All language subtitles for The Crown - 3x10 - Cri de Coeur.WEB.NTG.en

How are you?

I'm fine.

You don't look fine.

It's quarter to twelve.

- Where are the children?
- Nanny.

They wouldn't like me before midday.

What happened here?

An exchange of views.

Oh, Margaret.

I forget what about.

There are so many
exchanges of views these days.

I thought things had moved on.

Oh, they've moved on, all right.

He's moved on.

On to the next one.

He can't help himself.

My priapic little snapper.

You've never told me about the wallpaper.

The rogue's gallery. Isn't it fun?

I did it to remind Princess Margaret

that her family has as many skeletons
in the cupboard as anyone else's.

House of Windsor?

House of Horrors, more like.

I hope she saw the funny side.

God, no.

She said as long as that wallpaper
was there, she'd never come to the house.

Not that she needed an excuse.

She always hated it here.

She considers it as ugly, misshapen,
and common as me.

The failure of our marriage

could not be better encapsulated

by the two houses, the two dwellings,

in which she and I are most comfortable.

Hers...

...some insect-infested gin palace

given to her by fawning sycophants.

And this... is mine.

Oh, you two.

I know.

And poor you to get caught up in it.

My advice would be to escape
while you still can.

I'll never be able to give you
what you want.

She'll never divorce me.

She might
if she falls in love with someone else.

What makes you think that will happen?

Well, you did.

Didn't you?

You're right.

I did.

With MPs from smaller parties
holding the balance of power,

both Labour and the Tories

look unable to reach
the magic number of 318.

I'm sure it was her.

- The Thing?
- She has a name, you know.

Yes, and, um, I have been told it,

but I can never remember,
so I call her the Thing.

- Lucy Lindsay-Hogg.
- Hm-hmm. The Thing.

And the car she climbed into outside
looked very much like Tony's.

I suppose they're in Sussex now.

- Ugly little house.
- Hmm.

Dreadful little shed.

And he thinks I'll take the humiliation
lying down, does he?

Well, he's got another thing coming.

May I speak frankly, ma'am? As a friend?

I can think of several couples
of whom it could be observed

that having not found the contentment
they desired within matrimony,

have chosen to live apart,
and appeared happier.

Tony and I
will never let go of one another.

And it's not just because divorce
is incompatible with my faith,

but because...

this is just how we like it.

War is our love.

A brutal fight to the death
is our mating dance,

and I speak for both of us when I say

we wouldn't want it any other way.

Contentment is dull,

and Tony and I are anything but dull.

We can now say with near certainty

that neither party
will achieve a majority.

So, the clock is now ticking

for Ted Heath to form an alliance
with Jeremy Thorpe's Liberal Party.

If he can't, we might well see
a return to power for Harold Wilson.

If you can call
a minority government "power."

What a mess.

I mean, honestly, can you remember a time
when the country was in worse shape?

Or one had as little confidence
in one's leaders?

- Speaking of bad shape...
- One wakes up in the morning flinching.

How could matters get any worse?
What more could possibly go wrong?

And then you come down to breakfast,
you see the newspapers,

and you realize, they've done it again.

Margaret's birthday is coming up.

I mean, right now the United Kingdom

is the equivalent of a patient
dying on the operating table

and the surgeons, no, the butchers,
no, sorry, the murderers

responsible for causing that death
are seeking re-election.

Instead of throwing them in jail,
the people, like lemmings,

are queuing up
to extend their bloody contracts.

She called me late last night.

Said she had something important
to discuss.

- Who?
- Margaret.

- She's run out of tonic?
- No.

- Been knocked up by one of the footmen?
- Philip!

You wouldn't put it past her.

I worry it's Tony.

Ready?

Mr. Heath came to tell me
that he was unable to form a coalition

with the Ulster Unionists or the Liberals,

which left him with no alternative
but to resign,

at which point, I don't mind admitting,

I let out an unconstitutional cheer.

- Huzzah!
- Privately, I hope.

Well, it's not his politics I object to
so much as his company.

And now Mr. Wilson,

who, I must say,
looks very tired and not at all well,

is back again as prime minister
of a minority government,

and the best we can hope for

is that he can survive
until the next election in the autumn.

Oh, really? Yes, that's... Oh!

I have asked you all here,

my family,

on the occasion of my birthday.

- Many happy returns.
- Happy birthday, Margot.

