All language subtitles for The Crown - 2x04 - Beryl.WEB.STRiFE.en

We are gathered together here
in the sight of God

and in the face of this congregation

to join together this man and this woman
in holy matrimony.

Instituted of God
in the time of man's innocency,

signifying unto us

the mystical union
that is betwixt Christ and his Church.

Therefore, it is not by any
to be enterprised,

nor taken in hand, unadvisedly,
lightly or wantonly,

to satisfy men's carnal lusts
and appetites,

like brute beasts that understand nothing.

But reverently, discreetly, advisedly,

soberly and in the fear of God.

Duly considering the causes
for which matrimony was ordained.

That's absolutely charming.
Thank you very much.

Very, very fresh.
Full of vitality, thank you.

And we're going to do another one
when we're ready, and...

Colin, chin down a little bit.
Very much down a little bit.

Thank you. To me, everyone, and flash.

- The bride and groom!
- The bride and groom.

Bloody awful things, weddings.

- Dreadfully upsetting.
- Unless it's one's own, of course.

Mm.

Another couple off to build a castle.

Lower the portcullis.
Pull up the drawbridge.

- What? How do you mean?
- Couples do that, don't they?

They turn to each other,
and all we see is their backs.

So, what am I to do, Billy?

No one wants to take me on, apparently.

I'm too daunting a prospect.

I could give it a go.

Don't be silly, you're a friend.

Yes, but isn't that the first quality
one should look for in a husband?

In the olden days,
people weren't confused.

People married for sensible reasons.
Marriage was a consolidation of assets.

Also of other things.

Of friendship and values.

Outlooks.

We'd breed derby winners,
have an army of children...

- Billy...
- Look, and I'd know the ropes.

I know the rules. Your family all know me,
and I think are not averse.

- Oh, they adore you.
- And I you.

Always have.

I'm your Old Faithful, after all.

Mummy said something
interesting the other day.

Oh?

She said that the first ten years
of marriage are just an overture.

That there's often a crisis at ten years,
but then you work it out and settle in...

and it's only then
that it really gets into its stride.

Oh.

Do you suppose
that's what's happened to us?

Possibly.

I was thinking, perhaps we should have
a big anniversary party this year.

To celebrate hitting our stride.

All right.

Yes?

All right. It's Margaret.

So how was it?

It somehow managed to lift the spirits

and make one want to kill oneself
in equal measure.

Took forever to get there.

- Mummy was a nightmare.
- Was she?

Mercifully, they sent a helicopter
to bring us back.

Hmm.

And I have this horrible feeling
that somewhere, in the middle of it all...

- I agreed to get married myself.
- What?

- To whom?
- Billy Wallace.

Goodness!

Congratulations! Billy Wallace.

Oh, Christ!

So if I were to accept,
it would be a yes from you?

Yes, of course.

An emphatic yes.

And Philip and I
were just discussing having a party

for our tenth wedding anniversary,

and you and Billy could use the occasion
to announce your engagement,

if you wanted.

That's a nice idea.

Well, that's settled then.

- Thank you.
- My pleasure. Goodnight, Margaret.

...perhaps you'd explain why it is

that the satellite
keeps on circling the Earth

instead of either flying off into space
or dropping to the ground.

I'm not sure how I feel about
a Russian satellite circling the Earth...

just above our heads.
What's it doing up there?

Notionally, it's providing information

about the density
of the Earth's upper atmosphere.

Of course its darker purpose
is to demonstrate to everyone

the extent of Russian military power

- and technical capacity.
- Oh.

The same rocket
that launched this satellite

is capable of firing a nuclear warhead

into enemy territory
with pinpoint accuracy.

- Wow.
- Imagine the effect

this will have on the Americans.

A great crisis of self-doubt,
if I'm not very much mistaken.

We must seize this opportunity
to help the Americans

and work together in a joint effort
to meet the Russian threat.

That is the way to repair Anglo-American
relations, which, as you know,

have deteriorated terribly
due to the Suez Crisis.

Quite. You know,
after the war they said Eisen...

I am absolutely determined
to restore the special relationship

that exists between our two countries.

We're bound by so much more
than just language and shared history.

It's a kind of marriage.

As in any marriage,
there'll be ups and downs,

but one must work
to get things back on track.

