The film, we're told, is not just based on a true story. It's also "Her Story". So long as we're playing the game of Art vs History, it might help to point out that even this initial statement counts as an example of "true so far as it goes". Or rather "true" for a given amount of true. In the strictest sense, what we're dealing with here is the story of a Maiden and a King, and the way the two somehow found each other. That is still not quite the whole truth, however. For you see, there is a third player in the make-believe dramatization of history that's about to unfold. He's always hanging about in the wings of the film's narrative, always waiting, perhaps, for his own say on things. He even gets name dropped more than once or twice, here and there. However, in order to get the full picture, we have to take things in their proper order. That means knowing when to start at the proper beginning of the whole affair.
The Story.
If nothing important happened, then I'm not sure you'd be able to pick someone like Phillipa Langley (Sally Hawkins) out of a crowd. She doesn't strike you as the type of person that extraordinary events happen to. Her job is that of an employee at one of those marketing firms whose name you forget about the moment you here it. She's a marketing officer who makes her home in Edinburgh. She's got two children of her own, Max (Adam Robb), and Raife (Benjamin Scanlon). Her marriage with her husband John (Steve Coogan) ended not too long ago, however. Even here the situation is one of those little domestic dramas that can't even bother to live up to the title. Things just didn't work out, that's all. No more or less. There's not much else to talk about, really. Phillipa's life consists mainly of one drudge through the working day after another. She gets up in the morning, packs the kids off to school, goes to her office, and tries to pretend she's busy with actual work while getting paid a pittance for it. She picks up her kids, goes home, dinner, bed, and start all over again. She's got Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (ME), or Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, however it doesn't interfere with her work and life in general. Nor does it keep her from being able to raise her two kids on her own. There's no legitimate reason for her employer to pass her over for a well-earned promotion. So he does it anyway.
At first, Phillipa can't seem to get the figure of Richard out of her mind. His story, both real and imaginary, occupies her thoughts as she goes about her daily routine. She starts buying books that tell of the monarch's life and times, and this passion soon grows into more of an obsession. The transformation from idle hobby to consuming interest seems to come the moment when Phillipa begins to see or perhaps just imagine the actual King Richard (played by Lloyd again) hanging about wherever she goes. She'll be walking to the store and she'll catch glimpses of him standing in the sidewalk in front of her as she makes her way towards him. Or else she'll see the King glancing at her from across the way, in the windows of shop markets or at the openings of alleyways. Whenever Phillipa catches glimpses of this figure, a few things always remain constant. This version of Richard isn't the gnarled and twisted boogeyman of the English popular imagination. Instead, this King seems to have a more regal bearing, standing up straight and proud, yet he has a kind and sympathetic look in his eye.
He's always able to pick Phillipa out wherever she is, and whenever she sees him, Phillipa can't shake the hopeful, imploring expression he seems to give her whenever they meet. At last, one night, when she sees him hanging outside in front of her house, Phillipa allows herself to get out of bed, and confront this "apparition". She asks him what he wants, why is he visiting her, and most important of all, was he really as great a monster as history says? The figure never answers any of these questions, of course. He just keeps giving her that kind, imploring look, like he's desperate to ask this unextraordinary, unassuming Edinburgh girl a favor, except he's too darn shy to ask it outright. The interesting part is that as far as Phillipa's concerned, it's almost like he doesn't have to. At last, with her resolve set she makes what most of us have no choice except to consider a fool's risk. She joins the local Edinburgh chapter of the Richard III Society, which is one thing. Then she quits her day job in order to devote all her time to proving that the protagonist of Shakespeare's play wasn't a villainous usurper, and was instead, a good and just King of England. Which is something else altogether.
To say that Phillipa's friends and family regard this move as a bad idea is a bit like the saying the launch of the Challenger Space Shuttle went a little bit wrong. The crash and burn in Phillipa's case may not be as Earth shattering, yet it's the fear everyone around her has, as they try to dissuade her from taking such drastic measures. She won't be turned aside, as things turn out. Phillipa turns out to be the kind of woman who, once she manages to get her sights set on a goal that's important to her, will then dig in with the tenacity of a well-trained bulldog latching onto a target. If nothing else were to happen, you'd still have to give her an A for effort. Her dedication is so admirable that even her ex-husband (of all people) decides to move back in so that she'll have both the funds, and get to keep a roof under the heads of both her and their children. With this steady foundation in place, Phil sets out to ask for help in tracking down the remains of King Richard. Two important allies that she makes in this endeavor are medieval historian Richard Ashdown-Hill (James Fleet), and Richard Buckley (Mark Addy), head of the University of Leicester Archaeological Services Department. One of them is a willing participant from the very start. The other has to be convinced by several interlocking factors in order to join.
