Late last year, Netflix stunned critics and anglophiles with their opulent original series “The Crown.”A dramatic retelling of Queen Elizabeth II’s reign, the series illuminates a cast of characters who slip in and out of Her Royal Highness’s life, leaving behind messes and complications. Ceremonious even in her exasperation, the Queen is left to clean up after everybody for the sake of the monarchy. (I don’t mean actually clean, of course. That would be madness.)
For a show about Queen Elizabeth II, “The Crown” disproportionately revolves around men. In season one, we paid close attention to the legacies of Winston Churchill and King George. Season two focuses on Elizabeth’s marriage to Philip, Duke of Edinburgh (Matt Smith). There are plenty of other things going on — season two is almost more anthology than chronology — but Philip’s childish antics bookend the season. If “The Crown” is, at its heart, a show about a woman forever reeling in the aftermath of male ego, season two takes that premise and dials it up to eleven. The results are fascinating, exasperating, and exquisite.
The season opens on a tense face-off between our royal sweethearts. “So what would make it easier on you?” Elizabeth asks Philip pertly, the ghost of an eyebrow raise flitting across her stately forehead. “To be in, not out. What will it take?”
“You’re asking my price.” It’s perhaps supposed to be a question, but Philip deadpans like a true blue blood.
“I’m asking,” Elizabeth clarifies, “what it will take.”
We then begin a five-months-earlier flashback that lasts three episodes, allowing creator Peter Morgan and his writing team to fill in all our contextual gaps. The season paints a breathtaking portrait of Philip and Elizabeth’s complicated (manipulative? toxic?) marriage, showing us how the happy couple in the series’ first episode become the bitter negotiators who open season two.
If you thought Philip’s cries of emasculation in season one were ridiculous, you may want to brace yourself. Poor Philip, who will forever live outranked by a woman, embarks on a season-long quest to be as callous and immature as possible. A ballerina causes tension. The video camera from season one makes a tragic return. Things get hairy as we finally learn more about the lunch club — and not just because Philip participates in a beard-growing contest. And at the quiet, composed center of it all (even when she’s not getting as much screen time as she deserves), is our Queen.
Between dodging philandering scandals and dying to be taken seriously, Elizabeth carries on with a special Protestant blend of grace and emotional repression that is exhilarating to watch. The best episode of the season is also the most Elizabeth-centric. Episode 8, “Dear Mrs. Kennedy,” sees our Queen grappling with the dazzling stardom of first lady Jackie O. Just as season one dedicated an episode to Elizabeth’s scholarly inadequacies, “Dear Mrs. Kennedy” elucidates her insecurities about aging, public perception, and monarchy itself. The result is a multifaceted portrayal of womanhood that undoubtedly owes its success to lead actress Claire Foy. As Elizabeth, Foy imbues even the minutest actions with meaning. In Episode 1 she sets the tone for her performance, walking down a hallway with all the emotional subtlety of an actor decades her senior. Whether inhaling sharply or poignantly closing a door, Foy’s performance is so empathetic and engrossing that you’ll find yourself rooting for Elizabeth II, one of the most inaccessible people in the world, like a member of your own family.
It would take a very smart script, apt direction, and pitch-perfect acting to make this American feel sorry for a bunch of too-rich imperialists, and damn it if “The Crown” doesn’t pull it all off. The script plays with temporality and history so well that the most boring topics become fascinating. Each episode is superbly directed with slick panache and historical reverence. Foy’s Elizabeth is an excellent foil to her tragic, hedonistic sister Margaret, who Vanessa Kirby portrays with aplomb. The greatest surprise of the series is Finn Elliot, who plays a young prince Philip in flashback with unprecedented emotional intelligence. It’s a performance so good, you almost want to root for Philip. Almost.
Unlike its intransigent characters, hell-bent on maintaining monarchy in the modern world, “The Crown” is unafraid of change in season two. The camerawork is more playful, the narration more experimental. There’s a sex scene, and even a joke or two. The show’s first female director, Philippa Lowthorpe, makes her debut. Matthew Goode lands a recurring role as Tony, Margaret’s slim-hipped love interest. Nearly all these changes amplify the show’s preexisting assets, though it’s not all fabulous. It’s appalling — though probably accurate — to hear the way these characters talk about gay people, and exhausting to see misogyny masquerade as romance. The show gives more deference to Nazis than it does to African politicians seeking to escape imperialism.
“The Crown” is served with a healthy dollop of regression, but it is an undeniably well-made show. So well-made, in fact, that you’ll find yourself empathizing with the most privileged people in the world. Sure, I need to sort out these unpaid bills, you’ll think, but will Prince Philip successfully steer his private plane?! If good art shows us unexplored perspectives, then good film asks us to embody them. So strap on a sash and polish your tiara, because the superb sophomore season of “The Crown” is about to introduce you to the royal family’s newest member: you. [A]