While hardly the first British film to soak up such influences, it's the first to splatter them all over our national myths. As such, it transcends both the genteel conventions of the English costume drama and the slick amorality of Quentin and his clones, lock, stock and all the rest.

When Elizabeth I (Blanchett) takes the throne, England is divided between Catholics and Protestants. The royal court is riddled with conspiracies; foreign enemies threaten from all sides. What follows is the tale of how she overcomes these obstacles, unites the faiths into a single church, and makes her nation great again. Cue triumphant cheering? Far from it. For to succeed as a ruler, Elizabeth must fail utterly as a human being.

This isn't a simple matter of losing her innocence. Elizabeth is far from innocent when we first see her: she is knowing, passionate, physical. Inverting our expectations, the price she must pay for success is not innocence but sexuality. To survive in a viciously patriarchal world, she must reinvent herself as the Virgin Queen. Her romance with Sir Robert Dudley (Fiennes) serves as an index of this slow loss of self. As Elizabeth progresses, their sensuous dance becomes a dangerous power game, and finally unravels into a harrowing kind of torture.

Blanchett, as mesmerising as Tilda Swinton was in Orlando, constantly shifts, evolves, adapts to the world around her. Her transformation into a ruthless politician is conveyed through minute looks and gestures. The intimacy she brings to the early scenes gradually gives way to something grander, more regal and remote, something altogether more chilling. She has become an icon, a mask modelled on a cold stone statue, and the sight inspires not applause but pity and fear.

This is a complex work that challenges and provokes by making us feel things we don't want to feel. Each of Elizabeth's triumphs makes us more uncomfortable. There is no simple battle of good and evil to hold on to. Christopher Eccleston brings more humanity to his nominal villain Norfolk than most actors bring to their heroes, while his counterpart, Elizabeth's spymaster Walsingham (Geoffrey Rush), is disturbingly sinister throughout. The camerawork is equally impressive, an unstable kaleidoscope of colour and movement. The film is marred only by patchy dialogue, and some atrocious support acting (Eric Cantona we can forgive, but Dickie Attenborough needs a good kung-fu kicking for his performance).

Historical accuracy? Well, you don't go to the movies to learn about 16th Century politics. Films, even those with historical subjects, have no duty to tell a textbook ‘truth'. Their duty is to tell their story well, to tell us something about ourselves. In this sense, Elizabeth is a true story, and one you should see and see again.

SF Said