1x05 Smoke and Mirrors

[8.1/10] I’m a fan of films and television shows where a person says one thing but thinks another. The distance between the image they project, and what they feel in their hearts, is the stuff that great character moments are made of.

Which is why the most fascinating character in this for me is the former King Edward. He writes to his wife about how dreadful London is and he can’t wait to get back, but he seems to cherish his last days with his mother. He desires the circus of it all, but blanches at being effectively disinvited from the coronation. He pokes fun at the coronation and its object to a room full of party guests, but he also looks on with what is plainly a certain wistfulness and envy.

I don’t know anywhere near enough to speak to what the real Edward thought and felt. But what I like about this depiction is the sense that I don’t think this character would do anything different. I think his love for Wallis is genuine. I think his offense at the disrespect she receives is legitimate. And I think given the chance to do it all over again, he would make the same choice.

But I also think there’s a sense in which he wishes it didn't have to be this way, that he looks upon the life that might have been hiss, the crown that might have been his, and laments that he ever had to choose between it and her, even if he’d still pick her. To be raised to be king, to have imagined your whole life that this would be your coronation, to still sit in awe of the magic of the ceremony and the institution it represents, as you’re held at arm's length from it, would be a harrowing sort of thing.

When I started The Crown, the last person I expected to feel sympathy for was King Edward. And I’m not exactly crying tears for the real life person. But for this character, diminished in dignity to hawk soap and suits for the papers, denied even a seat at the table at what was once his by right, compelled to pretend not to be homesick when he is acutely reminded of both what he’s gained and what he’s lost, it all makes for a surprisingly sympathetic and humanized figure.

He also makes for the perfect contrast, once again, to the Queen Elizabeth and how she treats her spouse. For Edward, the weight of sacrifice is felt because these things clearly mean something to him and he still would cast it all aside for Wallis. For her part, Elizabeth makes great stands for Philip, insisting that they buck years of Norfolk family tradition so he can chair the coronation committee and wanting him to have tremendous leeway. But in essence, she makes clear to him that though she is both a spouse and a monarch, the crown must come first. They may be equal partners, but he must still kneel to her.

I admire the show’s willingness to make the juxtaposition. This situation is awkward, but there seems to be genuine love in both royal couples at issue. And yet, Edward does what is necessary to defend the dignity and honor of his wife, and Elizabeth does what she must to defend the dignity and honor of her station. The situations are different. The gender dynamics are different. But it demonstrates, in canny terms, what both Windsors are sacrificing to hold onto what they have, and what’s most important to each of them.

Apart from the comparison, I get a kick out of Phiip’s reforming zeal as an organizer. His comments about modernizing and opening up the coronation, particularly given the optics at a time of austerity, feel prescient in the here and now after we've just seen similar concerns raised about the coronation of King Charles. The advent of television, the democratizing of the ceremony, the point about someone who survived a revolution not wanting a monarch to seem aloof and disconnected from her people all carry the right resonance, adding a philosophical weight to what is, at least in part, a marital dispute as much as it is one of principle.

The coronation itself is The Crown’s best set piece yet. I love the parallels in the opening scene and the near-closing one, where a young Elizabeth helping her father practice before his coronation, and her mirroring the same words and gestures in hers, helps demonstrate the weight of history and the legacy of a loved one that both loom large in this momentous occasion. Elizabeth doesn’t get as much to do here as she has in some episodes (it’s halfway Edward's hour), and yet this is some of the best acting from Claire Foy. The look in her eyes as the magnitude of what she’s succumbing to lands with full force is remarkable, as is the same as the nerves and anxieties and pressure coalesce in the appointment, the kneeing, the kiss from a husband who is also a subject. The nonverbal performance from Foy in particular is superb.

The presentation is the most lavish and loving in the show thus far, aided by the arch but sincere commentary from Edward a channel away. The performance is superb there too with great work from Alex Jennings elucidating the layers between what Edward says and what he feels. But the writing is there to match.

I have no great love for the monarchy or the pomp and circumstance that comes with it. Still, Edward d(and the writers) speak eloquently of the function these events serve. There is, in fact, a magic from the intrigue, the pageantry, the ritual, that turns the utterly ordinary into the elevated and seemingly divine. It is these trappings, as much as any breeding or heritage, that conveys the sense of someone and something greater. King Groge describes it as being reborn, changed, and through Edward’s words and Elizabeth’s looks you believe it, even if it comes with a sense of “for better or worse” rather than the grand ascension it’s intended as.

In the end, I’m not sure who’s happier. Edward is practically excommunicated from his homeland and his family, but he has the love of his life to comfort him. Elizabeth is the recipient of that magic and the keeper of the flame, but seems overwhelmed by a responsibility that seems to come at the expense of her relationship with her husband. If I were to guess, I’d say both feel they made the right choice, but that no matter what they project in public, in private moments, each can’t help but wonder how things might be different, how their lives might be changed, if each could keep grasp of what the other has,