This is the kind of flouncy historical drama that Britain just can’t seem to shake the habit of making. It’s a movie in which a life is captured and contained in a series of beautifully executed miniatures. It’s decorative, but suffers from a stultifying lack of drama.

The Young Victoria, which is directed by the Canadian Jean-Marc Vallée and produced by, among others, the odd-couple partnership of Martin Scorsese and Sarah Ferguson, Duchess of York, bears a fleeting family resemblance to Shekhar Kapur’s Elizabeth.

Both movies follow young female monarchs from the point where girlhood is cast aside and the responsibilities of rule are shouldered. Both women are forced to negotiate the treacherous waters of court life and see through the fixed smiles of those who wish them ill.

But while many of the Tudor courtiers were vipers in bejewelled tights and Elizabeth’s was a precarious and dangerous existence, the most stirring and wilful moment in Victoria’s young life as told here is when she decides, at the age of 18, that she is old enough to walk up and down the stairs unassisted.

The screenwriter Julian Fellowes is forced to manufacture and augment dramatic tension. Victoria and her new husband Albert are shot at by a would-be assassin. In reality, neither was harmed but the film has courageous Albert shielding his wife and Queen with his body, and taking a bullet to the chest for his troubles.

While The Young Victoria could never be accused of being gripping entertainment, the relationship between the young Queen and her beloved Albert is persuasive and rather charming. The rising star Emily Blunt plays the cloistered young monarch with a schoolgirlish playfulness and a lively spirit; Rupert Friend brings a poetic pallor and an endearing awkwardness to Albert.

Together they capture the joy of two young people whose destinies have been preordained and whose decisions have been made for them, realising that their mutual regard is something all their own.

When the characters are not being forced to recite chunks of scene-setting historical exposition there are a couple of highly enjoyable performances in the supporting cast. Mark Strong is a snarling pantomime villain as Victoria’s mother’s manipulative and ambitious advisor, Sir John Conroy; Jim Broadbent is hilariously raddled as Victoria’s uncle, King William.

But it’s Paul Bettany who steals every scene he plays as Lord Melbourne, the Prime Minister and Victoria’s adviser. A flicker of distaste passes over his face whenever Victoria brightly inquires about the working poor and their living conditions; rarely have two words been drenched with more disdain than the “How inspiring” with which Melbourne greets the news of Albert’s ideas for housing reform.

PG, 100mins

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