If you've noticed that my dear husband
is not at my side on this joyous occasion,

it is because he is now betraying me,

and not just in private,
but openly, in public, too.

And I don't think
we should take this lying down.

- We?
- Yes, "we," Mummy.

If Tony insults me,

by implication, he's insulting
the whole of the family, too.

- I'm not sure I follow that logic.
- What would you like us to do?

Send a clear signal to the world
whose side you're on.

- And impose sanctions.
- What?

What kind of sanctions?

No more invitations to royal events.

No more royal photographs.

No more access to Crown property.

Hit him where it hurts.

Punish him. Draw blood.

Where is he now?

He left the country this morning,

to make one of his films.

Ghana, was it? Or did you say Guinea?

- Gabon.
- Ah.

With the Thing.

- The what?
- I'll explain later.

I rather liked his last film.

- Was that the one about dwarfs?
- Yes, it's short.

It had compassion.
It had kindness.

In fact, I think that's the thing
I most like about Tony.

And his wit.

Yes, and the fact
that he's generous enough

to flirt with his mother-in-law.

I'm going to throw up.

- He cares.
- All right, Mummy.

He has a heart.

Not that his wife or children
have noticed.

His charity work for the disabled,

and the way he was at Aberfan
was remarkable...

Enough!

Enough!

Why do you do this, Mummy?

Why do you all do this?

Why do you always, always take his side?

This is my birthday party.

And when I tell you
that my husband is out of the country

betraying me with another woman,

instead of supporting me

and... and condemning him,

you just sit here praising him to the sky.

My family.

My own flesh and blood. My birthday.

Perhaps we're just sick to the back teeth
of you, and have sympathy for him.

- Philip!
- Well, I mean...

Am I wrong?

Hands up anyone who thinks I'm wrong.

Anne.

Well...

We should eat these before they get cold,
shouldn't we?

She'll be all right in a minute.

I hate them.

- I hate them.
- Why don't you come here, ma'am?

Come to Glen.

We've invited a few guests
for the weekend.

Come here. You might even enjoy it.

- I don't have the time.
- Make time! You make time for her!

- What a brat you are!
- You're a shit!

- No! Tony!
- Piss off!

Thank you.

Thank you. Everyone back inside.

What about Hugo?

We were thinking of tying
a ribbon round him for you.

Oof, no.

How could he ever be thrilled with me?

He's so excessively thrilled with himself.

Or Clive?

- Clive?
- Hmm.

He's married.

So are you, ma'am.

Yes, I do know that.

His wife is known
to give him the green light to play away.

Word is...

he's quite the virtuoso.

What about him?
The one with all his clothes on.

Oh, that's Roddy.

You must know his brother, Dai.

Or his father, Harry Llewellyn,

the Olympic show jumper.

Roddy! Roddy.

Rufus.

Hello.

Hmm!

Your Royal Highness, how do you do?

You're... you're perspiring.

Uh, true, I am, ma'am.

- So, why don't you jump in the pool?
- Well, I didn't bring any trunks.

- That was stupid.
- No, it wasn't.

Yes, it was. I just said it was.

It can't be stupid.

I don't possess any trunks.

That's not just stupid, that's absurd.

Where's the nearest town?

Oh...

You know, this really wasn't necessary.

On the contrary. It was essential.

I mean, everyone else coming along, too.

Hmm? They're not coming with us.
I wouldn't let them.

No, they're going for lunch,
while we go shopping.

So, apart from owning
a woefully inadequate wardrobe,

what is that you do?

A research assistant
at the College of Arms.

Uh, which involves genealogical research,

- and boning up on heraldry.
- Hmm.

I also have a mobile disco company,
called Vibrations.

And I clean the floors
in a gallery on the Fulham Road at night.

But all of this is just
to fund my real passion.

Have we got to the end of the answer yet?
I'm rather regretting asking.

What nice hands you've got.

- Have I?
- Hmm.

Hmm.

How nice you'd not noticed.

It's so nice when a man is unaware
of his best features.

And so sad when a lady hides hers.

Did you mean these?

No.

What, then?

Your smile.

I've forgotten how.

- Where are we?
- Peebles, ma'am.

Where?

- Oh.
- Ah.

This is the hotel.
We'll be in the bar waiting for you.

The department store's
over there on the right.

You can't miss it.

- Would you...
- OK.

Oh, God.

- We've stumbled upon an experiment in...
- Excuse me.

...inbreeding.

Your Royal Highness.

- Gentleman's bathing trunks, please.
- Um...

