The year is 1667. The place is the king’s hunting lodge in a small village called Versailles. La fallacy pathetique is working overtime and a storm is underway outside as Louis XIV grapples with his problems and assorted courtesans within. His mother, who had hitherto kept a firm hand on France and all its ministers, is dead and the country’s nobles are eager to seize power. No wonder Louis, when we first meet him, is in the middle of an anxiety dream. Fortunately for him, and for viewers who prefer their 17th-century French politics to be served with plenty of boobs, it soon turns into a sex dream. This is less fortunate for his valet, Bontemps (Stuart Bowman, who may be regretting ever picking up that Equity card 20 years ago), whose first order of the day is to sponge ejaculate off the royal belly. Think of that next time you’re complaining about the dirty coffee mugs at work.
His brother Philippe is giving a blow job to his lover, Philippe de Lorraine, and conniptions to the Daily Mail, when news breaks of an impending attempt on the king’s life. Troubleshooter Fabian heads into the woods, finds some Spaniards and kills them. Possibly for plotting an ambush, possibly just for having short hair. “Welcome to Versailles,” he snarls, and the opening credits roll.
Welcome indeed, to the Franco-Canadian series about the Sun King’s intrigues that promises to delight us all for the next 10 weeks. More, if the global supply of brocade and long wigs doesn’t give out before the second series, currently filming, completes.
It’s demented. After the credits, we segue seamlessly into Louis having a Piercing Blue Eyes-off with a pack of wolves and saying to Philippe “Are you with me, brother? Do you have my back?”, the first of many lines to have the pleasingly gamey whiff of a hundred madly typing singes about them.
Philippe does NOT have his back, because de Lorraine has his ear and is dripping poison in it about how lovely it would be for Philippe et Philippe to rule France instead.
Fortunately, Fabian is on the case and we follow him down to the lodge dungeons where a prisoner is being tortured. Is it the scriptwriter? No – a Spaniard. A few judicious axe-blows later and Fabian has the name of their man on the inside: Moncour. Louis recommends that Fabian follow him for a while and find out more about his treachery instead of axing him straight to death, so – after a quick detour to the lodge’s laundry room to keep tabs on which of the court’s women are pregnant or not – Fabian cuts the fingers off a fraudulent tax collector instead. It’s all go for Fabian. He may have the finest work ethic of any man in French history.
In between mistresses, Her in a Diaphanous Shift Who Turns Out to Be His Sister-in-Law and Her What’s Self-Flagellating in Front of the Mirror, Louis is kept busy working out the plans for his new palace. It’s going to be big. And very mirrored. “And that is?” says one of his ministers, pointing apprehensively at a large shaded area on the blueprint. “A big lake, yes,” says Louis, over the sound of another singe keeling over with exhaustion. “Bring the rivers here!”
In the closing minutes, the Queen goes into labour and gives birth to a baby that is not only the wrong sex but the wrong colour. That’s gonna ruffle some ruffles. The plans the attending doctor had laid to flee if the child was not a boy suddenly look woefully inadequate, even if one politely refrains from mentioning that the babe also seems to be an animatronic doll.
Nine more sumptuously risible weeks to go, mes cheris – quel fun we shall have!
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