They say that listening's important.

In any marriage.

Does that mean
that we can learn just as much

from this satellite as the Russians?

And how are we going to do this?

I think the driver should drop me first,
then take you on to the station.

Or I could wait.

I don't think that would be wise.

Why? How long do you need with him?

A day. Maybe two.

It's the last time, I promise.

- Don't make promises you cannot keep.
- No.

I'm determined to end it. It's time.

- Now that you're Prime Minister.
- Yes, it is.

With a one, two, three, flash.

Oh, quite magnificent.

Why does it always have to be
Cecil Beaton

- taking my official birthday portrait?
- What's wrong with Cecil?

When it came out last year,
everyone said how pretty you looked.

No, they said how much I looked like you.

Well, quite.

Fairy tales.

Yes, but he does it so well.

And to me, Your Royal Highness.

A little less chin, and..

What do you think?

I asked my new lady-in-waiting
here today...

Your Majesty.

...to offer her opinion...

having at least one foot
in the real world.

I think birthday portraits
should evolve and mature with age.

Like the subject. Show change
in the character. Complexity.

Reality.

No one wants complexity
and reality from us.

Do sit down.

People have enough of that
in their own lives.

- They want us to help them escape.
- Indeed, Your Majesty.

Imagine this, if you will...

a young woman, a commonplace creature.
She sits in her drab little scullery.

So much work to do. So much washing-up.

How she longs for comfort, for hope.

And again. One, two, three and flash.

She wants to believe
her life has some meaning beyond chores.

She opens a magazine and she sees
Her Royal Highness's photograph.

For one glorious, transforming moment,
she becomes a princess, too.

She is lifted out of her miserable,
pitiful reality into a fantasy.

Later, she will step out of her house

in a new neckerchief, perhaps,
for which she has saved.

Oh, she will hold her head up high.
She is renewed.

And all thanks to you,
Your Royal Highness...

and to the ideal which you represent.

And now,
with a one, two, three and flash.

Quite marvelous.

It's good news all round.

In the 20 or so years we have known
the hapless, misshapen crane

that is Billy Wallace, has any woman
ever looked at him as an object of desire?

I mean, even remotely?

Certainly not.

Then how can one begin to explain that?

Ma'am, Lord Blandford
just telephoned to apologize

and say that Mr. Wallace
may be indisposed this evening.

He can't be indisposed.
We're announcing our engagement.

Something about an injury.
Rather a serious injury.

- Where is he?
- Your Highness.

Uh...

Her Royal Highness, Princess Margaret.

- Out of my way.
- Oh, shit.

No, you must keep
your leg up, sir.

Billy?

It's all right, Simpson.

Well, what's going on?
It's our announcement this evening.

Unforeseen circs, I'm afraid.
Rather a dust-up in the early hours.

Are you drunk?

Don't be like that.
I had to do something for the pain.

- Well, what happened?
- Wait till you hear.

You'll laugh till you spit.

Your friend Tennant rather took offense
at something I did.

You came to blows with Colin?

I believe the word "duel" was mentioned.

A duel?

Tennant issued the challenge.

A little childish in this day and age
if you ask me,

but a duel is a duel,
so I stepped up to the mark.

That's what a gentleman does.

No!

If I'm completely honest, a little
drink had been taken during the night.

But we faced the dawn
with clear heads and strong hearts.

Now, Tennant wanted to motor up to Glen
to get his father's old pistols.

It would've been quite ridiculous.
Much too far away.

So, Blandford offered his.

It was a bloody
stupid mistake.

A duel is not just
a test of marksmanship.

It's a test of character.

Ten paces.

One... two...

three... four...

five... six...

seven... eight... nine...

ten.

Fucker shot me in the leg.
Bloody awful thing.

Anyway, I survived
with a small flesh wound.

And why was he angry with you?

It's the strangest thing, but ever since
word got out about our engagement,

I've found myself
quite the center of attention.

It's as though
every good-looking girl on Earth

has taken the news
as a personal challenge.

I'm not used to the idea of being a beau,
much less a catch.

Seems to have gone to my head rather.

Had a bit of a fumble at Blenheim.

She was rather a beauty.
She's in pictures, you know. An actress.

Anyway, Tennant got wind of it
and got very cross.

