The Favourite

Yorgos Lanthimos’s The Favourite (2018) is a razor-sharp, anarchic subversion of the historical period drama that centers on a volatile, triangular power struggle between three formidable women in the 18th-century court of Queen Anne. Far from the staid, decorative roles traditionally assigned to women in such settings, the film presents a world where men are marginalized—reduced to wig-wearing, duck-racing fops—while the true levers of state power are pulled by women driven by ruthless ambition, desire, and survival. At the heart of the narrative is Queen Anne (Olivia Colman), a monarch suffering from gout and grief, whose affection becomes the ultimate political currency fought over by her longtime confidante and lover, Lady Sarah Churchill (Rachel Weisz), and a cunning, downwardly mobile newcomer, Abigail Hill (Emma Stone). Lanthimos uses this intimate psychodrama to explore the darker corridors of female agency, suggesting that power is not a noble pursuit but a corruptive game that deforms the spirit of both the oppressor and the oppressed.

The film’s feminist impact lies in its refusal to idealize female solidarity, choosing instead to portray women with the same capacity for cruelty, political machination, and strategic sexual exploitation as their male counterparts. Sarah Churchill’s influence over the Queen represents a form of governing that is both intellectual and intimate, while Abigail’s ascent highlights the precariousness of female survival in an era where a woman’s status depended entirely on royal favor. The queer subtext is not merely a subplot but the film’s central engine; same-sex desire is weaponized as a tool for advancement, complicating the boundaries between genuine affection and cold-blooded opportunism. This portrayal challenges the “moral superiority” often projected onto female characters in cinema, offering a gritty, “unlikable” representation that asserts a woman’s right to be as flawed and power-hungry as any man in history.

Cinematically, Lanthimos employs his signature absurdist style, utilizing extreme wide-angle and fisheye lenses to distort the palatial interiors into a surreal, fishbowl-like cage. This visual distortion serves as a metaphor for the alienation and moral warping inherent in the court’s power games. The gorgeous, high-contrast costume design and the use of natural light (and shadows) further emphasize the performative nature of court life, where every look and gesture is a calculated move. Olivia Colman’s tour-de-force performance anchors the film’s tonal shifts between pitch-black comedy and profound tragedy, transforming Queen Anne from a pathetic figure of ridicule into a deeply human vessel of loss. Ultimately, The Favourite is a cynical but necessary evaluation of gender and power. It argues that while women can indeed seize the throne and command armies, the structures of power they inhabit remain traps that can only be managed through a relentless, soul-crushing competition for “favor.” By the final, haunting shot, the film leaves us with the unsettling realization that for women in this system, victory is often indistinguishable from absolute isolation.