Hearing that Sofia Coppola would make a biopic of Priscilla Presley mere months after Baz Luhrmann’s bombastic Elvis was like waking up on Christmas morning to your parents giving you a gift you didn’t tell them you wanted. It was wish fulfillment for the girls and the gays everywhere — to get the side of the story that Luhrmann’s film completely avoided. With Coppola having proven she could put her signature coming-of-age spin on biopics of historical icons, there was nothing to fear. The story of one of the most famous wives in the world was in good hands. That’s what makes seeing the final product so painful. This could have been truly great. A fun but melancholic, ultra-feminine middle finger to the glorification of men who lived two lives. But Coppola plays it safe and offers a disjointed compilation of the highs and lows of a toxic marriage — and not much more.