A piece of Maltese history, Blood on the Crown is an academic narration of Sette Giugno’s dramatic events sans the drama. Unclear of its own intentions, there is nowhere to go for this disappointing award-winning flick.
At the first Malta Film Awards, Blood on the Crown left as the night’s greatest winner, sweeping seven awards but missing out on the coveted Best Film (given to The Boat). With multiple achievements in a wide spread of categories, director Davide Ferrario’s historical drama promises excitement, action and a gruelling reality as it travels back in time to an oppressed Malta, recounting the events of the Sette Giugno riots. Yet, as the film opens with a flash forward post-protests, a trope that quickly removes any suspense, it becomes apparent that Malta’s cinematic poster boy is closer to a straight-to-TV educational flick rather than a theatrical experience.
Set in 1919, Blood on the Crown spans the days leading up to the fateful rebellion that led to British soldiers killing four citizens. Anyone who has attended the Maltese scholastic system knows the story, a time where Britain ruled the islands and treated its people like dogs; animals to be conquered and ordered. The country is malnourished, uneducated and drowning in poverty so, as has been historically proven, the Maltese aren’t ready to let things stay the same.
These are big shoes to fill, a hurdle that is proven to be too high for the local production. Written by Jean Pierre Magro, Blood on the Crown attempts to capture a country in fervour by cutting down on the action and increasing the exposition. Rather than showing a nation on the verge of a breakdown, there are many scenes where politicians preach about the British and their vile attitude.
And while all the context is there, it is never truly seen. When the bureaucrats are listening to revolutionary soliloquys, they stand silently still, not even nodding in agreement. When the poor should be scrambling to work, they are emotionless mannequins, not a single look of desperation among any of them. And, as all the extras look on with mollified eyes, the rest of the set is barren, void of human life and existence. There aren’t random passers-by, just empty town squares with a lone crate in the corner and a handful of drying clothes from a balcony, if you are lucky.
Were my expectations too high after the awards?
As if to emphasise the post-apocalyptic absence of life, the cinematography rarely dares to venture out of the safety of the wide shot, glaringly opting to show how empty the sets truly are. Whether it is children poking fun at one another or generals in a war room, tension is held solely through the rigid and over-explanatory dialogue, the camera half-heartedly capturing what little suspense is left.
At no point did I ever feel like I was transported back to 1919. If anything, the tone being set was that of a student budget and not the multimillion project this was meant to be. Out of creativity or more likely convenience, many scenes take place during the middle of the day with only a handful at night, one of which being an abrupt sex scene that adds nothing of value, bar that this couple do the deed (a fact already known due to them having children). The mornings and evenings don’t exist in 1919, everything taking place at the same time with no difference in colour, shadow or shot to differentiate an already struggling continuity.
Not even Hollywood legends Harvey Keitel and Malcolm McDowell can save the day, their rigid acting feeling like they are reading their lines off hidden cue cards. As Keitel awkwardly (and incorrectly) fans himself, it became clear that even brilliant actors can’t fix misguided direction and editing.
There are some glimmers of hope, but they are squashed immediately by irrelevant subplots – a glaring issue considering the complete lack of engagement in the main story. As the film edges towards a climax, the rioters are shown in action and although the scenes still look and feel desolate, the camera shakes vigorously as windows are smashed and chairs are broken. These are the first instances of violence to be seen, and it is the Maltese doing it. Where is this anger coming from, because from where I am sitting, the English may be the villains, but they certainly don’t look like it – we are only told they are.
Were my expectations too high after the awards? Maybe, but as someone who has seen many of the other nominees, there is a clear difference between what should have won and what did. As informative as Blood on the Crown may be (which is little), it is creatively equivalent to a school report detailing a handful of important facts and events without any of the excitement. And as if to rub salt in the wound, the film finally ends on photographs of these real historic moments, and all I could see was how full of life they looked, how much energy there was in these still images. I wonder where it all went.