Extra Ordinary Ideas

Love and Libertarianism in a Time of Kings and Queens

I saw Lady Jane last night for the first time in years. The film is loosely based on historical truth, and follows the story of a sixteen-year-old girl who becomes Queen of England for nine days following the death of her teenaged cousin and friend, King Edward VI.

Edward, the only son of Henry VIII, reigned at a time of deep conflict between adherents to the Roman Catholic Church that Henry had cast off and the Protestant political cronies who had absconded with most of its local wealth. Henry willed his succession first to Edward, and then to his Catholic daughter Mary. But when it becomes clear that Edward is dying, his scheming chancellor, the Duke of Northumberland, arranges Jane’s marriage to his own son Guilford and convinces Edward to declare Jane his successor instead.

The plan appears perfect. Jane is a devout Protestant child, Guilford is a drunk, and the Duke will continue to run England as he has since Henry’s death: for the benefit of himself and his friends.

But together, Jane and Guilford become extraordinary. Her principled nature and his rebellious passion inspire each to believe briefly that they can change what is wrong with England. When they find each other, they abandon everything that was never worth having in the first place, beginning with the crystal wedding goblets they shatter to grant each other’s deepest wishes:

What do you want?

I want a world where men are not branded or sent to slavery because they cannot grow the food they need to eat.

It’s done!

What’s next? Death to all bishops, cardinals and popes?

An end to their power over men’s and women’s souls.

It’s done! And the power of kings and dukes and princes over their bodies and their minds.

Done! A world where children are not beaten and cajoled, but loved and nurtured.

Done!

A brief, glorious political disaster results. Jane ascends the throne, and immediately demands sound currency (“a real shilling!”) to stop spendthrifty royal functionaries from eating away at the value of the peasants’ money. She orders that the lands Henry had seized from the Catholic Church – historically farmed by the peasants – be returned to the peasants in perpetuity.

Her unheeded senior advisors, landed gentry with much to lose, disappear one day, and Jane and Guilford are taken to London Tower to be tried and beheaded for treason against Mary.

Most films about teenagers claim to capture the details we would like to forget. But really, they make us glad to be older, focusing disdain on the bad acne, social brutality and trivial insecurities of the very young.

See Lady Jane only if you are brave enough to remember what was desperately wonderful about being sixteen. Remember knowing that you could change the world. Remember having nothing to regret, and the confidence that you could make right choices. Remember knowing that you can’t own your life unless you are willing to risk everything you have at every moment. Remember being prepared to do so. Remember knowing that it isn’t your fault, but that you can fix it. Remember loving someone who understands and loves you also, and that this remarkable fact means that you’ll always be together.

Lady Jane is the inverse of a cautionary tale. It could be nostalgic, but should be unsettling. It reminds us of what we trade in, if we aren’t very careful, for comfort and sophistication. Watch it in a non-ironic moment, or to inspire one.

Posted by Marie Gryphon on March 26, 2004