Art vs reality

Watching the latest series of The Crown seems like an exercise in voyeurism

So the final season of The Crown (or rather, the first four episodes) dropped on Netflix. And there was a certain predictability to the way I dropped everything else and settled down on my couch to binge watch it. And now, after that marathon viewing session, here are some of my thoughts. 

• The more recent the events covered by The Crown, the more uncomfortable the watch. Now that we are into the period in which Princess Diana died tragically, watching the show feels like an exercise in voyeurism. We see her talking with her young sons, William and Harry, on the phone, all three oblivious to the fact that this will be their last conversation. We look on as Prince Charles wakes up his ‘darling boys’ to break it to them that their mother has died. Mercifully, the scene is sans any audible dialogue but just seeing the expressions of devastation on William and Harry’s faces makes you feel as if you are intruding on a family tragedy. (Spoiler alert: that is exactly what all of us watching are, in fact, doing.)
• Elizabeth Debicki looks uncannily like Diana and is decked out in an identical wardrobe to depict the Princess’ last days on earth. But for all her cocking her head sideways and looking up shyly in a manner that is supposed to mimic the Princess, she fails singularly in projecting the charisma and star quality that made Diana such a supernova on the world stage. She plays Diana as a victim — perhaps with the benefit of hindsight — when in reality Diana was emerging, post-divorce, as a significant force in her own right. Diana’s strength and power as she took on the royal family are missing in this portrayal which is keen to emphasise her sadness and essential loneliness. 
• You never feel more regretful of the rift that has formed between William and Harry than when you watch the bond between the brothers as they negotiate boyhood together within the protocol-bound confines of the royal family. They laugh and josh with their parents as a team. They both seem suspicious of the sudden closeness blooming between their mother and Dodi Fayed. And when tragedy strikes William is the protective brother who tries to shield Harry from the world and the knowledge that things will never be the same again for either of them. What a shame that brotherly bond could not endure into adulthood. 
• And finally, why does Peter Morgan, the creator of The Crown, hate the late Queen Elizabeth so much? Whatever else you might think of her — and by all accounts, she was not a great mother — she was an adored grandmother in her later years, with all her grand kids testifying to how much she loved them. And yet, even as Diana lies dead and her sons are inconsolable, we don’t get as much as a glimpse of the Queen comforting them — even though both William and Harry credited her with getting them through that awful time. But I guess a remote and unfeeling Queen is what worked best in Morgan’s script, so that’s what we are saddled with here.

       As they don't say, the pen is mightier than the crown -- at least in the universe

       of the Crown.

God Save The Queen

The story of the British royal family is a soap opera to beat all soap operas

 

I found out about Queen Elizabeth II ‘s passing when I landed in Sydney after a 12-hour non-stop flight from Delhi. Switching on my phone, I saw that The Queen was trending on Twitter and clicked on the hashtag with some trepidation. And saw, to my immense sadness, that she had died, two days after she had shaken hands with her outgoing Prime Minister, Boris Johnson and welcomed the new one, Liz Truss. Queen Elizabeth had promised many decades ago that her life, be it long or short, would be dedicated to the service of the nation. And, true to her word, she served her people and her kingdom till her very last breath.

 

What a woman! What a life! And what a funeral…

 

Even though I was attending an event in Sydney, I found myself sneaking away ever so often to watch the proceedings as the United Kingdom, over which she had reigned for 70 years, came together to say goodbye to her. In fact, so long and protracted were the proceedings that the last leg – the funeral service at Westminster Abbey and the committal service at Windsor Castle – took place after I had arrived back at my home in Delhi. 

 

As I watched that tiny, lead-lined coffin being lowered into the vault at St George’s Chapel, I found myself thinking about the remarkable arc of the Queen’s life. And then, on a sudden impulse, I found myself tuning into the first season of The Crown on Netflix, to watch the fictional depiction of how she first came to the throne.

 

That’s the thing about the British royal family, you see. Yes, they are real flesh and blood people with real lives that they live in the real world. But they are also the best soap opera that has ever been put on for the delectation of the watching world, a sort of royal The Bold And The Beautiful that takes in everything from adulterous spouses, tragic princesses, traumatic deaths, problem children, and every other daytime TV trope.

 

Watching the first ever episode of The Crown ever aired, I began to wonder how the show might depict the events of the past few years, and which elements of the royal story would get picked up for a fictional re-telling.

 

I mean, how could you resist the dramatic possibilities of Megxit? The beautiful biracial American divorcee sweeps the dashing but dim ginger Prince off his feet – and then sweeps him off to America, because it is impossible for them to ‘thrive’ in the royal fold. Cue, a heart-to-heart with the Queen of Hearts of the American people, with accusations of racism and cold neglect flying around, with the added frisson of figuring out which Duchess made the other Duchess cry. Admit it, it would be compelling viewing, and I certainly wouldn’t be able to resist. 

