Napoleon Bonaparte occupies an odd place in European history. Of all the would-be conquerors who practiced despotism over the last half-millennium, Napoleon was the most civilized and organized. Even his foes acknowledged his superior intellect and profound vision. He's the tyrant that it's okay to admire. Antoine de Caunes' historical drama Monsieur N. considers the effect of that pervasive respect on the last years of Napoleon's life, when he was exiled on St. Helena, guarded by men who often let the prisoner give the orders.
The battle of wills between the former emperor (Philippe Torreton) and the governor (Richard E. Grant) assigned to supervise his imprisonment is narrated by Jay Rodan, a young British soldier torn between his allegiance to his superior, who would just as soon poison his charge and be done with it, and his admiration of Napoleon, who seems in every sense a greater man. While the governor plots assassinations and Napoleon plots escapes, Rodan marks the passing years by nurturing an unrequited love for Siobhan Hewlett, a British woman who asks flip questions like "How's Boney?" to mask her secret passion for Napoleon. Hewlett and Rodan essentially represent the torn judgment of history, unable to decide what to make of Napoleon, but to their credit, the two young actors play the roles like real people. They could pass for excitable teens, more concerned with who's dancing with whom at the ball than with the violent toll of early 19th-century politics.
De Caunes and screenwriter René Manzor do well when they dwell on history from a mundane human perspective, but Monsieur N. is too dry and too unsurprising for its two-hour running time, especially once the romantic melodrama gives way to chases, gunfights, and conspiracy theories. Still, Torreton brings charisma and sagacity to his performance as Napoleon, even when all he's asked to do is putter around and drop pearls of wisdom like "A man who escapes admits he's a prisoner," and "Men will sacrifice reason to imagination." His best line comes when he squabbles with Grant about the Battle Of Waterloo and how his record as military leader will be recalled. "Only one battle counts," he sighs. "The final one."