I think we all know the shame of sharing your desires and interests. Not in a “the enormity of my desire disgusts me” way, but as in a fighting for your life in a group chat defending your crush who suddenly seems less attractive now that they’re a “See 1 Attachment:” message way. Is something embarrassing just because you like it? Surely not, but it does seem that way sometimes. Over the years I’ve observed that this also very much applies to media, particularly when the conversation turns to “comfort” or all time favorite media. I am not saying to be shameless with your Riverdale consumption, or whatever the kids are watching these days. Because some of y’all’s heinous interests need to be duly shamed. Today I am solely defending my own guilty pleasure show, and championing its universality as a greater reflection on soap operas and scripted dramedies as a whole.
I first met “The Royals” by browsing the Prime Video “New Arrivals” catalogue in 8th grade. This is absolutely not a recommendation of this show to 8th graders (seeing as my mother rightfully removed me from the family account and put a child content lock on it afterward), but I also do not write to you today as a liar when I say that every time I watch this show since that day, it gets better. Yes, it does stand as a product of its time, complete with cakey smokey eyes beat to death and one liners and 2015 slang and jokes that are wholly more stale taste than poor taste. These are all the most glaring skeletons in the closet of the show, but it improves upon itself over time, aging like fine wine, both as a comedy and a drama. And does it all with sophisticated and entertaining dialogue and a plot that is completely and entirely abstracted from typical popular fiction media surrounding the British royal family (see “The Crown” on Netflix).
Nowhere else will you watch coups and perverts and romantic affairs and secrets and murder and lies and international conspiracies, and thus it is magnificently soapy but not too predictable. This show is accessible and cheap enough for all ages (thus not alienating audiences as prestige so often does) and surprisingly watertight when it comes to plot holes and cast performances. I can’t really think of a comparison or contemporary in its genre or topic, which truly makes it one of a kind. It’s sharp. It’s funny. It draws you in with intention and fulfilled promises. There’s a sort of genius to it.
Also, with all its worth as a comedy, this show knows its rights as a drama. The Hamlet parallels may not be enough for some, so heaps of paternal legacies and generational hauntings are served up stone cold. Montages connecting the heinous deeds of one to the false innocence of another get your heart racing, and complex themes of responsibility, morality and public facing honesty are each abound in spades.
To give you some exposition rather than just gushing, let me explain. “The Royals” opens on the sudden death of the eldest son of the (modern) (fictional) British royal family. The remaining members are Simon the solemn king, Cyrus the weird uncle, Helena the glamazon queen, Liam the spare heir prince and Eleanor the “Skins” extra princess with a closet as deep as Gaga’s. This family is forced to pull itself together in a storm of abolishment referendums, rumors, inadequate succession options and scandals, all of which hit them at full speed. Their dysfunction and unfathomable masses of power make them absolutely insufferable. To top it all off there’s rarely a “downstairs” perspective or look into those affected by the incompetency of their monarchs. Don’t worry, this isn’t prestigious enough to be “Succession”. This is “Succession” with a Morphe sponsorship and an even more prevalent drug problem.
Let’s examine the progression of each of the aforementioned family members, to survey their evolution as protagonists and vehicles of plot. Simon is probably the flattest character on this show, but we love him for his internal goodness and patriarchal steer to guide the family into a brighter future. In his time on the show, he drives the abolishment referendum plot with a noble cause, but doesn’t get as much in depth exploration of his demons. The only remote possibility of Simon Henstridge doing anything that could be construed as morally wrong was dropping the abolishment bomb on Robert moments before he was officially flewed out to who-knows-where for navy training and his prompt death. He doesn’t assault Prudence, remains faithful to Helena, nurtures Eleanor and Liam and speaks with guiding honesty and graciousness. #KingSimon4Life.
Speaking of Helena. Let’s discuss a queen bee. A cold blooded warrior. The only one in that palace with her head on straight and eyes (and Botox) fixed firmly on the future. She whipped the Royal Family into shape more times than I can count, and yet still reserves moments of vulnerability for a good Hozier-soundtracked, candlelit moment. Her riotous affair with Alistair, crucial role in a murder conspiracy involving a Grand Dowager Duchess and an ill-fated girl named Domino (justice for the unnamed horse) and nameless public scandals entrenched in female scrutiny all glance off of Helena, revealing a steely portrait of ambition and what happens when the gloriously right person does the wrong things.
A perfect partner in crime to Helena’s reign of terror, Cyrus is unironically one of my favorite characters of the show. Cyrus is for the Roman Roy girls, and that’s just that. This murderous, impotent, perverted, creatively foul-mouthed, singular-balled freak is a grounding force of evil who actually presents a compelling comedown. Seeing Cyrus descend into the throes of cancer and exile when his bag of tricks eventually runs out is hard to watch, and yet since the pilot episode every audience member could see it coming. His one liners are unparalleled. The delivery is delicious. Jake Maskall knows his Shakespeare, and that’s all I have to say.
