The Virgin Queen (1955) – Hoo-boy. Obviously, Bette Davis was better than this, but there’s no way around the fact that this movie exists, and she’s in it. The script could have been passable, except that it feels like someone wrote the script, then ran it through the Elizabethanizer, a machine that replaces “my” with “me” and throws in a few clunky robotic attempts at flowery poetic lines.
My husband brought me the DVD with a warning: “It does not speak to her majesty.” The Virgin Queen should have been, by all rights, a great film. Rarely has such a disappointment been committed to film.