Yes, with reason.

You pathetic, weak, contemptible fool.

I never even wanted to marry you.
You were only ever an act of charity.

Or desperation.

And now you insult me? You?

People like you don't get to insult people
like me. You get to be eternally grateful.

You've quite the way with women.

Take a look at this face.
A picture of disappointment and disgust.

This is the look that every woman
you ever know will come to share.

This is what the next 40 years
of your life will look like.

Margaret...

Margaret!

Shit!

Ma'am, I've been asked to tell you

that Princess Margaret will not be
announcing the engagement this evening.

Her Royal Highness said
she'll explain everything later.

Yes, I'm sure she will.
Thank you, Michael.

Thank you, ma'am.

All right, all right, settle down.

So on my recent tour of the Pacific,
I was introduced to a man who said to me,

"My wife is a doctor of philosophy
and much more important than I am."

To which I could only reply,

"Ah, yes, sir, we have that trouble
in our family too."

You know, when I imagined our marriage
in the early days,

I imagined two people welded together
into some sort of combined existence.

Ten years. Ten years has taught me
the secret of a successful marriage

is actually to have different interests.

Well, different interests,
but not entirely different.

It's a funny business.

One sees the whole of the other person,
you see even that part of them

that they don't see themselves,

and presumably...
they see that hidden part of you.

One ends up knowing more about one's
partner than they know about themselves.

And it can be pretty tough
to keep quiet about it. So you have to...

You have to come to an accommodation,

an arrangement, a deal... if you like,

to take the rough with the smooth.

But the extraordinary thing is...

down there in the rough...

in the long reeds of difficulty
and pain...

that is where you find the treasure.

So I would like to propose a toast...

in the name of love.

In the name of our beloved country.

In the name of steadfastness.

In the name
of another ten marvelous years.

I give you mon petit chou...

Lilibet...

Elizabeth...

the Queen.

The Queen!

We're sending you
to the newsroom at Alexandra Palace.

President Eisenhower has spoken warmly
of the special relationship

that exists between Britain
and the United States.

Prime Minister
Macmillan and I will do everything we can

to strengthen and repair the long-term
bonds which have bound together the...

But I can't. I can't.

I want only you.

I've tried again with Harold.
Tried and tried.

I know, I know.

I just can't.
I can't have him touch me, be near me.

His weakness repels me.

His love disgusts me.

Good morning!

Oh, darling, what a mess.

It is the most beautiful day.

I've brought something to cheer you up.

Cecil's magnificent work.

He's quite outdone himself this time.

I can tell you which one I would choose
as the official birthday portrait,

and Cecil immediately agreed.

But of course, it's for you to decide.

And with regards to Billy Wallace...

Don't mention that name.

I've had him
on the telephone to me all morning,

quite distraught.

- Then his mother, then his grandmother...
- I'm never speaking to him again.

Then we will find you someone else.

I don't want you to find me anyone.

Maurice Landgrave of Hesse.

He's a distant cousin.

Now his mother was a Catholic,
but their lands are still intact,

and he gives a very good show of himself
on the polo field...

No one!

Someone suggested
Prince Christian of Hanover,

a descendant of Queen Victoria.

Served in the Luftwaffe,
but we won't hold that against him.

I do know what the official duties
of a lady-in-waiting are.

Accompanying me on foreign trips,
dealing with my mail.

Do you suppose it might also include
helping me climb over the wall to escape?

I just can't bear it anymore.

I'm having some people to dinner, tonight.

What, normal people?

Yes, they're all normal.

But in their own way,
they're all quite exceptional, too.

You can go.

And possibly not deferential.

That's fine. As long as
they still meet the main requirements.

Which are?

That none of them breeds horses,
owns land... or knows my mother.

All right, all of you.

Hello.

Everyone.

I'd like you to say hello
to our guest of honor,

Her Royal Highness,
the Princess Margaret.

Hello.

Are you ready, ma'am?
Here come the introductions.

Here we have Dudley on the piano.

And this here is Shilpa.

Feeling a little left out...
and you're thinking to yourself,

"These dabblers and freaks
seem to know one another very well."

Hmm?

Then you'd be absolutely right.

Now, be honest.

Can you remember any of the names?

No, not really.

Can't remember me either?

What, we've met?

