I bequeath upon all of my loyal readers the gift of the resplendent new Netflix series The Crown.
A period drama about Queen Elizabeth II's ascension to the throne, The Crown has been advertised as the successor must-view period piece for all of us still mourning the loss of Downton Abbey from our appointment viewing schedule.
I'm here to tell you that it isn't that at all.
It's better. Far better.
Lavishly and lovingly created by Peter Morgan who has mined this material before in the film The Queen and stage play The Audience, both starring Dame Helen Mirren, The Crown takes historical liberties by peering into the private lives and conversations of Britain's royal family, and it attempts to show just how like the rest of us they truly are. They love, loathe, and lose as all people are apt to do but unfortunately, they must do it all under the microscope of public scrutiny. Claire Foy is a revelation as the young princess cruelly and unpreparedly thrown into the abyss of duty, and Dame Eileen Atkins will almost make you forget the Dowager Countess in her spot-on portrayal of the slightly bitter and very acerbic Queen Mary of Teck. And just for good measure, there is John Lithgow, one of my all-time favourite performers, doing a spot-on Winston Churchill. (Spot-on. Get me! Already speaking like a Brit.)
My only complaint as I watched the first three episodes this afternoon is that Matt Smith, who portrays the suddenly emasculated Prince Phillip, looks far too much like a Trump son for my liking. Maybe it's the pomaded hair or maybe it's just the vicious Aryan scowl, but he had me quite unnerved. Anyway, I find it very hard to believe that Prince Phillip was EVER the doting father that he is shown to be in these first installments.
So, if you are desperately searching for diverting entertainment this weekend, I cannot recommend The Crown highly enough. Binge watching has never been better.
You're Welcome.
Shabbat Shalom to all who observe.
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