We’ve watched Netflix’s The Crown, which premieres November 4. Here’s a full-season review (with a minimal amount of spoilers).
Last week, Hypable released an in-depth review of the first four episodes of Netflix’s new historical drama series The Crown, which stars Claire Foy as Queen Elizabeth II.
The resplendent biographical series dives deep into the British monarchy around the mid-1900s, providing unparalleled insight into the lives of the Windsor family. The pace is slow and the stage is set for decadence and deep, revealing close-ups — a far cry from most of Netflix’s other offerings, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing at all.
Since I have already discussed the finer workings of the series and its beautiful design in the first review, this one will focus on story and character. There will be only minor plot spoilers (if it can be considered such, seeing as most of what takes place in The Crown really happened).
Who is Queen Elizabeth II?
This is the question at the heart of The Crown, and one which Elizabeth herself is forced to answer again and again. Or, more accurately: Where does Elizabeth end and the Queen begin?
Through the 10-episode first season, Elizabeth is constantly put in situations where she has to choose between her two selves and act accordingly: Is she Elizabeth the woman, wife, mother and sister — or is she Elizabeth the Queen, something beyond herself and those she loves?
If the first half of the season is mainly focused on establishing Elizabeth and those around her as sympathetic figures, the second cleverly presents them with moral dilemmas that they don’t always handle in the way we’d want.
In Elizabeth’s case, that mainly comes down to her slowly letting the weight of the crown settle on her head; although the very first episode established that there were two Elizabeths, it becomes increasingly clear that she can’t continue to be both. She has to choose — and, in the show’s own words, “The crown must always win.”
This impacts all of her relationships in various ways, and this is where The Crown becomes truly interesting as a bit of historical commentary because history and/or the tabloids have already told us that Elizabeth’s relationships with her husband, sister and other family members are fraught — but just how did they get that way?
Even if a lot of what happens in The Crown is based on speculation (or if certain historical events have been moved up in the timeline to make things more dramatic), it does offer some insight into the Windsor family dynamics and why they’ve evolved the way they have.
The story isn’t straightforward and doesn’t completely follow your average TV season arc; as a biographical work, The Crown plays it safe, perhaps even too safe at times, but rather that than over-dramatizing and (dare I say it) Hollywoodizing what is, as its core, a trivial story told in an extraordinary setting.
The love story of Princess Margaret and Peter Townsend
As The Crown season 1 progresses, the conflict between Elizabeth and her sister Margaret becomes obvious: Margaret wants to marry a divorced man, something the church (of which the Queen is the head) does not permit.
At the risk of spoiling real history, I’ll just say that this storyline severely tests the bond of the already contentious sisters, who’ve grown up as the respective “pride” and “joy” of their father, and have to balance their very different personalities.
The conflict comes to a head toward the season’s end, and helps to determine once and for all which version of herself Elizabeth has chosen to be. The emotional conclusion to this arc might make viewers question what they’ve seen and felt so far, which isn’t a bad thing — it only serves to make the central figures of The Crown (not just Elizabeth and Margaret) feel that much more multi-dimensional.
Winston Churchill’s tragedy
John Lithgow is mind-blowing in the role of Winston Churchill, a formerly formidable man who simply can’t deal with the irrelevance that ageing brings.
The world is moving on without him, and although he clings to the post of Prime Minister, it quickly becomes apparent that he is no longer needed.
Churchill’s arc intersects with the Queen’s but exists mainly as a separate storyline, which helps to break up the Windsor-centric drama. His final moments on screen are particularly compelling; here’s another complicated human being to whom history has not been kind, and yet The Crown manages to show him from both his good and bad sides, making us view him as a human being rather than the symbol he is now remembered as.
Indeed, this is what The Crown does best: It strips away the expectations and preconceptions we might have as spectators to these people’s lives, and allows them to simply be, for better or worse.
Prince Philip and feminism
At the center of The Crown is Elizabeth’s relationship with her husband Philip.
And this is where I feel like the series could have most easily steered wrong, because if you’re going to make a drama based on Elizabeth’s life, it would be all too easy to paint Philip as the villain of the piece: He’s crass, he resists Elizabeth’s authority, he’s pretty racist, and he’s an alleged womanizer.
The Crown lets him be all of these things, but also allows him to fight for Elizabeth, get his heart broken, and be a good father to his children.
It puts him at the center of Elizabeth’s coronation storyline, which of course changed the relationship between the royal family and the public forever, for better or for worse. But importantly, Philip is the one fighting for the modernization of the crown here; the validity of this woman he married.
This stands in sharp contrast to how he’s behaved up until that point, and serves as a nice reminder that no human is just one thing. Philip is multi-faceted just like everyone else; just because we think we know him based on public opinion and gossip doesn’t mean we know all of him.
Elizabeth the woman doesn’t want to be more powerful than her husband, and Philip the man doesn’t want that either. But as Elizabeth the Queen embraces her role and her relationships to her loved ones change as a result, Philip adjusts — the best he can — and that journey is equal parts fascinating and heartbreaking.
All of these nuanced characters in this detailed, foreign world makes for a slow, somber viewing experience. Despite being a Netflix series, The Crown isn’t for binging, but rather for enjoying slowly — like the kind of fine wine its characters would indulge in.
The series is also brilliantly self-referential in that it lets us get up close and personal with this traditionally untouchable family, and then lets its characters ask the question: Does the public truly want to see these people as real humans, or do we prefer them to be godlike creatures beyond all approach and normality? That’ll be up for the viewers to decide.