We have.

Where have we met?

Perhaps it'll come to you.

Now, where to begin...

Ah. Far corner.

The irresistible so-and-so
with the mustard-colored polo neck.

- Irresistible?
- Oh, come on, a nine, surely?

Seven.

He's called Jeremy,
he's heir to a chocolate fortune.

Married to the blonde beauty opposite.

- Oh, she's an eight.
- Isn't she?

Yes, they dazzle in public, those two.

They don't disappoint in private either.
More of that another time, I think.

Who's next?

Ah, yes.
Our flushed and fleshy friend in paisley.

His name's Ken Russell,
makes documentaries for the BBC.

Travels everywhere on a bus.

You've probably never been on a bus,
have you?

- No.
- Pity.

You really do meet the best people.

Tell me about the woman
with the... extraordinary eyes.

Baroness Frankenstein.

She played opposite Boris Karloff
in that movie, you know. Actress.

- Oh.
- No one can quite make out

why she left
a rather brilliant film producer

for a dreary politician.

- Oh.
- His name's John Profumo.

Fucking dull.

It's true, it's true. But...

the older gentleman beside him...

Oh, no, no, no. I know who that one is.
That's John Betjeman, the poet.

Um...

"Books from Boots' and country lanes,
Free speech, free passes...

Class distinction.

Distinction.

- Democracy...
- Democracy...

and proper drains."

Just so.

Is it really true he has two wives?

I hope so.

Better if he has three.

We don't want
anyone conventional around here.

Now, tell me about you.

- Oh, God, you really don't remember.
- No.

Hm. I'm a photographer.

Oh, the wedding photographer?

Ah, that was a favor.
That's not my normal line of work.

What is?

This.

Ah.

- What, these are yours?
- Yes.

Portraits?

Mm, I don't like that word.
It's so stuffy and traditional.

Oh, sorry. What are they, then?

Mm, people, faces. They're the most
interesting subject I've found so far.

If you can think of anything
more interesting, do let me know.

Oh, I like them.

It's as if there's no camera at all.
You've caught them off guard.

- Ah, it's all luck, really.
- You've made the ugliness beautiful.

I despise posturing
and pretentiousness and humbug.

Don't you?

Is that why you took up photography?

Maybe.

Maybe it's just a good way
to get behind closed doors.

- Somebody's door in particular?
- Just doors generally.

A facade is only useful as a marker

for something one has to get behind
or beyond.

The surface is so dreary, don't you think?
What people want to show of themselves,

the idealized version,
is of no interest to me.

What people hide... that interests me.

But you get so close.

Isn't it rather an intrusion?

It's very much an intrusion, yes.
That's exactly what photography is.

I use a small Leica, nothing fancy,

and natural light,
which means that I can prowl around.

All the while
I'm getting closer and closer,

and in the end, it's kind of like...

- Well, it's, uh...
- Intrusion.

Intimacy.

How would you feel
about taking my photograph?

Well, I'd consider it.

On one condition.

- Go on.
- When you come to my slum studio,

you leave the titles and princess outside.

- I'd be happy to.
- And for the duration of the session,

you do everything I say.

Don't look like that.

You're dying to, admit it.

Dying to what?

Be a supplicant.

I can tell.

It was the first room
I've ever been to where nobody got up,

bowed, curtsied.

Some just carried on having conversations,
as if I wasn't there at all.

Those that did talk to me
did with such indifference

or nonchalance, it verged on impertinence.

There was this one in particular.

- Tony.
- Anthony, surely?

No, he insisted.

Tony. Armstrong-Jones.
He's this photographer.

- Like Cecil?
- Oh, no, nothing like Cecil.

Couldn't be less like Cecil.

Well, maybe a bit like Cecil,
in that he's obviously queer.

Though interestingly, Elizabeth denies it.

Elizabeth who?

Cavendish. I called her when I got home
last night and interrogated her.

"What are the five most important things
I need to know about that man?"

- Why five?
- I don't know. Felt like the right number.

- Why not three?
- He's more interesting than three.

So, what did she say?

One, that he's Welsh.

- Is that interesting?
- No, not particularly.

That he had polio as a child.

That he has a passion
for inventing things.

And he would never dream of being
anything as straightforward

as "simply queer."

What on earth does that mean?