Under Phillipa's guidance, they set their sights on an otherwise unassuming car park by the name of Grey Friars, located in the middle of Leicester town. There's one area in particular that Phillipa has zeroed in on. In the old tales of buried treasure it's usually an X that marks the spot. In this case it's not an X. It's an R. You can see the letter itself, plain as day. It's washed out and faded a bit with years of age and constant use, however it's still perfectly legible. The R stands for Reserved, as in the special parking spaces reserved either for special appointments, or else for (ironically enough given Phil's and Richard's medical history) handicap accessibility. Perhaps because of all these associations swirling about and gathering together in her mind, Phillipa wants them to start digging there. She has a hunch that simple painted R means something. That perhaps it contains answers about Richard the Third.
Conclusion: The King and the Maiden: A Surprisingly True Story.
A film like Stephen Frears The Lost King is an example that fits in well with this paradoxical paradigm. It's entire setup is not just based on something that happened in real life. It was something very recent, that turned out to be one of those events with a respectable amount of national importance. These are the facts. It turns out there really is a Phillipa Langley, and she is the woman who discovered the remains of King Richard III. The monarch's remains were indeed bulldozed over and hidden away underneath the concrete of a local Leicester parking lot. And he was discovered lying underneath a good chunk of modern day concrete with a big white letter R painted over the exact same plot that was once used to house former royalty. I almost want to say there's got to be some sort of parabolic significance to the whole thing, if that's how it turns out, anyway. It's like we've stumbled upon a moment when history itself turns into the contents of a children's storybook. You've a plucky and intrepid protagonist with a likable personality pressing on in the face of adversity in order to find a hidden treasure. Even the discovery itself adheres to fairy tale formula with an X marked burial spot.
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It's little wonder then that sooner or later someone like Frears would think this could make for a pretty solid movie. It's one of those odd moments when real life seems willing to hand you a script more or less ready made, all wrapped up in a bow, an everything. In terms of its basic outline, and plot beats, the movie can be said to remain true enough so far as it can to the historical record. Which means, of course, that there are one or two elements of the narrative that distort the facts to suit the demands of the three-act drama structure. The movie version of Phillipa is portrayed as joining the Edinburgh Ricardian Society as a spur-of-the-moment decision, something she just throws herself into in the heat of enthusiasm for her newfound subject. In real life, however, this was never the case. In fact, for the actual Ms. Langley, everything to do with King Richard came at a natural, gradual, step-at-a-time pace. The true story began all the way back in 1998, when Langley picked up a book written in 1955 by Paul Murray Kendall. It was perhaps among the first works of scholarship to treat Richard as a human being, rather than as just a villain in a play. And it is just here where history itself becomes like a mist.
Perhaps the most surprising thing that Frears is able to nail down well is the character of Phillipa herself. While it's true some aspects of the scholar's real life are compressed for the sake of dramatic presentation, the one aspect of reality that both the director and actress Sally Hawkins manage to capture well is the sense of Langley's actual personality. It's the one element of reality that Frears manages to turn into the constant keynote that is able to carry the picture from start to finish. In life, as on the screen, Langley conveys this air of someone who is determined to prove to others that she can handle herself well with the minimum of assistance. Go and hunt down any available footage of the real Phillipa, and you'll see a woman with this almost stoic sense self-awareness. She's polite, kind, soft-spoken. Yet there's also this quiet, insistent, admirable stubborn streak to her nature. If she knows what she wants, then she'll do her best to achieve her goals. The underlying core of everything she does is to make others realize that she is not some kind of cripple, or helpless damsel in need of rescue.
