Certain trailers that have been running on television might lead one to believe that "Elizabeth: The Golden Age" deals at some length with the stunning English defeat of the Spanish Armada in 1588. As it turns out, that length is roughly ten minutes at the bitter end of a two hour movie about Queen Elizabeth I's struggle to be liked for who she is. If 110 minutes of a woman in bad clothes with bad hair fretting over being taken seriously and being her own person sounds like entertainment to you, by all means turn off Oprah, drop the cheesecake, and get your ass to a movie theater. Everyone else: stay the hell away from this catastrophe.

Elizabeth, as played by the elf from Lord of the Rings, is one of those phony woman characters you see in movies who is very strong-willed and expert at operating in a male-dominated milieu (in this case, 16th century geopolitics), but in private is a weepy twit whose irrational emotions drag her around by the nose until she overcomes them -- usually with a little help from a man. Since no strong woman I ever met was weepy or irrational, I think this kind of imaginary character appeals to one sort of person only: weepy irrational twits who dream about becoming strong women someday... and maybe getting to kiss Clive Owen while they're at it. This isn't just a chick movie, it's a basket-case chick movie. One half wonders if the Republican Party, or possibly the Obama and Edwards campaigns, didn't have something to do with this portrayal of female national leader as train wreck.

One of Elizabeth's main problems of course is that she has no husband, and consequently no heir. This leads to some agonizing scenes in which the continent's most eligible inbred royal bachelors come to woo Elizabeth. Note to guys who get dragged to see this movie: this would be a good point in the movie to go to the bathroom and get some popcorn and maybe get your hair cut and catch a couple innings of the game. She ultimately falls for dashing pirate Walter Raleigh (Owen), only to lose him to one of her ladies in waiting. Typically, this sends her into a jealous fit that is more reminiscent of a scorned ninth grader than a furious monarch. Kudos to Owen for not laughing during the scene, though I have no idea how many takes it took him.

The final sequence may be one of the biggest letdowns in recent movie history. The critical naval engagement is reduced to a few ten-second shots of CGI frigates exchanging broadsides, a sequence showing English sailors wounded and dying, and a finale in which Clive Owen apparently wins the battle by lighting his ship on fire and crashing it into a Spanish ship (and improbably surviving). More time is spent on Elizabeth's stirring speech to a bunch of infantrymen who wound up not having to fight. And so a crucial international struggle and major battle become window dressing for the story of how Elizabeth got her groove back.

Academy voters: you now have your obligatory period piece to give the Best Costume award to.

--Dano