- What size are you?
- Uh, small.

I sincerely hope not.

He means slim.

Did we ever get to the bit
where you told me your passion in life?

No.

Then what is it?

Gardening, ma'am.

Ah...

These, please.

No, these.

I'm paying. I choose. Try them on.

Oh.

You know,
I have a garden that needs doing.

Do you? I imagine
you must have an army of gardeners.

Don't believe everything you hear.

No, my garden is quite neglected.

- Especially the one in Mustique.
- Where?

It's a small private island
in the Caribbean.

How lovely.

Hmm. My husband hates it.

But since I hate my husband,
what he thinks is irrelevant.

You know, in the Caribbean,

they have one of my favorite trees.

The silk cotton tree.

The challenge for any gardener
is to judge the right amount of pruning.

Is that so?

Well, you need very nimble fingers.

And do you have nimble,

as well as pretty fingers?

I do.

Hmm. Hmm! Perfect.

- Solo or duet?
- Duet!

When she went to bed,
did you notice?

Of course I noticed. Everyone noticed.

At the top of the stairs,
instead of turning right...

- He turned left.
- What have we done?

- This could come back to haunt us.
- Why?

It will look like we've encouraged
the Queen's sister to betray her husband.

She's not betraying Tony. She's with Tony.

Can't you see?

- Slim, Welsh, reddish hair.
- Hmm.

The two men are virtually identical.

Roddy's a carbon copy of Tony.
Just younger.

I hadn't thought of that.

Lord Snowdon, ma'am.

- Your Majesty.
- Dear Tony.

So kind of you to come.
I know how busy you are.

Before we start...

just look what I found in my studio
the other day.

- How young we were.
- How pretty you were.

- Oh, stop it.
- Like Vivien Leigh.

- I've always loved this picture.
- Yes.

Gosh. Philip.

Not looking cross for once. Miraculous.

- All yours, ma'am.
- For me?

- With my compliments.
- Oh.

And now... to the main business.

Voilà.

A mug.

And...

A teapot.

And...

- Oh.
- A commemorative plate.

And a tea towel

with the dates 1952 to 1977.

The powers that be
thought it might be nice

if someone from inside the firm

were to design some of the memorabilia.

- Oh, Tony, you are clever.
- Always happy to help my family.

Are you?

Let's talk about that for a minute.

- May I keep these, as well?
- Yes. Yes, of course.

Now, I don't want to...

pry or lecture anyone
about what goes on in a marriage.

In my experience people,
find a way to do what they need to do

to remain happy or sane.

I often think turning a blind eye
is the best approach.

Things work themselves out in the end.

But recently,
Margaret has been so wretched...

and so lost...

and she's so in love with you.

I wouldn't be a responsible elder sister,
or head of the family,

if I didn't say

how happy it would make us all,
but particularly Margaret,

if you two were to patch things up again,

even if just for the children.

I quite agree...

and had been giving the matter
serious thought.

- Had you really?
- Yes.

But then,
I heard the latest developments.

Who she's met.

What she's doing.

How she's...

conducting herself.

What latest developments?

Hmm.

They're here!

- Welcome, Your Royal Highness.
- Colin.

- No, I don't think kissing.
- No, quite right.

I'm hot and sweaty.

- Hello.
- Yes, isn't it unbearable?

What are you talking about?
The weather's lovely.

- You're right. Heavenly.
- It's the aeroplane that was hot.

Hello.

- Is this us?
- Yes, ma'am.

Yes, I think straight to the house.
I don't want any of that.

Right. Go on.

- Hello, Anne.
- Hello.

Where's the boy?
Look, do keep up now. Come on.

- I'm sorry, darling.
- Don't call me that in public, ever.

I'd rather you didn't call me boy.

- But you are one. You're a little boy...
- Steady.

...who needs to be taught everything.

- Hmm.
- Ma'am.

There it is. Les Jolies Eaux.

Lovely.

- I was given it as a wedding present.
- Take those to their rooms, please.

The irony is the one person
I never shared it with

is my husband.

Drink, ma'am?

- Yes.
- Wonderful idea. Shall we?

- Clever you!
- Hello. Hello over there.

Look, no hands!

Come back for me!

Beautiful.

No, I don't sing. I don't sing.

Oh, turn it up.
Turn it up. I love this song.

- Do you want it louder?
- All the way!

Come on. Come and dance.

Come on, Colin.

Colin, you wild cracker!

