[7.5/10] I just don’t know. As a final statement on this era of the show, “Mystery Man” leaves me with mixed feelings. It is, like so much of the show, impeccably shot, directed, and acted. The compositions at Balmoral in particular are gorgeous. The superbly edited sequence of laughter and humiliation that touches the Prime Minister, the Queen, and plenty of other quarters lands with force. And as their final bow in these roles, Claire Foy and Matt Smith deliver outstanding work in the episode’s showpiece scene.
As always, the technical and craft elements of this show are more than on point. I don’t talk about that enough in these write-ups, because the show has established a baseline level of quality, brilliance really, in these things, that it’s easy to take for granted. But the unimpeachable presentation and artistry that comes through in the visual elements of filmmaking that pervade The Crown are inextricably linked with its ability to make meaning.
But I walk away from this season...a little unconvinced by what I take to be the intended meaning.
The titular mystery man here is supposed to be Philip. He is gone when Elizabeth needs him. He goes off to god knows where with no notice as to where he’s off to, and even less about what he’s actually doing. He is, in essence, leading a separate life, one where he gets up to likely infidelity that is unspoken but heavily implied, and one that puts him in proximity to espionage in scandal in a way that could damage both the edifice of the monarchy and, not for nothing, his marriage.
It is understandably devastating to Elizabeth. She is pregnant with her fourth child. She is grappling with a crisis of leadership in her government. And she does this all with a sense of being very much alone. The fear that, despite her marriage, she has no partner, no ally, no confidante to support her through the worst stresses of her role as both a monarch and a person, is palpable.
This is an episode of bad marriages. PM MacMillan is humiliated publicly by satirists and privately by his philandering, scornful wife. Tony Armstrong-Jones is trying to take long assignments away from home so that he can be away from Margaret as much as possible. As with Mike Parker’s antics earlier in the season, you get the sense that this is a means for the show to say, “Philip isn’t great, but he’s not that bad! Other people are worse!” And sure, they are. You feel for Mr. MacMillan, and somewhat for Margaret, having to suffer these bad partnerships.
But I feel more for The Crown’s Elizabeth. As we’ve seen multiple times before, she takes out feelings she can’t express in her private life out on her Prime Ministers in her professional life. Her imploring MacMillan not to resign because of the need for stability, and her calling him weak and declaring her previous Prime Ministers to be quitters, is an ire meant for her husband. Woe be to the poor politicians who must bear a brunt they didn’t earn.
The thrust of the episode, though, is that for all his ill-deeds, Philip is not like Mrs. MacMillan, or Tony, or even the Prime Minister. He is not a quitter. And when faced with the option to check out, to step out, to accept the end of his marriage in deed if not in word, he differs from the rest. He recommits himself, and pledges his devotion.
It all comes out in a bravura scene at Balmoral where Elizabeth and Philip hash everything out. This is The Crown’s equivalent to “Whitecaps” from The Sopranos, where years of grievances and mistrust and resentments come spilling out in one potent scene from a marriage. While understandably less explosive, everyone from The Crown is at their best here. The composition is deliberate, but unshowy. The score is all but absent, letting the performers deliver the complicated emotions of the scene unaided. The writing is delicate in its construction but forceful in its themes. And the performers do marvelous work, conveying in expressions and reactions what might get the production sued if it were spoken aloud.
In that charged interaction, Elizabeth lays it all out. She confronts Philip over his infidelity. She charges him with his lies and omissions. She challenges him on his absences and neglect. And most of all, she gives him an out, some sort of understanding that would give him his steam to blow off while acknowledging the distance between them.
Faced with the option, Philip instead all but pleads to be taken back and promises to rededicate himself to his wife. He says he loves her. The writers invoke important lines of dialogue from past episodes: King George’s reminder that “she is the job” and the loaded question of whether you’re “in or out.” Philip insists that he wants to be there for his wife come what may, to have turned the corner, in what seems plainly meant to be a turning point for him in their marriage, to truly be a willing participant in this all, not a whinging, misbehaving conscript. This is meant to be an earnest affirmation of their love and partnership, and the end of his monkeyshines, be they of the extramarital or spy-adjacent varieties.
But...I don’t really buy it. Once again, I feel the need to offer the disclaimer that I’m talking about the characters in the show here, and that I know very little about the real Elizabeth and Philip. But in the context of the series, we’ve seen this before.
