Savoring the Opulence of "The Crown": "Mou Mou" (S5, Ep. 3) and "Annus Horribilis" (S5, Ep. 4)

The third and fourth episodes show, in their own ways, the allures and dangers of the Crown.

“Mou Mou”

At first glance, the third episode of the fifth season of The Crown might seem like a bit of an outlier, focusing as it does on Mohamed Al-Fayed, his youth in Egypt, and his eventual rise to become one of the wealthiest men in the world. After a brief encounter with the traveling Duke and Duchess of Windsor, Al-Fayed slowly accrues mammoth wealth, eventually buying not only the Ritz in Paris but also the villa where the disgraced royals once made their home, all in the hopes of drawing the attention–and the approval–of the Royal Family, particularly Queen Elizabeth herself. 

Personally, I quite enjoyed this episode. While at first it was a bit disconcerting to see our favorite royal characters shuffled to the sidelines, it slowly comes together, and it is in its way a fascinating character study of someone who, for the most part, hovered at the margins of the royal sphere of influence. Having been looked down on for most of his life–first by his fellow Egyptians and then by various Europeans, including the owners of the Ritz in Paris–he sees closeness to the monarchy as a surefire means to attain the social status he has for so long been denied. 

To this end, he recruits Sydney Johnson, the Bahamian who served as the personal valet to the Duke of Windsor until the latter’s death. Given his intimate connection with the uppermost levels of British society, it makes sense that Al-Fayed would recruit him, and their dynamic–and the obvious affection they share–is one of this episode’s most endearing elements. 

There is, moreover, something very interesting going on with the idea of two ex-colonial subjects learning how to mimic the mannerisms of those who are supposedly above them. In fact, I would go so far as to say that the entire episode is something of an anthropological experiment, except in this case it is the two subalterns who are in the position of doing the examination. While I’m not sure I’d go so far as to say that “Mou Mou” mocks the pretensions of the wealthy, it does nevertheless draw attention to just how constructed the whole affair is, and how the mystique of the Royal Family is something that can be learned, even if there are those who persist in believing otherwise. 

Morgan’s particular skill is that he manages to both mystify and demystify and then remystifiy the monarchy. As Syndney’s conversation with the Duke of Windsor makes clear, there is really very little, ontologically speaking, that separates royalty from the rest of the masses. They are, in the final analysis, just better at massaging their own images than the regular run of the people. And, as the Duke of Windsor would know better than most, there is very little that is truly divine about the monarch. 

Not that any of this discourages Al-Fayed from trying his damnedest to get the attention of the Royals, who continue to keep him at arm’s length. Even his complete refurbishment of the Duke’s villa–nor his returning of his potentially inflammatory journals–is enough to merit more than a token acknowledgment from Her Majesty and her government. For his part, Al-Fayed is happy just to have made the Queen happy, and he continues to cherish hopes of one day getting to sit next to her, particularly once he buys the iconic department store, Harrods. 

It’s precisely this dynamic which gives the episode’s final scene its particular punch. After having given Al-Fayed the cold shoulder at a polo match–which, as the new owner of Harrods, he has sponsored–Elizabeth delegates Diana to sit next to him, and the two immediately hit it off. Once again, Debicki has an almost uncanny ability to inhabit Diana and we, along with Al-Fayed, find ourselves falling under her particularly potent spell. There is something particularly charming about seeing these two people find a bond, even though–or perhaps because–they’re both outsiders looking in. 

But, of course, their meeting is important for another reason, and that’s because it marks the moment Diana meets Mohamed’s son, Dodi, the man who will one day soon come to have such a profound influence on her life (and death). There’s just the faintest bit of a spark between the two of them, though it has to be said that the younger Al-Fayed seems more than a little bemused by Diana, particularly since she seems to have an easy rapport with his father that he does not (we’ve already seen how he chafes at the restrictions the paterfamilias places on his own creative ambitions).  

It was also, I have to say, rather pleasant to see Alex Jennings return as the disgraced Duke of Windsor. Ever since he appeared in the first season, I’ve been a little in awe at how well he manages to capture the arrogance and prickliness of the man who was briefly King Edward VIII. As he has from the beginning, Jennings allows the former king’s bitterness to shine out. This is a man who holds British society–particularly royal British society–in no small amount of contempt, and it remains more than a little unclear whether that disgust extends to himself or not (I strongly suspect it does).

It’s been remarked that each of the episodes of The Crown work like individual short films, and I think there’s something to that line of argument, particularly with “Mou Mou.” In allowing viewers to follow Mohamed's journey, the episode gives us insight into how the Crown as an institution–and as a marker of social rank–has an impact not just on those who wear it but also on all aspects of society…and on those who would gain access to its privileges. Of course, the bitter irony of all of this is that it is Dodi who will come far closer to the Royal Family than Mohamed does, though the consequences will be deadly and, for the elder, particularly devastating. Much as he might disagree with Dodi, he clearly loves him, and I’m dreading seeing the impact his death will have. 

