Skip to main content

The Crown

 My spouse thought "Alma Mater" was a new low for "The Crown"; I did think it was tedious and self-indulgent, as usual, but still, I'd argue, it had its moments.


Prince William decides to study European art. The lecturer at St. Andrews makes an observation about Giotto; this particular painter helped to bring about the Renaissance, because he made use of three dimensions. Before Giotto, you'd encounter a great deal of "flatness." When you see a human in 3-D, you may discover that you're having an "emotional experience"; you become involved in the figure's interior life, because you can recognize bits of yourself in the portrait.

Meanwhile, Kate Middleton has an unusual encounter. She sees William in the flesh; he is suddenly 3-D; he is not the flat cut-out she has viewed on a TV screen. She becomes enchanted with him. She sees his frustration--how he resents always having to smile and sign autographs. Remarkably, she sees him snap; in a moment of vulnerability, he lashes out at a classmate who wants a personalized message for her cousin. William tries to defend himself against the judgmental Kate: "You don't know what it's like to be always on display, to be groomed, and groomed, and groomed." And Kate laughs. "You don't think that's similar to being a young woman in a world of men?"

This moment of discord seems to end the friendship between Kate and William--but, actually, it isn't what it seems. After some hours of reflection, Kate finds her way back to William, via text message.

The episode raises interesting questions about Kate's mother: It's possible to see her in 2-D, as a scheming, grasping climber. But--also--it's possible to see her with compassion: She may really believe that she is trying to do something nice for her daughter.

(I wonder if the writer had Hilary Mantel in mind; famously, Mantel observed that the English public sees members of the royal family as puppets. They are inanimate Barbie dolls; we hang clothing on them.)

Eve Best is a standout, here, working with bad, expository dialogue--adding some glamour, as Mrs. Middleton.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...
3 comments
Read more

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...
1 comment
Read more

My Favorite Pop Song

  One thing I admire about Prince is his weirdly pretentious verses: Dream, if you can, a courtyard-- An ocean of violets in bloom. Also: Touch, if you will, my stomach. Feel how it trembles inside. No one else writes like this. Did people try to shoot down these choices? Did a producer say, "We'd like to rethink this one... Touch, if you will, my stomach...."  I can't help but wonder. But it's the chorus that makes this a classic. It's direct and universal--and it ends with that bizarre flourish, the allusion to "the crying doves." (Prince's song was number one in America for quite a while; it defeated Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark.") How can you just leave me standing-- Alone in a world that's so cold? Maybe I'm just too demanding. Maybe I'm just like my father--too bold. Maybe you're just like my mother; She's never satisfied. Why do we scream at each other? This is what it sounds like when doves cr...
Post a Comment
Read more