 

Then, there is the Pervy Prince Plot, starring Andrew, whose association with Jeffrey Epstein and Virginia Guiffre (who, it must be said, he denies knowing but paid many millions of pounds to) led to his exile from royal life. Imagine the dramatic possibilities of fleshing out the scene as Andrew goes cap in hand to the Queen to ask for a handout to pay off the woman he allegedly had underage sex with. (“And what do you need the money for, darling boy?”)

 

If this gets to be rather heavy going – not to mention, downright icky – you could introduce a comedic sub-plot, starring King Charles and his legion of leaky pens. Every time the new King is asked to sign a visitor’s book or a new piece of legislation, he would be handed a pen that would then explode in his hands, staining his stubby little fingers. The King would then, in turn, explode with rage and frustration. Enter: the only woman who can calm his righteous anger, his wife, Camilla, now miraculously transformed from Wicked Mistress to Stately Queen Consort. (Now that’s a backstory worth exploring!).

 

And I haven’t even got to the melodrama surrounding the Queen’s funeral yet. Would Harry be allowed to wear his military uniform? Would Meghan and Catherine exchange as much as a smile – or a word – in public? Would the warring brothers, William and Harry, reconcile at this sad time?

 

It’s a soap opera to beat all soap operas – especially since it is hard to tell fact apart from fiction.

 

Picture perfect

When it comes to projecting a public 'image', women tend to be more successful than men

When you hear the words ‘iconic image’ what is the first picture that flashes before your mind’s eye. Is it the streak of white in a shock of curly black hair that Indira Gandhi made famous? Is the pussycat bow and structured handbag that was such an integral part of Margaret Thatcher’s persona? Is it the little black dress accessorized with layers of pearls that Coco Chanel turned into a style statement that survives to this day?

It is not a coincidence that all of the examples cited are of women. You could say that this is because we pay more attention to how women dress and present themselves whereas the style choices of men are not subject to the same scrutiny. And you could well be right.

But, if you ask me, I think this goes much further. Women who are in public life are much more aware of the image they present to the world (perhaps because they know they are being judged by it) than their male counterparts. They are more inclined and better equipped to make a statement with the way they look. And they are fully conscious of the power that such iconography carries.

Indira Gandhi’s imperious wave of white hair; those impeccably-draped saris; the rudraksh mala: it was the perfect image for a strong leader of a country that was universally perceived as being weak in that era. But such was the force of her personality when she looked down her aristocratic nose that even such world leaders as President Nixon and Henry Kissinger were left feeling like errant schoolboys.

On the other hand, Margaret Thatcher – perceived as a bit of a martinet by most people – had to soften her look to appear more sympathetic. So in came the pussycat bow while the helmet-like hair was changed to a subtle, layered style. Her string of pearls served both as a nod to her femininity and a subtle counterpoint to the power suits she wore like a uniform. And then there was the famous handbag, which seemed surgically attached to her hand, and even spawned a new term: ‘handbagging’ for the way Thatcher swept aside all opposition.

Yes, women know the power of appearances when they are striving to make a political point. Think of Benazir Bhutto, the trouser-wearing, trendy daughter of Z.A. Bhutto, in her younger, more Westernised avatar. When it came to reclaiming her political legacy, though, she took care to drape herself in the colours of the Pakistani flag. Her green salwar-kameez paired with a white dupatta draped over her head conveyed a message about her dedication to the twin values of patriotism and peace; a message that was all

the more powerful for being non-verbal.

It’s not an accident that some women evoke a certain image in our minds. Think Queen Elizabeth II and an image of a slightly matronly figure in twin-sets in block colours, accessorized with matching hats and gloves, will pop into your mind. Think Coco Chanel, and you will immediately picture a little black dress topped off with endless layers of pearls. Think Michelle Obama, and a pair of uber-toned biceps will pop up in your mind’s eye (no wonder her husband joked about her right to ‘bare arms’).

Closer home, too, it is the ladies who have a stronger public image than the men. Sonia Gandhi in her perfectly-draped handlooms; Sushma Swaraj with her trademark mangalsutra and sindoor; Mayawati in her pink salwar-kameezes; Mamata Banerjee in her ‘woman of the peepuls’ crumpled cotton saris; and Meira Kumar whose sartorial style is as unruffled as her demeanour.

Among the men, though, it is only Narendra Modi with his trademark half-sleeve kurtas, who comes close to having an ‘iconic’ image. And thereby hangs a tale…