“Annus Horribilis”

I have to say that this is, by far, my favorite episode of the fifth season of The Crown so far. It has all of the things that I love about this show: titanic personal drama, a dash of political and social commentary and, of course, dynamite performances from every member of the cast. The episode, Annus Horribilis, focuses on the bleak year of 1992, and it very quickly becomes clear just why Elizabeth referred to the year this way in her speech at Guildhall.

 To begin with, this is the year in which Windsor Castle, one of the Queen’s most favored royal residences, goes up in flames. Though much is saved from the worst of the blaze, it’s still traumatizing, for both the Queen and for us as viewers, to see this magnificent piece of British history consumed with fire (all the more so since we were all witness to the terrible Notre Dame blaze a few years ago). As one of her royal attendants notes to the press, Elizabeth is like any other mother, watching her home go up in flames.

It’s in the aftermath of the fire, however, that we see just how much of an impact it’s had on the Queen, as she stands, a small, diminutive figure, surrounded by fire and ruin. I don’t know about anyone else, but I too felt myself getting emotional, in much the same way that Elizabeth does, even going so far as to shed a few tears. This is, indeed, one of the very few times in the entire series’ run where we’ve seen Elizabeth’s normal implacable and unflappable mien show even the slightest crack. Of course, by this point we have already seen how affected she is by the gradual breakdown of her beloved royal yacht, so it makes sense that she would be even more dismayed by the blazing inferno which destroys so much history, both national and familial. 

For Elizabeth, the bite is doubly painful, for it’s as if all of the things she has sacrificed–and all of the things she has forced others to sacrifice–have been for naught. After all, what’s the point of conserving things if they can all be consumed in a matter of hours by a raging inferno? It’s to her credit, and Imelda Staunton’s, who continues to bring a human touch to the Queen’s frosty exterior–that she is able to weather this storm as she has so many others. 

Just as importantly, these experiences force Elizabeth to really contend with the reality of the modern monarchy and, despite considerable pushback from the Queen Mother, she decides to show her vulnerability to the gathered crowd at the Guildhall. Their conversation is one of the spikiest we’ve yet seen between the two of them–at least since Elizabeth’s early days on the throne–and it is very revealing about what is at stake. For the Queen Mother, raised as she was in a very different time period, monarchy is indeed a thing of divinity, designed to be set above mere mortals, and so Elizabeth’s decision to speak of vulnerability is nothing short of anathema. Elizabeth is nothing if not her own woman, however, and so she charts her own path.

But, as important as Elizabeth’s storyline is, it is matched–and in some ways exceeded–by Margaret’s. Those of us who have been with this series from the beginning know how much the breaking of her relationship with Peter Townsend cost her, and this episode makes it clear that the scars are not very healed, if they are healed at all. For, even though she was forbidden from marrying Peter because of his divorced status, Anne, her niece, is to have the chance to marry the man she loves, even though she is the one getting a divorce! Small wonder this rankles, and Lesley Manville does an excellent job of capturing her pent-up, decades’-long rage. She even goes so far as to say that she has a motive to have burned down Windsor, as a means of getting back at the sister who denied her happiness. 

Margaret has always been this series’ trump card, the one element of the story that has always been, to an extent, the emotional heart of the whole affair. Unlike Philip and Diana, who are joined together by their status as outsiders, Margaret is very much a part of the inner circle of the Royal Family, and this is both her blessing and her curse. It’s to Manville’s credit that, coming in the wake of Vanessa Kirby and Helena Bonham Carter–she is able to capture so much of what made Margaret such a fascinating member of the Royal Family. At once knowing and vulnerable, arch and sensitive, she is a glorious study in contradictions, and I’m glad we get to spend so much of this episode with her.

Lesley Manville is perfectly matched by Timothy Dalton as the elder version of Peter Townsend, and the scenes in which they wander the gardens at Windsor–reflecting on their past and the enduring nature of their love–is one that will stick with me long after The Crown is over. Margaret has had to sacrifice so much and, unlike Elizabeth, she doesn’t even have the benefit of being the monarch for her troubles. There is, nevertheless, a quiet dignity Manville’s scenes with Dalton, made all the more poignant by his revelation that he is dying. Though they ultimately part once again, they do so with the comforting knowledge that they still mean as much to one another as ever.

Much as Margaret might resent her sister for putting the well-being of the Crown above that of her own family, she is still willing to forgive her, and they later speak on the phone. In one of the rare moments when members of the Royal Family express emotion, they each say they love one another, before assuring one another that they will never do anything so “middle class” again. There is, I think, something both touching and wryly amusing about this exchange, and it also says something about the Royals and how they perceive emotions (or at least how this fictionalized version of them does so). Heaven forbid they actually be human.

As has so often been the case with this series, this episode shows us the ever-present perils of the institution of the Crown. Even as Elizabeth has done so much to ensure its survival, it has come with crushing costs, both for herself and those around her. While she has done all she can to forestall the costs of this, it seems as if the bill is finally coming due.