Chevalier (2023)

Chevalier is the kind of historical drama that feels newly alive: a story about genius and grit told with the snap of a crowd-pleasing music movie and the bite of a court intrigue. Kelvin Harrison Jr. carries it with star power and sensitivity, making Joseph Bologne’s virtuosity in both the concert hall and the fencing salon feel thrilling rather than dutiful, while the film surrounds him with lush costumes, candlelit rooms, and performances staged like high-stakes showdowns. The tone is romantic and bracingly modern in its energy, but it never forgets the cost of admiration in a society eager to applaud talent and deny personhood in the same breath. If you want a meticulous, lecture-like biopic this isn’t that; it’s an accessible, propulsive introduction to an overlooked figure, and it’s hard to leave without wanting to hear his music.

Chevalier is clearly aiming to rescue Joseph Bologne from historical footnotes with a glossy, crowd-pleasing mix of music, romance, and court politics, and that intention is admirable. The problem is it often plays like a paint-by-numbers prestige biopic: big moments arrive on schedule, characters get simplified into types, and the story can feel overstuffed and a bit soap-operatic as it races from setback to setback. If you want nuanced history, deeper musical immersion, or a less melodramatic approach to racism and power, this may leave you frustrated. Still, Kelvin Harrison Jr. brings real charisma and urgency, the performances are committed, and the film looks handsome enough to satisfy viewers who mainly want a brisk, accessible costume drama with a righteous underdog arc.