It seemed like Philip had his come to Jesus moment out in his lost weekend to and from Australia. He “named his price” upon return and still committed sins that veer from the distasteful (like flirting with Jackie Kennedy in front of his clearly insecure wife), to the abominable (effectively threatening divorce if he’s overruled on sending their sensitive son to a meatgrinder of a boarding school). The episode plays coy about whether or not he participated in parties with this “perverted” osteopath, but there's little to suggest that he changed his ways in the eight years between when this season started and where it ends.
So why should we buy it now? What makes this time any different or more plausible beyond the fact that it’s the grand finale for this version of these characters? We’ve heard Philip say nice and encouraging things before. And I think the show wants us to believe them this time. But his actions haven't matched up to them up to this point, and we’re given little to suggest they will afterwards either, beyond the abilities of two incredible actors to make us believe what they’re saying.
The one exception is simple but powerful. When Prince Andrew was born, Philip was off playing racquetball, smoking a cigar while he hears the news on the radio. As Prince Edward is born, he is there, in the room, present and supportive for his wife and his family. It is a lovely gesture, and a strong metonym for the idea that he is committed now in a way that he was not before. But one good speech and thirty seconds of him being there during labor doesn’t make up for two seasons of tomcatting and neglect.
What I like about The Crown is that it acknowledges the complexity, the humanity, the messiness behind this institution that it meant to symbolize tranquil perfection. “Mystery Man” tries too hard to tie a neat little bow around it all and suggest that it’s over. The final image is of the collected brood, fidgeting and grousing and, you know, being people, before Philip himself shouts them into stillness.
The implication goes both ways. These are messy, scurrying people who only maintain the facade long enough for the photo to be snapped and distributed for public consumption. But also, that whatever their squabbles, whatever their differences, in the end, they are still a family. I like both ideas. I still like The Crown, even in a second season that was much more uneven than the first. But I wish it had done more to build to that latter notion of solidarity in blood and purpose, if it was meant to be a tonic to twenty episodes of betrayal and strife.
Review by Andrew BloomVIP 9BlockedParentSpoilers2023-08-15T20:22:38Z
[7.5/10] I just don’t know. As a final statement on this era of the show, “Mystery Man” leaves me with mixed feelings. It is, like so much of the show, impeccably shot, directed, and acted. The compositions at Balmoral in particular are gorgeous. The superbly edited sequence of laughter and humiliation that touches the Prime Minister, the Queen, and plenty of other quarters lands with force. And as their final bow in these roles, Claire Foy and Matt Smith deliver outstanding work in the episode’s showpiece scene.
As always, the technical and craft elements of this show are more than on point. I don’t talk about that enough in these write-ups, because the show has established a baseline level of quality, brilliance really, in these things, that it’s easy to take for granted. But the unimpeachable presentation and artistry that comes through in the visual elements of filmmaking that pervade The Crown are inextricably linked with its ability to make meaning.
But I walk away from this season...a little unconvinced by what I take to be the intended meaning.
The titular mystery man here is supposed to be Philip. He is gone when Elizabeth needs him. He goes off to god knows where with no notice as to where he’s off to, and even less about what he’s actually doing. He is, in essence, leading a separate life, one where he gets up to likely infidelity that is unspoken but heavily implied, and one that puts him in proximity to espionage in scandal in a way that could damage both the edifice of the monarchy and, not for nothing, his marriage.
It is understandably devastating to Elizabeth. She is pregnant with her fourth child. She is grappling with a crisis of leadership in her government. And she does this all with a sense of being very much alone. The fear that, despite her marriage, she has no partner, no ally, no confidante to support her through the worst stresses of her role as both a monarch and a person, is palpable.
This is an episode of bad marriages. PM MacMillan is humiliated publicly by satirists and privately by his philandering, scornful wife. Tony Armstrong-Jones is trying to take long assignments away from home so that he can be away from Margaret as much as possible. As with Mike Parker’s antics earlier in the season, you get the sense that this is a means for the show to say, “Philip isn’t great, but he’s not that bad! Other people are worse!” And sure, they are. You feel for Mr. MacMillan, and somewhat for Margaret, having to suffer these bad partnerships.