You wild fire!

Marvelous.

Can we have one more chair?

Thank you so much.

Happiness is a fickle creature.

A constant companion to some,

hides herself completely from others.

She's been an elusive creature to me.

But, here she is, finally,
sitting among us,

and I say welcome.

I won't mention how late her arrival is.

Who?

Hmm?

Happiness, dear.

Oh... Never mind.

- Yes, sir. No problem.
- Right.

Cream?

- I'm not burning, am I?
- Not yet.

Better safe than sorry.

How could she be so stupid?

Who?

Your Majesty.

This is in every...

"The Floozy and the Scrounger."
"Lady and the Tramp."

It's not entirely Margaret's fault.
She had gone a long way to be private.

Spending 12 hours on an aeroplane

doesn't give you license
to behave like a whore.

- You must bring her back, straight away.
- That won't be easy.

She doesn't take well to my orders.

Fine. Then she can take mine.
See to it please, Martin.

Are you still here?

We don't know all the facts yet.

What is this if it's not a fact?
That is a fact.

That's a fact, that's a fact,
and that's a fact.

You've seen the papers?

I have.

What's the matter?
I thought you'd be happy.

Why would I be happy?

Because now we have
what we've been waiting for.

Margaret in love with someone else.

Legitimate grounds for separation

in a way
that will still protect your name.

Your reputation.

- Our future.
- And?

You expect me
to jump up and down with joy?

She's my wife.

Mother of my children.

Was there anything else?

Calm down. All right.

- Didn't expect to find you here.
- Where else would you expect to find me?

It's my home.

Used to be your home.

It's still my home.

What is he doing in it?

Hello, sir.

I would ask where you got the nerve
to come here

if I thought you had nerve.

But looking at you,
I can tell you've no nerve at all.

You're just stupid. Go on. Get out.

Don't you dare talk to him like that.

I'll speak to him whichever way I like

- in my house.
- My house.

Our house, ducky!

No. Not ours, anymore.

Please leave.

I won't leave.
You don't want me to leave.

I'm desperate for you to leave.
Desperate.

Like a patient
desperate to cut out a cancer.

Think very carefully
about what you're saying.

Every game has its limits.

It's not a game anymore.

He's a child.

He has no idea how to make you happy.

You made me happy?

Couldn't make me any more wretched
than you have.

You were wretched when I found you.

Your little love notes
you leave me everywhere.

"How do I loathe thee?

Let me count the ways."

"You look like a Jewish manicurist.

You look like a Maltese landlady."

A little rich, I think,
coming from a misshapen cripple!

- Oh, yes.
- Polio boy. Hoppety-hop. Hoppety-hop.

Overlooked by his mother

'cause he wasn't strong enough
or well born enough.

An embarrassment!
Not able-bodied enough.

If we're talking
about "overlooked,"

isn't that what this is all about?

Overlooked Margaret, with no role,
no purpose, no real friends,

of whom it must finally be asked,

what is a princess for?

You go after him and I'll divorce you!

Oh, you wouldn't dare.

You go after him,
and I'll bring you to your knees!

Roddy!

Roddy!

Roddy?

Roddy!

It's age.

It happens to us all.

Uh, no, ma'am.
It's not just age. No.

It's been diagnosed. It has a name.

Alzheimer's.

I first noticed symptoms two years ago.

I always speak in public without notes.

I've something of a photographic memory.

But then one day, I dried.

And in the months that followed,

I noticed more... forgetfulness.

Agitation.

Delusion.

Paranoia.

I shouldn't worry too much.

Several of your predecessors
had far more serious afflictions,

and they continued to govern
without the public being any the wiser.

Uh, no, ma'am,
it's a... it's a mental health issue now.

I shall put myself
in the hands of the doctors.

Oh, Prime Minister, I am sorry.

This will come as a terrible shock.

Well, maybe, but, uh...

No shock lasts longer than 48 hours.

There's too much appetite
for the next shock.

I'll miss our sessions terribly.

I don't mind admitting
I let out an unconstitutional cheer

when you beat Mr. Heath this time.

Oh...

I always said deep down,
you're a leftie at heart.

Nothing to do with the politics.
You're just a better companion.

Although, I wouldn't have said that
the first time we met.

No! You thought
I was going to rough you lot up.

And look what a sentimental old royalist
I turned out to be.

Your Majesty.

Prime Minister?

If you saw fit to invite your Queen

to supper at Downing Street
before you left,

she would be honored.

