We’ve had a few films about Elvis Presley told from his point of view, and one from that of his controlling huxter manager, Col. Tom Parker. So it’s long past time for one from that of his longtime love and ex-wife, Priscilla.

Sofia Coppola’s “Priscilla” is a mildly lurid, creepy and wholly credible account of the life of Priscilla Beaulieu, groomed from age 14 to be the literal “little” woman who kept “the home fires burning” for the King of Rock’n Roll.

Cailee Spaeny delivers a suppressed and yearning to break free performance in the title role in a movie that doesn’t give Mrs. Presley much in the way of fireworks as she struggles to gain agency in her life from a man who was, from her early teens (14) her entire life.

Spaeney, who gained some attention from TV’s “The First Lady,” is the breakout star here. But Coppola’s cleverest touch was casting Jacob Elordi of TV’s “Euphoria” as Elvis, who literally towers over the “little girl” in pretty much every scene.

Elordi and Coppola’s version of Elvis smoked and cursed a lot more than we might remember. But he was eight inches taller than even the fully grown Priscilla, whom the 20something pop superstar and Army private courted from junior high past graduation before finally marrying her when she was 22 and he was 32.

Elordi grows into the part, mastering the stammering, disarming drawl in later scenes, capturing the mercurial temperment, Elvis’s childishness, competitiveness, his disatisfaction with the trap of fame, his passion for guns and martial arts. But that all-important visual touch — the height difference — underscores the vast power imbalance in the relationship. Elvis makes Priscilla over, gives eye makeup advice and has her dye her hair. She’s his project, his pet, his plaything.

Elvis is in control from the start, working out ways to get around her military parents’ (Ari Cohen, Dagmara Dominiczyk) objections, charming her with a little gallantry, warning her about “getting carried away” in the sexual clenches.

His previous flings he discounts, newer flings (with Ann-Margret) he denies or downplays. And as he’s already developed the Army-bred habit of taking uppers to stay awake and downers to sleep, he’s the one who chillingly feeds her that first pill.

This Elvis dabbles in spiritualism, plows through books on it and tries to interest his project future wife in them and LSD and curses the bad movie scripts Col. Parker pushes on him. As Elvis manipulates Priscilla, he is at his most submissive in dealing with the unseen and unheard Parker. And every so often he lets flashes of abusive temper and rage show, a petulant, born-poor but always spoiled child now wholly unrestrained by his wealth and celebrity.

It’s a masterfully unsettling film, letting us be charmed by Presley’s country gentility and chivalry as he’s sweet-talking her and her parents, perversely getting his alcoholic business manager dad (Tim Post) to become this child’s legal guardian so she can move in and become “family,” getting her into “a good (Memphis) Catholic school” so she can at least graduate.

But in this teen girl’s fantasy life in Graceland, the anonymity (she’s kept from the public, mostly) is deflating, the silences are deafening, the tedium of primping for an often absent, sometimes unfaithful and all-powerful man soul-crushing.

The lack of fire in Spaeny’s mostly-passive performance may be accurate. Priscilla Presley supervised her own memoir and has a producing credit here, and in all things, “she should know.” But that choice narrows Priscilla’s story arc. As she grew up too fast (a “kept” under-age child gambling in Vegas with “The Memphis Mafia” as a teen), we never see her truly mature.

Yes, she makes friends and acts the adult as she becomes one. But there’s zero hint of an interior life, of an independent, intellectually curious woman yearning to break free from the tiny role Presley carved out for her.

At its best, Spaeny’s Priscilla shows us the face of a victim of sexual exploitation, objectifed into an underage “marriage” via oppressive grooming. At her worst, she’s a rival for Coppola’s vapid version of “Marie Antoinette,” a superficial and incomplete portrait of someone who, when she had agency, did little if anything to let us see the “real” her with it.

That makes “Priscilla” a film timely in its arguments against sexual exploitation, “grooming” and lowering the age of consent, but only as fascinating as its subject, who isn’t interesting in the least on her own.

Rating: R, violence, drug abuse, profanity, sexual situations, smoking

Cast: Cailee Spaeny Jacob Elordi, Ari Cohen, Dagmara Dominczyk, Stephanie Moore and Tim Post

Credits: Scripted and directed by Sofia Coppola, based on the memoir by Priscilla Presley and Sandra Harmon. An A24 release.

Running time: 1:53