Yes, she suffers from chronic fatigue. It's the kind of thing that flairs up whenever she gets excited about or over something. However, it is never severe, and it doesn't impair her ability to function normally in the workaday world. This is something the real Langley knows, and yet it's also clear that she always chafes under the fear of being belittled and treated as a kind of inferior by anyone who would use her handicap against her as an excuse to discriminate based on the idea that she's not just a woman, but a crippled one into the bargain. Neither her gender, nor her actual symptoms may count as any legitimate strike. The sad part is none of these facts will deter those who are determined to treat her as someone less than a human being. This is the central heart of the real historian's character, and it serves as the underlying main theme of the King Richard excavation as it played out in real life. Go and watch any documentary of the actual dig and you'll see the genuine Phillipa holding her own in the face of adversity. There are a number of telling moments in the footage I've seen that say a great deal without much in the way of any big scenes of dramatic dialogue.
The second one, however, might just be the most important. That at leas she now has a greater sense of kinship with a fellow handicapable. It's one of those real life grace notes that probably can't sound like much of anything to someone on the outside of the experience. To those with "inside information", however, it can sometimes mean the whole gosh damned world. For whatever reason, I can't just bring myself to dismiss that sort of thing as cold comfort for change. Not when an actual of consolation can be marked as present. The second major event that happened during to actual dig came as the skeleton of the former King of England was being packed away off to forensics for the first time. The monarch was leaving his last resting place for the first time in approximately 527 years. His death is often claimed as the end of the Middle Ages. We've inhabited several different worlds since then, and now here's this relic from the time of Chaucer and Dante, "in once more, back again". Time present somehow catching up to time past. As Richard is being packed up (all of English royalty now crammed into the confines of a package the size of a flower box) Langley is seen on camera making one simple request. She'd like to see the remains draped in the British Royal Flag, the one in reds and blues, with lions and unicorns all over it. Some protest they still don't know if it's even the genuine article or not.
The figure of Taylor and his portrayal have become the closest thing to a behind-the-scenes controversy that the film has to its reputation, with Taylor and his feud with Langley being a very true-to-life detail. The real Phillipa has gone on record with claims that she was sidelined when the discovery of the King's remains were made public. Going so far as to point out that her name was deliberately kept off the dig's exhumation license even though the paperwork clearly shows her as their client. Taylor and the University then compounded their guilt by letting this desire for all the glory get them entangled in a legal dispute with the Plantagenet Alliance, in yet another legal feud that lasted for several years, and proved to be of more cost than it was worth (web). From what I am able to tell on my own, it seems as if all of the legal right was on Phillipa's side, while Taylor and the University should have just played their hand fair and square, thus being able to acquire an even greater level of prestige to their name by sharing the glory with Langley in the first place, with no strings attached. Instead, the college's authorities seem to have dug an unnecessary pit for themselves, and that error is now being compounded, with Taylor threatening legal action over how he was portrayed in this film.
In fact, this aura of skepticism toward authority figures who wield their power over others in unlawful ways tends to be regarded by both scholars and casual fans as one of the keynotes of Shakespeare's artistry. It's kind of what he's known best for, in other words. A lot of the reason for that seems to be the way his writings have of tapping into the ever-present fear that all cultures and civilizations have that sooner or later the levers of power will fall into the hands of someone who can only ever concentrate on his own needs and desires; the demands of justice and any actual good of the people be damned. Even in the case of Richard III, this sense of skepticism prevails. While scholars like Langley remain focused on saving a name from the slings and arrows of a bad reputation, Shakespeare himself appears more concerned with bigger fish. All of his best work rests in asking a single question. What is the difference between a just and unlawful form of government? What makes for a good leader, and how or why do some with potential fall into the worst tragic fates imaginable? It helps to keep in mind that this is not an interrogation that Shakespeare is willing to spare even the victims in his plays from.
Take the character of Julius Caesar, for instance. Here the writer can't dispute that the death in question counts as a tragedy, of a specific sort. What he wants us to pay close attention to is the personal flaw that both contributes to, and ultimately allows the tragedy to take place. At one point in the play, Caesar admits to being "deaf in one ear", and that line is significant. It is the artist's way of signaling to the audience that the title character (both on the stage, as well as in actual Roman history) always carries his fatal flaw about with him wherever he goes. This tells us two things about the leader of Rome. The first is that he is aware of his personal deficiencies, yet he treats it too lightly when it needs addressing the most. Caesar's inability to hear properly corresponds to a lack of perception in terms of both the plot on his life, as well as (both history and the play imply) to his ability to function as a just ruler. The play is then revealed as a kind of double tragedy. The first stems from the flaws of Caesar. The second comes from the fact that this is a flaw he appears to share with his own assassins. Despite all their talk of liberty, both Brutus and Cassius wind up quarreling too much amongst themselves, and their compatriots to effect anything like a positive change. They too are also blind to potential threats.