But that's an honor
previously only given to Churchill.

The Duke of Edinburgh and I
would like that very much.

So would Mrs. Wilson and I.

Martin?

The amount of nitrazepam
the princess took

was quite critical, ma'am.

Nitrazepam?

A sedative.

Used in short periods
for the relief of anxiety and insomnia.

Based on the numbers
of empty packets we found.

You would say
more indicative of a cry for attention,

than a genuine suicide attempt?

A cri de coeur,
rather than a coup de grâce?

Hello, you.

Hello, you.

Am I going to get a ticking-off?

That hadn't been my intention,
though perhaps I should.

Why?

Because for a while there,
it was touch and go.

So I hear.

Did you mean it?

I don't know. Possibly.

How do you feel now?

Tired.

A bit sore.

There were tubes.

A little bit foolish.

Where's Roddy?

- Gone.
- Where?

Ran for the hills.
I hear Moroccan hills.

And Tony?

Back with the Thing.

Future Lady Snowdon, I would wager.

I'm not very good at it.

What?

Men.

I seem to drive them all mad.

Tony and I are going to separate.

Yes, I think that's probably wise.

Which, I'm afraid to say,
will lead to divorce.

Yes.

The first royal divorce
since Henry VIII and Anne of Cleves.

I have a little bit of good news
in that department.

Which is?

If we time it right,
the announcement of your separation

might get lost
in the Prime Minister's resignation.

I thought he only just got re-elected.
Or did I really miss something?

Due to ill health. Alzheimer's.

I'm sorry.

How many does that make it?

- Prime ministers?
- Hmm.

Whoever replaces him will be my seventh.

The rest of us drop like flies,

but she goes on and on.

For the record, I think
there are many things you're good at.

Name one that's actually meaningful.

Being a sister.

- No need to humor me.
- I'm not.

Of all the people everywhere,

you are the closest,
and most important to me.

And if by doing this...

you wanted to let me imagine
for one minute

what life would be like without you...

you succeeded.

It would be unbearable.

Then we must both carry on.

- Morning.
- Morning, Your Majesty.

Good morning, Your Majesty.

Usually when I drive
into Broadcasting House

just after five in the morning,

the most I'm likely to see
is a bread delivery van,

or an office cleaner on the way to work,

but this morning, despite the dark skies,
there was a feeling of activity.

A string of horses
clattering through the streets,

and lots of people
wearing red, white and blue gear

drifting down towards Trafalgar Square.

But what of those who've been up all night

to make sure of getting
a good view of the procession?

Andy Price is with them
outside Buckingham Palace.

I'm standing
in front of Buckingham Palace

and I expect the Queen's teasmade
has just rung her back to consciousness.

Hello.

I expect she's lying there
just coming to,

and remembering that this is Jubilee Day.

This is a day as grueling
as her coronation 25 years ago,

certainly in ceremonial terms.

But she was a mere slip of a thing
in those days.

I expect today she's wondering
if the shoes she's gonna wear

are quite as comfortable
as they might be.

Now, the weather looks as though,
as I say,

as though it's certainly
going to hold for the journey out.

What's your view of the Jubilee?

You must do it.

You don't think
it might all backfire on me?

Ask yourself,
in the time I've been on the throne,

what have I actually achieved?

You've been calm...

and stable and...

Useless and unhelpful.

This country was still great
when I came to the throne, and now look.

So much for the Second Elizabethan Age,
which Winston talked about.

All that's happened on my watch
is the place has fallen apart.

It's only fallen apart if we say it has.

That's the thing about the monarchy.

We paper over the cracks.

And if what we do

is loud and grand and confident enough,

no one will notice
that all around us it's fallen apart.

That's the point of us.

Not us.

Of you.

You cannot flinch.

Because if you show a single crack,

we'll see it isn't a crack, but a chasm,

and we'll all fall in.

So you must hold it all together.

Must I do that alone?

There is only one queen.

And now
the Poet Laureate, Sir John Betjeman.

God save the Queen.

In days of disillusion,
However low we've been,

To fire us and inspire us

God gave to us our Queen.

She acceded, young and dutiful,

To a much-loved father's throne.

Serene and kind and beautiful,

She holds us as her own.

And 25 years later,

So sure her reign has been

That our great events are greater

For the presence of our Queen.

For our Monarch and her people,

United yet and free,

Let the bells from ev'ry steeple

Ring out loud the jubilee.