Greta Garbo, at the height of her popularity, was given almost complete control over this project: choice of director, cameraman, leading man, and apparently the rest of the cast. She chose Rouben Mamoulian, one of the cinema's great innovators, to direct; William H. Daniels, who shot her in a total of 22 films, to photograph; and John Gilbert, her former offscreen lover, a silent star whose star was quickly fading, as her leading man. The whole is less than the sum of its parts, but it is of interest for four great scenes, one great closeup, and a homosexual subtext that was daring for its time.

Queen Christina (Garbo) was a real-life 17th-century queen of Sweden. Most of the details the film gets right: she ruled from the age of five, was raised as a boy, tended to dress in men's clothes, brought peace to Europe in helping end the Thirty Years War, wasn't interested in a political marriage to produce an heir, and abdicated her throne. The real Christina is widely viewed as bisexual, and the film plays on that element with an ambiguous relationship between Christina and one of her handmaidens. So much for the history; it's never the most interesting thing about historical epics anyway (or at least it shouldn't be). This film has more to say about 20th-century relationships and about Greta Garbo than it does about history.

In the film, Christina is a benevolent ruler who tires of war and sues for peace against the wishes of her generals and advisors. She's having an affair with her slimy treasurer Magnus (Ian Keith), but she's supposed to marry her cousin, the victorious general Charles (Reginald Owen), but she doesn't want to marry at all. "I shall die a bachelor," she proclaims later in the film. Tiring of the intrigues of court, she disguises herself as a man and travels through the country. She encounters the ambassador from Spain, Antonio (John Gilbert), whom she is supposed to receive at court when he arrives. She doesn't let on that she's a woman, leading to the first of the great scenes.

The two of them drink and talk long into the night, sharing a "manly" camaraderie that quickly grows past mere affection and into something akin to sexual attraction. When it comes to pass that they must share a room, Mamoulian sets it up as an agonizingly slow and suggestive pas de deux, where they hesitantly prepare to share a bed as men. The tension is so delicious that I couldn't help but giggle. There's one great shot where Antonio looks across the bed at her and then down, obviously questioning the attraction he feels for his new "friend." Soon, though, she reveals her true sex—but not her true identity—and the wheels of Hollywood romance start spinning. The second great scene occurs the next morning, as Antonio's valet enters the room and addresses the closed curtains of the bed, which contains, he thinks, two men.

David Thomson tells us that the third great scene is inspired by events in Garbo's life. Toward the end of their escape from everything but each other, when soon Christina must return to being Queen and Antonio must find out who she really is, Garbo walks slowly around their love nest in the remote inn, running her hands across everything, gazing at the furniture as if to implant it in her mind, so that "In the future, in my mind, I shall live a great deal in this world." Is it part of the Garbo legend, or is it fact, that when she came into the room of the man who discovered her, now recently deceased, she did this very thing, touching everything as if to memorize it forever? Thomson says "Did such an incident occur in real life? If not, it should have."

Inevitably, she must return to court, and inevitably, he must discover who she really is, leading to the last great scene. The film then turns into a typical historical epic romance, in which the devious members of her court, fearing that she could marry a Catholic, turn the people of Sweden against Antonio. She comes to realize that a marriage between the Protestant Queen and the Catholic emissary can never work, so she takes the surprising step of abdicating after setting up an island love nest for her and Antonio. But things don't always work out the way we want them to.

After the first half is done, the only elements of real interest are Mamoulian's direction and the camera work. Mamoulian was an early innovator in the use of moving cameras, an art that had seemingly been lost with the advent of sound. The new sound cameras were huge and immobile, and the limitations of single-track audio made it impossible to move the camera without the sound being picked up by the microphone. Mamoulian experimented with microphones and sound-damping casings for the camera, restoring the mobility that had developed during the silent era. The mobility, coupled with cinematographer William H. Daniels's use of soft-focused closeups of Garbo's statuesque face, makes the film visually interesting. Hell, Garbo's face makes anything visually interesting. One of the funniest things about the barroom scene is the idea that anyone would mistake Garbo for a man, even in drag.

This was leading man John Gilbert's second-to-last film; he had been a huge star in the silents, but his career fizzled when sound came to Hollywood. It is usually reported that he had a high-pitched voice that didn't record well, but anyone watching this film can see that it just isn't the case. More likely, according to Thomson, he was a mediocre actor with a high opinion of his own greatness, which led him to conflicts with a studio (he reportedly punched studio head Louis B. Mayer) unwilling to pay for the trouble he caused. He's good here, and likeable, but there's nothing special about him. His career died, and he drank himself to death at the age of 37.

So much of this film reflects Garbo's enigmatic public image that one wonders how much of it was added to the script after she had been attached to star. This is yet another reclusive, misunderstood woman, to add to a list that includes the ballerina in Grand Hotel who just wants to be left alone, along with the title characters in Anna Karenina, Camille, and Ninotchka, her best sound film. When she quit acting in 1941, at the age of 36, she became a legendary recluse. Unlike Queen Christina, who apparently attempted to take back her throne on two occasions after several years as a civilian, she never changed her mind.