On to our tale of two brothers. Liam is interesting in that William Moseley did his absolute best with a scattered characterization. Is he the “playboy prince” who is inadequate in the face of his prodigiously perfect elder brother Robert? Is he a white knight breaking the cycles of fear and secrecy in the Royal family to step aside in humility? Is he ambitiously fighting for a chance to be the “right” heir for his father in a time of need for the family business a la Kendall Roy? We may never know. (Pause: My notes say “insert crying sliding down wall youngest son web weave” here, so I’ll leave that to your imagination.) Unfortunately, Liam’s flat and nonsensical love interests drown out so much of his screen time that we don’t get to see those soulful baby blues do their thing. Overall, he is a compelling prince even though he flops in the public eye 70 percent of the time.
Robert himself (stop reading here, C3, this is resurrection spoilers) is probably the best written character on the series. The left-of-center directorial turn that (the final and fatal) Season 4 provided such an unexpected chance for him to shine as the complex man he is, while juggling a variety of relationships and tenuous challenges. His burning desire to prove his own father wrong from beyond the grave while simultaneously crushing everyone around him into submission is borderline diabolical, and also geniusly maddening by the time the audience sees everything he’s doing behind the scenes. You have no doubt he is Helena’s son, but the evidence of evil he presents is a chilling case against Simon as a father, or at least a good one. Who else could shut off power for the entire city of London then deliver this scene? No one, I think.
Last but not least, our beloved Eleanor. The poppers princess. She will always have a soft spot in my heart for her earnestness, and her desire to do good before she even gives herself the chance to believe she could. Unfortunately, Eleanor is also the proof in the pudding in this series, the pudding being fridging and misogyny. Her scenes rarely pass the Bechdel test (permissively adding a criteria for mention of substances), she is being taken advantage of or under the influence in 80% of her romantic scenes, and the men in her life hold her hand through every instance of “independence”. Alexandra Park brings such a stunning performance that I forget how the show tries to put Eleanor in boxes, just by the power of Park smashing them to bits. The royal beaver is a national monument at this point.
Eleanor is not the only victim of poor writing regarding women on this show. Every male protagonist (and side character, or villain) gets noble or at least complex motivation and storylines with little consequences, and a soft rock soundtrack for his contemplative monologues. The following female recurring characters get the following at the expense of those men: cheated on/abandoned/car crashed mid-road head (Gemma), cheated on/abandoned/family hurt (Ophelia), assaulted/drugged/stolen from/family hurt/blackmailed (Eleanor), drugged/assaulted/abused/pimped (Imogen), raped/blackmailed/imprisoned (Prudence), cheated on/abused/family hurt/abandoned/manipulated (Kathryn), lied to/manipulated/used (Greta) lied to/manipulated/drugged/villainized (Willow), and many many other dire ends. The use of female characters as either (1) sex symbols (2) addicts or (3) pawns is a bit too frequent to chalk up to genre-specific-good-olde sexism, and a painful reminder of why the show was cancelled after Season 4 for a producer’s sexual harassment allegations.
Nevertheless, “The Royals” manages to juggle a large number of characters and plots without getting too sitcommy. There are genuinely interesting backstories and connected ties between arcs that satisfy the need for drama audiences crave. We understand the stakes of the mostly questionable actions of this family, and without the villainous, disdainful distance “Succession” cultivates, we actually root for them. I can think of no plot holes or glaring writing missteps, and found each new plot to be tied with a satisfactory juicy bow by the end of its run. Despite the heaviness of some of the content, I never tire of seeing Cyrus dig himself out of a drug debt or Helena media-fight another new enemy in the press.
Leah, you may plead at this point, this sounds like bottom-feeding trash. Why do you watch it? I could give a variety of answers, ranging between “Elizabeth Hurley” and “the timeless brilliance of family dramas on elevated stages and settings” and “Elizabeth Hurley”. The right words didn’t truly come to me until I watched the first two episodes of the show for the fourth time, this time with some of my closest college friends.
I now feel that I more comprehensively understand the difference between art and entertainment, and how both correspond with my life. Art is usually deluxe, delicious, to be savored and enjoyed in minimal portions. Entertainment is usually gluttonous, sprawling, and only appropriately enjoyed in burnout binges. You can probably guess which category “The Royals” falls into, and the appropriate circumstances in which it should thus be consumed: at 2am, among other adolescents under the influence of Jeni’s Brambleberry Crisp ice cream, to riotous cackles of laughter and rewinds of the best lines. I believe it would probably have the same effect on us in ten years. Or twenty. Mostly, I love telling people how much I love this show because like little exposure therapy shocks, admitting I (a self professed snob) like something that is just plain corny is a little thrilling.
Soaps unite people. Bad tv unites people. In a subversive, neon-lit-watercooler, “Can you believe what just happened (derogatory)” way, “The Royals” does so too. So go forth and watch it if you dare, and prepare for your life to be changed. Or not, no pressure.
Also, my commissions are open, so if you liked this or even remotely hated it: let’s chat! I love you, and I’ll see you next week for a juicy little bit about black discomfort in classroom spaces.