By recreating the imperials outfits and ramping up the glamour, the pop Tv drama perpetually blurs the line between happening and story. That is what realizes the depict so compelling

All publicity is good publicity, “theyre saying”, but the royal family is the exception that proves that convention. And recent video coverage of the royals has been- to make it mildly- a mixed bag. The new sequence of The Crown launched on Netflix within hours of that Prince Andrew interview. One was dependably glorious, which is precisely what royalty is supposed to be. The other was, well, a gondola crash think this is the go-to analogy, although I can’t help feeling vehicle disintegrates are somewhat bad-taste imagery when it comes to describing royal PR disasters.

The upshot of all this is that the third series of The Crown will be required to do more heavy lifting than the previous two, in drawing us fall in love with it- additional burdens that tumbles in large segment upon the wardrobe department. Robes, jewellery, mane and makeup are an essential part of The Crown. From the start, the sequence has manufactured the royals more beautiful and more glamorous than their real-life counterparts, and invited us to fall under their spell. The Crown has given the elderly imperials a recently glittering backstory: here, we ensure the Queen a enlivened young knockout; Prince Philip golden-haired and square-jawed.

But fashion in The Crown does a lot more than sprinkle stardust. Clothes are strategically employed to blur the line between detail and story. The third occurrence of the new succession covers the Aberfan tragedy of 1966, which killed 144 parties, 116 of them children. Serious and careful, the occurrence feels almost like a standalone section. It reclines heavily into the Queen’s delay in visiting the hamlet, her absence from the funeral, and precede change of heart. The fib is imbued with hindsight – you can’t watch it and not be reminded of the Queen’s reluctance to return to London after Diana’s death 31 year later, and how that lag resounded through British culture and changed so much. But the clothe wear by Olivia Colman is an exact replica of what the Queen wore in 1966: the side-buttoning red coat with a fur decoration to pick out the accord hat; the darker brown leather gloves; the handbag. This is more than invests being used to bring a persona to life. This is invests being used as primary indicate, to shape the particular version of the storey being told look like the truth.

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The Queen visit Aberfan in 1966( left ); and Olivia Colman wearing a replica of her outfit in The Crown. Composite: Getty/ Shutterstock

The riddles around how much of The Crown ” really happened ” are a key part of what stimulates it compelling. In the escapade Margaretology, Princess Margaret advances to the White House and singlehandedly saves the British financial system from collapse by weaponising her booze indulgence and ability for rude limericks. I precis a little, but you get the gist. Contemporary reports of the occasion establish the night being a success- the New York Times reported that the after-dinner dancing went on until 2am, during which time” there was laugh and chitchatting; Margaret smoked a cigarette on a long holder and everyone seemed absolutely at ease “. But The Crown, revelling the 21 st-century fascination with soft capability and diplomatic attire, has amplified the importance of this event to feed into its Princess Margaret myth-making.

The zeitgeist works in mysterious roads, and Princess Margaret the form icon are not only a creation of Peter Morgan and The Crown. Her 21 st-birthday gown, designed by Christian Dior, had a starring role in the V& A’s blockbusting Dior expo this year. Her official portrait wearing the costume, taken by Cecil Beaton, is available on the report of a special edition of Harpers Bazaar in February. The faith fashion designer Alessandra Rich, a favourite of everyone from Kate Moss to the Duchess of Cambridge, quotes Princess Margaret as one of her muses. But by riffing not only on her glamour but including information on her political acumen, The Crown returns repetition of Hilary Mantel’s Thomas Cromwell into her on-screen character. There is a mightiness to her party admissions, wiping into a chamber like a galleon in full sail, which would do as well for Wolf Hall as Buck House.

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The real royals arrive for the investiture of Prince Charles in 1969( left ); and the Queen Mother and Princess Margaret in The Crown. Composite: Getty/ Des Willie/ Netflix

But most of all, Helena Bonham Carter’s version of Margaret is the royal family’s Elizabeth Taylor- a remark that foretells the marital dramas to play out later in this time period. The line’ very first shot of her establishes a hefty diamond bracelet as a naked forearm stretchings out of entangled expanses to answer a ringing phone. The second construes her in a floaty, kaftan-style robe, parading across cobbled streets to pick a fight with her beloved. Diamonds, kaftans and buffs’ tiffs: this is as Taylor as it gets. Where Vanessa Kirby’s younger Margaret was sensitive and detriment, Bonham Carter draws a Burton-esque exaggeration. She is always either roaring with laughter, the bones at her throat catching the lighting as she hurls back her foreman, or she is face-down in a two-day hangover. Her wardobe, like the Queen’s, is in many instances a carbon copy of real life- for instance, her pink clothing at Prince Charles’s investiture is procreated, along with the match outsized pink fuzz bowing which, as it happens, is very on tendency for this season. But abroad, her lookings- sunglasses, cigarette incumbents, winged eyeliner, a startling pair of floral-printed stilettos, off-the-shoulder full-dress that recall Taylor in Giant– are every inch the movie-star princess.

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The Queen with Prince Philip in The Crown. Photograph: Des Willie/ Courtesy of Des Willie/ Netflix

The contrast with her older sister the Queen is overdone for comic visual consequence: after Margaret has begun her day in diamonds and a kaftan, with a faggot and a sequence, we view the Queen at her breakfast counter in a hem dres, taking her bottled-up emotions out on the butter bayonet as it raspings a minuscule shred of marmalade across crustless toast. She draws attention to her pearls not when she sheds her heading back in laughter, but when she clutches her hands to them uneasily, rolling them across her clavicles like fear beads.

There are repetition in this show with the other programme everyone watched on tv recently, Succession. The Rolls-Royce Phantom has swapped in for the yacht, the Bakelite phone in a white-hot gloved mitt for the perpetually pinging email, but there are the same dysfunctionalities and similarly outlandish real estate properties. The Crown workouts aesthetic licence to induce the characters more glamorous, more often than it does to realise them more likable, because- as in Succession- it is the character flaws that drive the fib. The robes are there to win our votes, even when the characters don’t deserve them. As Harold Wilson says to the Queen, early in this series:” Everything is political .” And some things actually don’t change.

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