legend. Tracing Priscilla and Elvis’ romance back to its humble roots on a U.S. Army base in West Germany, the film invites audiences to grow up alongside Priscilla, witnessing her starry-eyed infatuation with The King fade into a much harsher, crueler reality.
Especially in the wake of last year’s Elvis (director Baz Luhrmann’s glitzy, bombastic portrait that painted the King as a flawed but tragic American legend), director Sofia Coppola’s Priscilla makes for a viscerally vulnerable viewing experience that’s less interested in perpetuating the mythology around Elvis Presley than in bringing the honest, often unsavory underbelly of Priscilla and Elvis’ relationship to light. In the lexicon of American pop culture, Elvis has attained near-deific status—a reverence that leads to the frequent glossing over of his very real, very dangerous flaws.
Even Priscilla herself starts out under the spell that allowed Elvis to so easily woo the nation. Taken with his seemingly down-to-earth and sweet-talking personality, it’s not until years into their relationship that the reality of life married to a rock star truly begins to reveal itself. It’s a harsh lens on a beloved figure, but one that’s necessary in truly understanding her story—Coppola’s willingness to buck expectations and challenge convention in order to finally do right by Priscilla is as gutsy as it is gratifying.
Priscilla was just 14 years old when she met Elvis and her childlike innocence is slowly but surely chipped away the more time they spend together. Their 10-year age difference is a key factor in establishing the power imbalance that would define their relationship—and a deeply uncomfortable truth that’s further emphasized through the casting of Spaeny and Elordi.
At a whopping 6-foot-5, Elordi’s Elvis looms over Spaeny’s 5-foot-1 Priscilla—a very literal but effective indicator of just how in over her head Priscilla is when it comes to their relationship. Spaeny’s height is hardly the extent of her effectiveness, though. As Priscilla, she’s the quiet, beating heart of the film, a gentle and starry-eyed young woman whose dreams eventually morph into hellish nightmares. Though the nature of their relationship means there are precious few moments where Priscilla is allowed to assert herself, Spaeny still finds subtle ways to give Priscilla an ever-present inner strength. Most of this comes by way of her eyes—heavily lined in Priscilla’s signature winged makeup, her silent but penetrating gaze speaks to the immense depth that assures her soft-spokenness is never mistaken for a lack of backbone.
As Elvis, Elordi doesn’t swing for the fences in emulating the King’s vocal tics or other affectations. Though he still has Elvis’ famous voice, his performance is more interested in interrogating the manipulative, power-driven side of Elvis that develops after a lifetime of being told you’re the most revelatory force in music history. We can understand why Spaeny’s Priscilla falls for Elvis, while also seeing red flags from the beginning. But just as Elvis’ charm and fame are able to win over the impressionable young Priscilla, Elordi channels that same charm to lull the viewer into underestimating the extent of his cruelty.
In terms of pure narrative, Priscilla is somewhat lacking—it’s a very linear, cut-and-dried approach to storytelling more interested in illustrating gradual, creeping change than massive altercations and set pieces. At times, this can leave the film feeling insubstantial and aimless, but the meagerness of the story is a deft, deliberate stroke by Coppola to further immerse the viewer into the reality of Priscilla’s life at Graceland.
In contrast to Elvis’ riotous on-set antics, dazzling house parties, and many torrid affairs, Priscilla’s life is steeped in the same superficial decadence, but utterly lacking in any kind of entertainment or substance. She’s a human piece of set dressing, primped and posed to be the perfect, beautiful wife, but never allowed to have a life of her own, lest she forget to “keep the home fires warm” on the rare occasion that Elvis deigns to pay her a visit.
The candy-coated prison that was Priscilla’s married life is further illustrated through Coppola’s signature eye for aesthetics and affinity for engaging with feminine rituals: extended sequences of nail-painting, hair-dyeing, and outfit-picking abound, but even those indulgences are always overseen by, or in service of, Elvis and what he might like. Production designer Tamara Deverell populates the world with plush carpets, porcelain statues, and all manner of gaudy decor, while Stacey Battat clothes Priscilla in flowy, babydoll dresses—almost always in Elvis’ required shades of blue.
Sitting in near-perfect contrast to the image of Elvis Presley that’s been cultivated in modern Americana, Priscilla is an elegant, introspective, achingly lovely portrait of a pop culture icon. Unafraid of shattering rose-tinted glasses, Coppola’s film is fierce in its subtlety, relying on Spaeney’s breathtaking performance and the inherent tragedy of Priscilla’s story to deliver a film that’s equal parts beautiful and heartbreaking.
Priscilla opens in theaters November 3