Mathilde (2017)

Mathilde is the kind of historical romance that sweeps you up on sheer cinematic splendor: candlelit palaces, gilded theaters, and a St. Petersburg that feels painted in velvet and gold. It leans into a lush, operatic vibe where emotion runs high and every costume and ballroom scene seems designed to dazzle, turning history into a glamorous, fever-dream melodrama. If you’re on the fence, think of it less as a meticulous textbook and more as a richly staged fantasy about desire, power, and the dangerous proximity of love to the throne. It won’t be for viewers who demand strict historical sobriety, but if you want a lavish escape with romance and spectacle, it’s an easy film to sink into.

Mathilde is aiming for a lush, scandal-tinged historical romance, using a famous ballerina’s memories to frame a doomed affair with the future Nicholas II amid imperial pressure and gilded tragedy. The problem is the film often mistakes pageantry for storytelling: the script leans into soapier melodrama, the pacing drifts, and the characters don’t get enough depth to make the emotions land. If you’re coming for a sharp, historically grounded portrait of the Romanovs or a romance with real spark, you may find it contrived and oddly inert. Still, if you’re happy to treat it as glossy period escapism with costumes, ballrooms, and ballet atmosphere doing most of the work, there’s some visual pleasure to be had.