Say what you will about this show — and I have, although I also think it’s a pleasure to watch even when I have complaints — but it’s got amazing wall hangings and some of the best cashmere cardigans on TV.
Important note: Our recaps for these episodes were originally written for Previously.tv as EPIC OLD-SCHOOL RECAPS, Television Without Pity-style, by which I mean long and detailed and full of words. Sadly, Previously.tv has since closed, so our recaps now live on GFY and you can find episode 1 here and episode 2 here. Zip through this slideshow if you’re craving a quick look at the sartorial (and interior design) highlights, but please do check out our recaps over there because they’re VERY CAPSY and in episode 204 (which I think runs tomorrow), I also do one of my favorite Wiki Deep Dives ever. I FOUND AN ORGY.
Here’s a taste!
Philip is silent, and everyone, let’s enjoy that for the brief moment it lasts, because once he opens his mouth you will want to punch it clean onto someone else’s face. Also, this is a good time to address the difficulties in discussing fictionalized versions of real people. If we are ever expressing frustration with their real-life counterparts, we’ll say so; otherwise, please assume that when we are screaming for, say, Prince Poutface to cram it up his mumbly blowhole, we mean the one who is imagined herein. Okay! Moving along: as Elizabeth walks toward him wearing an angelic pink frock, her footsteps ring out almost like a nervous heartbeat. “I would like to take this opportunity to lay our cards on the table,” she says. “And talk frankly, for once, about what needs to change to make this marriage work.” The card Philip chooses to lay is the Jack of Wankitude. “Who goes first?” he asks, then spits with barely a breath, “Stupid question. If I know one thing by now it’s that I go second.” Dear Philip: I have made you a sandwich. It consists of my knuckles between two slices of whole-grain Rage Loaf, and I’ve put extra mustard on it. Enjoy.
What also doesn’t seem particularly delightful to me is the fact that we’re looking at a huge dining room full of men chortling their balls off at the concept of their Queen being cheated upon. It’s very unkind, in the first place, but moreover, finding such delight in the betrayal of the Crown seems ungentlemanly at best and mildly treasonous at worst. Make no mistake, Posh Assholes of 1950s Britain: if you’d found the sexual infidelity of the royal consort this hilarious five hundred years earlier, you would have landed in the Tower post-haste. Watch yourselves!
Now… to the slides! Or the comments! Pick your poison.