The Crown began as a sumptuous costume drama that framed the life and times of Elizabeth II as a grand gallop through the second half of the 20th century. Claire Foy’s Elizabeth was glamorous, her young husband Philip dashing, the 1950s setting sufficiently removed from the present day to feel alluring and exotic. But having started so engagingly six seasons ago, Peter Morgan’s epic valentine to Britain’s longest-serving monarch has now come to a thudding close with six concluding episodes that have all the panache of an old Spitting Image sketch.
Worse than that, the 72-minute finale (available on Netflix from Thursday, December 14th) is dull. Morgan revives the cringeful device he first employed when giving us Elizabeth Debicki’s “Ghost Diana” speaking from beyond the grave in the batch of instalments Netflix released in November. This time, the spirits are of the younger Elizabeth, portrayed by Olivia Colman and Foy. Like a bad knock-off of A Christmas Carol, they manifest as the elderly Elizabeth (Imelda Staunton) considers stepping down in favour of Charles (a chummy Dominic West).
It’s 2005. The popularity of the once untouchable Tony Blair (Bertie Carvel) is now falling. A young Prince Harry (Luther Ford) is boozy and out of control.. Sensible Prince William (Ed McVey) is dating Kate Middleton (Meg Bellamy). Foremost in the thoughts of the queen, however, is the impending marriage between Charles and Camilla (Olivia Williams).
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With the future king finally tying the knot with the woman he loves, Elizabeth is riven with self-doubt. Approaching 80, is it time for her to step aside? Yes, says Queen 2.0 – played by Olivia Colman and manifesting before Imelda Staunton at her stable. No, cautions Her Royal Highness 1.0 – Claire Foy, stalking Staunton at one of her many dusty palaces. That scene is followed by a shot of all three standing at the top of a church. Depending on your perspective, they either resemble a teetering trinity of antediluvian privilege or a right royal reboot of The Expendables.
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Morgan alludes to the death of both Elizabeth and Philip (Jonathan Pryce) by having them discuss their funeral arrangements with their army of assistants. There is also room to explore Harry’s appetite for self-destruction. The Crown restages the notorious fancy-dress party at which he arrives as a member of Rommel’s Afrika Korps (with ahistorical Swastika armband).
The most remarkable aspect of the finale is that it has so much of the queen. Elizabeth has been marginalised throughout season six. She was eclipsed first by Diana. Then by the young William and Kate, whose college courtship bumps against teen drama. There’s lots of Blair, too. He is portrayed as flashy, fake and messianic; Morgan doesn’t care to mention Blair’s contribution to peace in Northern Ireland.
The series concludes with Elizabeth waltzing into the sunset in another of her dreary castles. We’re meant to admire her. But the palace (clearly created with CG) looks fake and empty. In the end, and despite its early promise, so does Morgan’s The Crown.
