The subject of Benoit Jacquot’s “Farewell, My Queen” is not my departure Monday for Philadelphia. Rather, it’s Marie Antoinette (her again?) during the last days of Versailles. Jacquot was actually allowed to film at Versailles, and it’s a secondary failing of the movie that he’s failed to capture the decadent grandeur of the place, the sheer flawless vulgarity of it (to borrow a line from “Small Time Crooks”). The primary problem is an overstuffed plot that would require an MIT wall-size dry-erase board to diagram.
