A thorough knowledge of European history, most notably the sixteenth-century conflicts between French Protestants and Catholics and the political intrigue of the French court would help prepare the viewer for Patrice Chereau's Queen Margot (La Reine Margot). Based on Alexandre Dumas' novel of the same name, the film's centerpiece is the Massacre of St. Bartholomew on the night of August 24, 1572 that bloodied the streets of Paris with 6,000 dead bodies, creating images that hearken reminders of the Holocaust.

As with Chereau's other films (like Those Who Love Me Can Take the Train), he plunges the viewer into the scenes without much preparation, causing some initial disorientation. Roger Ebert describes its 1994 Cannes introduction as virtually unwatchable—like looking at the home movies of complete strangers,but it's Chereau's style that takes adjusting to. Miramax has included some introductory historical notes that the viewer may want to watch, but if you're patient, the major characters do begin to sort themselves out as the narrative progresses. In other hands, Dumas' raw material could provide lazy melodrama like last year's ludicrous The Count of Monte Cristo, but Chereau develops a multi-layered work that explores themes of loyalty and betrayal even though its central romance doesn't come off believably.

Queen Margot opens with the politically motivated wedding of Margot (Isabelle Adjani), the Catholic daughter of Catherine de Medici (Virna Lisi) and the brother of Charles (Jean-Hughes Anglade), to Henri of Navarre (Daniel Auteuil), the leader of the Huguenots. The public word is that this wedding is to symbolize a new, united France, but unity is as much a sham as the marriage itself. Despite Margot's insatiable sexual needs (formerly attended to by at least one of her brothers), she forces Henri to agree to never visit her bedchamber. This is fine with Henri; it's a marriage of convenience anyway, and he fancies another maid stationed just above his room.

Things don't work out with Margot's arranged sexual tryst, so the masked bride prowls the streets in search of a suitable man. Due to the wedding, the streets are overrun with plenty of Protestants, and she fortuitously chooses handsome Huguenot leader La Mole (Vincent Perez) to satisfy her lust. This mechanical love-making is supposed to be a magical turning point—something we can accept for symbolic purposes—but the two physically striking actors don't bring enough chemistry to the screen to make the passion feel real.

Catherine proves to be the evil queen of the epic drama, shortened to 144 minutes for American distribution. Her Machiavellian idea of creating unity involves murdering thousands of Protestant wedding guests and consulting her executioner for occult signs of the future and enlisting his knowledge of poisonous potions to knock off selected royalty. Chereau's narrative and cinematic talents are fully realized; he weaves through the ensemble cast with great energy, and the scenes of bloody carnage bring the historical events to life. With a large number of characters, it would be easy to get lost; however, key figures emerge and react like real humans.

Isabelle Adjani shines in her role. Initially she seems selfish and one dimensional, but as the massacre commences, she becomes more complex and plays her role with sincerity, as long as she's not turning into the starry-eyed schoolgirl who moons over La Mole in a romance that plays like fantasy. More believable are her scenes with the plainer-looking Daniel Auteuil (The Closet), who accompanies his heroism with self-doubts and fears, quite believable in a household where reading a recreational book can prove hazardous to your health.

Queen Margot certainly will play much better with French audiences more familiar with French history because Chereau demands a certain amount of patience. But like his portrayal of arsenic poisoning, he's also quite graphic and real. The poison victim doesn't die conveniently and right away—it's a slow death that comes in fits and causes the poor man to sweat blood. But in the end it feels quite realistic and memorable. The same goes for Chereau's portrait of the Massacre of St. Bartholomew—it's not meant to be pretty with images that will appeal to horror and gore fans, but it's worth examining and will linger in memory long afterwards.