But I feel more for The Crown’s Elizabeth. As we’ve seen multiple times before, she takes out feelings she can’t express in her private life out on her Prime Ministers in her professional life. Her imploring MacMillan not to resign because of the need for stability, and her calling him weak and declaring her previous Prime Ministers to be quitters, is an ire meant for her husband. Woe be to the poor politicians who must bear a brunt they didn’t earn.
The thrust of the episode, though, is that for all his ill-deeds, Philip is not like Mrs. MacMillan, or Tony, or even the Prime Minister. He is not a quitter. And when faced with the option to check out, to step out, to accept the end of his marriage in deed if not in word, he differs from the rest. He recommits himself, and pledges his devotion.
It all comes out in a bravura scene at Balmoral where Elizabeth and Philip hash everything out. This is The Crown’s equivalent to “Whitecaps” from The Sopranos, where years of grievances and mistrust and resentments come spilling out in one potent scene from a marriage. While understandably less explosive, everyone from The Crown is at their best here. The composition is deliberate, but unshowy. The score is all but absent, letting the performers deliver the complicated emotions of the scene unaided. The writing is delicate in its construction but forceful in its themes. And the performers do marvelous work, conveying in expressions and reactions what might get the production sued if it were spoken aloud.
In that charged interaction, Elizabeth lays it all out. She confronts Philip over his infidelity. She charges him with his lies and omissions. She challenges him on his absences and neglect. And most of all, she gives him an out, some sort of understanding that would give him his steam to blow off while acknowledging the distance between them.
Faced with the option, Philip instead all but pleads to be taken back and promises to rededicate himself to his wife. He says he loves her. The writers invoke important lines of dialogue from past episodes: King George’s reminder that “she is the job” and the loaded question of whether you’re “in or out.” Philip insists that he wants to be there for his wife come what may, to have turned the corner, in what seems plainly meant to be a turning point for him in their marriage, to truly be a willing participant in this all, not a whinging, misbehaving conscript. This is meant to be an earnest affirmation of their love and partnership, and the end of his monkeyshines, be they of the extramarital or spy-adjacent varieties.
But...I don’t really buy it. Once again, I feel the need to offer the disclaimer that I’m talking about the characters in the show here, and that I know very little about the real Elizabeth and Philip. But in the context of the series, we’ve seen this before.
It seemed like Philip had his come to Jesus moment out in his lost weekend to and from Australia. He “named his price” upon return and still committed sins that veer from the distasteful (like flirting with Jackie Kennedy in front of his clearly insecure wife), to the abominable (effectively threatening divorce if he’s overruled on sending their sensitive son to a meatgrinder of a boarding school). The episode plays coy about whether or not he participated in parties with this “perverted” osteopath, but there's little to suggest that he changed his ways in the eight years between when this season started and where it ends.
So why should we buy it now? What makes this time any different or more plausible beyond the fact that it’s the grand finale for this version of these characters? We’ve heard Philip say nice and encouraging things before. And I think the show wants us to believe them this time. But his actions haven't matched up to them up to this point, and we’re given little to suggest they will afterwards either, beyond the abilities of two incredible actors to make us believe what they’re saying.
The one exception is simple but powerful. When Prince Andrew was born, Philip was off playing racquetball, smoking a cigar while he hears the news on the radio. As Prince Edward is born, he is there, in the room, present and supportive for his wife and his family. It is a lovely gesture, and a strong metonym for the idea that he is committed now in a way that he was not before. But one good speech and thirty seconds of him being there during labor doesn’t make up for two seasons of tomcatting and neglect.
What I like about The Crown is that it acknowledges the complexity, the humanity, the messiness behind this institution that it meant to symbolize tranquil perfection. “Mystery Man” tries too hard to tie a neat little bow around it all and suggest that it’s over. The final image is of the collected brood, fidgeting and grousing and, you know, being people, before Philip himself shouts them into stillness.
The implication goes both ways. These are messy, scurrying people who only maintain the facade long enough for the photo to be snapped and distributed for public consumption. But also, that whatever their squabbles, whatever their differences, in the end, they are still a family. I like both ideas. I still like The Crown, even in a second season that was much more uneven than the first. But I wish it had done more to build to that latter notion of solidarity in blood and purpose, if it was meant to be a tonic to twenty episodes of betrayal and strife.