I share the conviction with Hadfield, Greenblatt, and Asquith that the Bard of Avon's own political views came to rest in a form of pre-American Liberal political thought. Like many of the other great names of his age, Shakespeare began to see how it was possible for a people to live free from the yoke of any sort of crown. Part of the tension that fired his imagination, then, stemmed from the burden of this growing sense of Democracy, coupled with the fact that his own society offered little chance for a man to realize such ideals. A related strand of thought which completed the artist's crisis was the growing awareness that the overall policies of the crown both at home and abroad was in danger of draining the life out of English culture, leaving behind nothing but people as hollowed out husks, rather than free citizens in an open culture capable of thriving under the best possible Humanist ideals. It was this double awareness both of the tyranny of monarchy and its threat to the ideals of justice that fired his Imagination throughout his career, and allowed him to become the Immortal Bard that we know and can still remember to this day. So how does this apply to the case of Phillipa Langley and Richard III?
Well, from what I've read and am able to tell, Shakespeare would have been astounded by this discovery as much as any of the rest of us were. At the same time, he would have exercised a greater sense of public discretion (certainly much better than that displayed by the likes of Richard Taylor), while also not valuing it as much as others. The thing that has to be emphasized here is that while it's true he was and remains the author of Richard III, it's not the same as claiming the writer is a fan of those who stood against him at the Battle of Bosworth Field. Instead, it's more a case of the artist having to write a play at the request of someone in the ruling class, or else it was the type of performance he had to put on in order to further his own position as a struggling, poor player from an otherwise unremarkable middle class background. In fact, even when the Bard had his fame guaranteed as part of the King's Men, when all was done, he remained stuck in his position as a middleclass, lower end white collar worker. In fact, his final years were spent having to supplement his income by working in both farming and cattle marketing. He was never able to live off the income from his plays. It just wasn't allowed in England back then, like it is now, you see. So nothing is quite what it seems.
Plays like Richard III may amount to nothing more than inaccurate Tudor propaganda meant to bolster the claims of the right of monarchs like Elizabeth I to the throne. The key thing that has to be kept in mind is that it was very much a command performance sort of work. The man who first wrote and then staged it all knew he was being forced to do little more than act like a performing monkey for the pleasure of a ruling class that probably saw the making of potentially great works of Art as all beneath them. For them, the thrill of domination over others was all. The rest were just insubstantial shadows. What I'm saying is that I don't think Shakespeare gave any more of a shit about King Richard than he did for either Elizabeth or James I. In the end, for him it was all just a matter of figuring out how to survive the unpredictable whims of a bunch of power junkies with a firm grip on the levers of power. For him, it was more a matter of finding the right ways to balance two conflicting requirements. The Bard had to please the crown whenever it demanded a diversion (which, to his inevitable chagrin, came about perhaps a bit more often than he would have liked) while also finding ways to stay true to his own voice as an artist. The fact that his plays testify to his ultimate success is its own tribute to perseverance.
I think its a mistake to assign any malice aforethought to cases like this. Most of the time, when this stuff happens, when even the most diligent historians get the facts of the Middle Ages or the Renaissance wrong it's because we're all dealing with eras in which we are all so many strangers that sometimes our own history can't help but turn into a jigsaw puzzle that we just don't have all the pieces to. This makes the task of faithfully reconstructing the lives of figures like Shakespeare or Richard III a lot more difficult than if either of them were our contemporaries in the present day. We seem to be on surer ground with things that have happened to us recently, or at least that's what we hope, anyways. We can only go so far before the memory itself runs the risk of becoming a cheat. Writers like Neil Gaiman are able to demonstrate this particular ironic maxim to perfect effect in novels like Violent Cases. It's a fact as true in life as it is in fiction. That's why the efforts of scholars such as Langley can be of very valuable help. People like her make sure we never entirely lose ourselves to the passage of time. The final and most important lesson is that there may be some who would attempt to block others from helping us to make sure the truth of history isn't distorted by setting up roadblocks for anyone who would wish to make sure that the whole truth of real life experience is given its full hearing.
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