I'm not altogether sure.

But I'm also not incurious to find out.

What was number five?

You can go.

- That was five. - No, Margaret, that was four.

All right. Five is...

I liked him.

Yes, I can tell that.

- There's a contempt in him.
- What for?

For me. For us.

For everything we represent.

I actually think you'd like him.

That's what's so dangerous about him.

Upstairs.

Right.

Wait there.

Back in a minute.

Don't smile like that.

It's lovely, but don't.

Too lovely?

- For my taste, yes.
- Oh, I see.

You'd prefer me to be unlovely?

I'd prefer you to be yourself. Though
I realize that's asking the impossible.

Why?

Because I'm uncooperative?

Because you have no idea who you are.

Look to the window.

- I know perfectly well.
- No, not the faintest idea.

Window.

We don't know who you are, either.

The rest of us, outside the palace gates.

That's because we keep feeding you
the fairy tale.

Like this.

Ah.

Jesus.

I'm sorry, but, uh...

Cecil is a disgrace.

Well, he's been good to the family.

Why would you care about the family?

Have they been good to you?

They're my family.

Yes.

But that business with Peter Townsend.

Cruel.

Was he really as dreary as he seemed?

He was decent and old-fashioned.

Easy qualities to mock.

Easy to miss, too.

Do you miss him?

Sometimes.

Got it. Right.
Back to my place for a drink?

- Your place? Where's that?
- Well, get dressed and I'll show you.

So, this is... home.

Oh, it's marvelous.

- Whiskey or Cinzano?
- Whiskey, please.

Who's she?

- A friend.
- What kind of friend?

A friend.

And this one? Ooh.
Couldn't you have cheered her up a little?

That's Sarah Macmillan,
the Prime Minister's daughter.

Or is she?

Word is not.

- That she's Bob Boothby's love child.
- No.

Mm. Thirty years they say
the affair's been going on,

right under the PM's nose.
Can you imagine?

I don't think I'm ever
going to get married.

Quite right.

Ghastly business.

It makes being happy so very difficult.

Oh, what's this?

Oh, it's something I'm working on.
A design.

It's fragile, get off.

Mm, sorry.

Here, come and have a look at this.
This might amuse you.

- What, people have signed their names?
- Well, their nicknames, yes.

- Who's Tigger?
- Cleo Laine.

- Snitch?
- Dirk Bogarde.

Oh, look.
You already have a princess.

Mm.

That's Tony Richardson.

Will you sign?

I keep a diamond for the purpose.

Go on.

I'm not sure I've ever had a nickname.

What shall I put?

Something that'll
throw them off the scent.

Beryl.

- Beryl?
- Mm.

All right.

It rhymes with peril.

Put it back.

Right.

- Shall we look at the photograph?
- Yes.

Right.

First...

the chemicals.

- You know, when we first met...
- Mm?

...I was sure you were queer.

Why?

Just the way you talked to women.

Understood women.

Then you put it into the water.

- Here?
- Mm-hmm.

Not to mention your tidy little hips,
your vanity and fastidiousness.

I'm not vain.

You're insufferably vain.

But now I see you're not queer.

Then you put it into the fixer.

This whole routine
is far too practiced and well oiled.

Woman after woman has been here
before me.

Beautiful women.

Mm-hmm.

Then...

we hang her up.

What do you think?

It's a Margaret I've never seen before.

- No one's ever seen before.
- No.

Because in this photo,
you're not a princess anymore.

There's someone
I would like you to send it to.

Can I give you an address?

Sure.

- Then I must go.
- Mm.

You, um...

You won't stay a little longer?

No.

This is where the routine ends.

For now.

All right.

Did you come with a driver?

Yes, he's waiting outside.

Good. Then he can follow us.

We are most honored
to have been guests

- in Your Majesty's beautiful home.
- Ah.

Hold tight.

- Thank you so much for coming.
- It's been a pleasure.

Thank you very much.

- God, I thought that would never end.
- Yes, it did go on rather.

- On and on and on and on.
- Mm.

Definitely not queer.

Keep it.

Night.

Goodnight.

Good gracious!

Oh là là!

Mm-mm.

- There you are.
- Finally.

- Oh, I say.
- What is it?

It appears she's...

Naked.

Yes.