IT SEEMS AS THOUGH the entire world has been waiting for the new season of

The Crown. Netflix’s famously expensive venture – in fact, their most expensive to date –
exploded back onto our screens this month with high expectations following a critically
lauded debut series, made even higher by the rumours that the £100 million budget for last
season had been doubled for this one. And certainly in terms of looks, those millions have
been put to good use; the cinematography is glorious as ever, and Jane Petrie hasn’t cut any
corners with her costume design, either.
The entire premise of this season hinges on the assumption that Peter Morgan is
making bold strokes with new stories and new faces. This is certainly the case to some extent;
we are gifted with new characters – namely, the gloriously irreverent Matthew Goode as
Anthony Armstrong-Jones and a surprisingly sympathetic turn from Anton Lesser as Harold
Macmillan – new plot lines, and a movement into literal new territories as we become more
aware of the Empire over which the titular Crown reigns.
But where our attention is really drawn to is the things that have stayed the same.
Decadence is everywhere in this season of The Crown. It’s not just prettier to look at; there’s
more scandal, more smoking, and a lot more sex. But amongst the madness of the sixties,
Claire Foy sticks to her guns with yet another spectacularly understated performance. As the
new series stretches both Matt Smith (though still not quite enough) and Vanessa Kirby (the
perfect amount), Foy remains the engagement in these ten new hours of engaging television.
This was hailed Philip’s ‘season’, and, indeed, we are taken deep into his past and character,
but the fact remains that, despite Smith’s best efforts, our interest in his character is largely
shaped by Elizabeth’s responses to his actions than the copious number of flashbacks we are
afforded (‘Paterfamilias’, the penultimate episode of the season, offers perhaps too many). In
this season, Foy’s talent comes not just in her own scenes, but in the foundation she offers for
Smith and Kirby shine. Kirby in particular almost steals the show for herself – her two
episodes of the season (“Beryl” and “Matrimonium”) are easily the standouts; director
Benjamin Caron knows how to bring out the best in her, allowing her to pine, pout, storm and
smoke all in equally delightful measure, with the simple explanation that she is now a
‘modern woman’.
But to give praise to Kirby is by no means deny it to Claire Foy. With the departure of
the current cast, we may feel perhaps a pang of regret. Foy has more than earned her Golden
Globe (with, perhaps, a second one on the horizon) with the silences that Morgan so often
leaves her, but it is in this season that those silences are becoming more and more deafening.
We, like the 1960s British public, are becoming more and more desperate to know what it is
that makes Elizabeth tick – but we are yet to be gifted with an equivalent for her character of
Philip’s flashbacks or Margaret’s monologues. It is only eight episodes into the season, in the
Stephen Daldry-directed “Dear Mrs Kennedy” that we’re gifted with the pleasant surprise of
an Elizabeth-centric episode. Suddenly Foy’s already blazing light brightens by several watts.
What she does with Morgan’s silences, she more than does with his words, too, delivering
lines with sharp wit and deeply felt emotion as she sees fit. No wonder that Claire Foy herself
labelled it her personal favourite episode – the exhilaration that Elizabeth feels at her own
action, we are compelled to feel too, and her supporting cast are just as energised; Matt Smith
comes into his own as he shows himself to be the master of a facial expression that somehow
conveys both indignation and admiration for his wife. Unlike Kirby, whose scenes alone are
the most harrowing, it is when he shares the screen with Foy that he seems to come alive,
with the pair moving through anger, flirtation and deep affection with ease. This is a
testament not only to his own skill but, again, to Foy’s too.
The Crown undoubtedly remains as delightful as ever, and now, fully committed to its
monumental task of charting one of the longest reigning monarchs in history, bolder and
more assured in its approach. But its fleeting focus on Elizabeth only brings to light a more
pressing question – how long can Peter Morgan get away with a show that isn’t quite about
its titular subject? And has he missed a trick by not doing it with Claire Foy on board?
(4.5 stars)