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Simplistic, episodic and hopelessly one-sided? Okay, that's fair. Anachronistic? Definitely. And yet, PRISCILLA works magnificently at the hands of director Sofia Coppola, who's more than proven to be more than another "Nepo baby," but rather, a creative genius in her own right.

Those who take issue with the points listed above have plenty of ammunition to make their arguments with, as the script essentially boils down to the tale of a doe-eyed innocent who learns the pitfalls of trying to share a pop icon (Indeed, the King of all pop icons) with the rest of the world.

If it weren't for the onscreen chemistry of Cailee Spaeny and Jacob Elordi as the star-crossed couple, there's little doubt that this bittersweet memoir would fall flat, even with the sumptuous cinematography, production and costume design that make this bittersweet recollection so appealing. Spaeny is simply magical--who couldn't love her? On the other hand, Elordi managed to conjure up a believable and complex character from a script that reduces his role to a shallow and manipulative brut.

The rest of the cast are fine in their supporting roles, even if they often seem pop in and out of the action like props; this one good, this one bad, this one sweet, that one sour.

There two marvelous exceptions. Dagmar Dominczyk, breathes real life into the otherwise thankless role of Priscilla's mother. She's one to watch and I'll certainly be keeping an eye peeled for this actress in the future.

The other exception is that ensemble commonly referred to as the "Memphis Mafia." With no slight intended towards the individual actors involved, ultimate credit must go to Coppola for nailing this group of king's courtiers and the negative effect they would have had on any married couple.

A film crew photo follows the end credits and deservedly so, given the movie's sumptuous sheen. Love it or hate it, PRISCILLA is certainly easy on the eyes and ears.

The Oscars shut this film out, doubtless because it didn't trumpet a feminist statement, ala the inferior BARBIE, but this is yet another example of award shows that are conducted as popularity contests, ultimately resulting in a shiny bauble, valuable as a tin crown.

Inexplicably, Molly Ringwald makes it through with her dignity intact. Otherwise, this is an embarrassingly unoriginal, aggressively unfunny waste of time and money. Problem one: Carol Kane brings nothing to this project; the first time I've ever seen that! Proof, yet again, that a woman director is just as capable as a man in delivering cinematic dreck!

A cinematic endurance test, tethered to a weakling character that nobody, mother included, would miss if he blundered into the bleak NYC winter night and never returned. Nice to see Richard Edson pop in; pity he had nothing to do.