When Peter Morgan first pitched the idea of a sprawling, multi-decade saga about the British Royal Family, people were skeptical. Who wants to watch a slow-burn period piece about a woman who spent most of her life opening hospitals and waving from balconies? Then The Crown Season 1 dropped on Netflix, and everything changed. It wasn't just a history lesson. It was a claustrophobic, high-stakes psychological drama.
Claire Foy didn't just play the Queen; she embodied the crushing weight of a crown that she never really asked for. Honestly, looking back at those first ten episodes, it’s wild how much the show got right—and where it took some serious creative liberties to make the palace feel like a gilded cage.
The Reluctant Queen and the Death of Elizabeth Mountbatten
Most of us think of the transition from Princess to Queen as this seamless, divine right of passage. In reality, it was a mess. The first season of The Crown hammers home a brutal truth: for Elizabeth to become the Monarch, the woman she used to be had to die. There is a specific moment in the first few episodes where her grandmother, Queen Mary, writes her a letter explaining that "Elizabeth Mountbatten" has been replaced by "Elizabeth Regina." It’s chilling.
King George VI died in his sleep at Sandringham in February 1952. He was only 56. The show portrays this with a haunting silence. Jared Harris, who plays the King, gives a performance that makes you feel the literal physical decay of a man who was essentially worked to death by the stress of World War II and a pack-a-day smoking habit. When Elizabeth finds out she’s Queen, she’s in Kenya, standing on a literal treetop lookout.
Think about that for a second.
You go on vacation as a wife and mother of two, and you come back as the head of the Commonwealth. The show doesn't shy away from the awkwardness. She has to step off that plane in black mourning clothes, and her own mother has to curtsy to her. That’s the exact moment the family dynamic shifted from "loving relatives" to "subject and sovereign." It's weird. It’s lonely. And the show nails that isolation.
Philip’s Ego and the Great Surname Row
If you want to talk about the real drama of The Crown Season 1, you have to talk about Prince Philip. Matt Smith plays him as a man who is perpetually annoyed, and honestly, the real Philip probably was. Imagine being a high-ranking naval officer, a "man’s man" in the 1950s, and suddenly you have to walk two steps behind your wife for the rest of your life.
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The show focuses heavily on the "House of Mountbatten" vs. the "House of Windsor" conflict. Philip wanted his kids to carry his name. The establishment—specifically Winston Churchill and Queen Mary—said absolutely not.
"I am the only man in the country not allowed to give his name to his own children," Philip famously (and historically) complained. "I’m nothing but a bloody amoeba."
This wasn't just a petty domestic tiff. It was a constitutional crisis in miniature. The show uses this to highlight the tension between a modernizing world and an institution that survives specifically by not changing. Philip wanted to fly planes, he wanted to modernize the palace, and he wanted to be the head of his household. The Crown took all of that away from him. It’s why those early scenes of them in Malta feel so sunny and free, compared to the grey, stifling halls of Buckingham Palace that follow.
Churchill, the Smog, and the Reality of 1950s Britain
One of the best parts of the first season is John Lithgow as Winston Churchill. It was a controversial casting choice at the time—an American playing the most British man to ever live? But it worked. Lithgow captures the stubbornness of a man who refused to believe his time was up.
The Great Smog of 1952 is a major plot point in Episode 4, "Act of God." Most people outside of London have no idea this happened, but it was a genuine disaster. A thick layer of soot and sulfur dioxide settled over the city for five days. People couldn't see their feet. Thousands died. The Crown Season 1 depicts Churchill as being dismissive of the weather until his own secretary is killed by a bus she didn't see coming.
Historians argue about how much Churchill actually cared or if the political fallout was that dramatic, but the show uses it perfectly to show the friction between the old guard and the new Queen. Elizabeth had to find her voice to challenge a man who had literally saved Western Civilization. That’s a lot of pressure for a 25-year-old.
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The Townsend Scandal: Margaret’s Heartbreak
You can't talk about the first season without mentioning Princess Margaret and Peter Townsend. This is where the show feels most like a soap opera, but the facts are largely on its side.
Peter Townsend was a war hero and an equerry to the King. He was also divorced. In the 1950s, the Church of England—which Elizabeth headed—was strictly against remarriage. If Margaret wanted to marry him, she would have to give up her rights, her income, and her title.
Vanessa Kirby plays Margaret with this desperate, vibrating energy. You can see her looking at her sister and seeing a robot, while Elizabeth looks at Margaret and sees a liability. The tragedy of The Crown Season 1 is that Elizabeth eventually has to choose the institution over her own sister’s happiness. She promised her father she’d look after Margaret, but the Crown demanded she break her sister’s heart. She chose the Crown. That decision fractured their relationship for decades, and the show sets that groundwork brilliantly.
What’s Fact and What’s Friction?
Let's get into the weeds. Was it all true? Sorta.
The show is a dramatization, not a documentary. For instance, the drama surrounding the Queen’s education—where she realizes she wasn't taught "useful" things like science or history, only constitutional law—is a bit exaggerated for TV. In reality, she was very well-briefed, but she did feel the gap in her formal schooling compared to the intellectuals she had to entertain.
Then there’s the coronation. The show makes a huge deal about Philip being in charge of the Coronation Committee and insisting it be televised. That actually happened. The Queen Mother was horrified. She thought it would "strip away the magic" of the monarchy. Philip argued that if the people saw it, they’d feel a part of it. He was right. Over 20 million people watched it in the UK alone. It was the moment the monarchy entered the living room.
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Why This Season Still Holds Up in 2026
Even years after its release, and following the real-life passing of Queen Elizabeth II, the first season feels different now. It’s a time capsule. We’re so used to the image of the "Granny of the Nation" that seeing her as a nervous, sometimes unsure young woman is jarring and humanizing.
The production value alone is staggering. They spent something like $130 million on this season. You can see it in the lace on the dresses, the weight of the silver tea sets, and the way the light hits the mahogany desks. It doesn't look like a TV set; it looks like a world.
But more than the aesthetics, it’s about the cost of duty. Everyone in this show is miserable in their own way because they are all serving an idea rather than themselves. Elizabeth wants to be a country wife. Philip wants to be a commander. Margaret wants to be a wife. None of them get what they want.
Actionable Insights for the Aspiring Historian (or Binge-Watcher)
If you’re watching or re-watching The Crown Season 1, here’s how to get the most out of the experience without falling for every "Hollywood" twist:
- Check the Timeline: The first season spans from 1947 (the wedding) to 1955 (the end of the Townsend affair). A lot of events are compressed. Use the official Royal Family website or a reputable history site like History Extra to see the actual dates of the Suez Crisis precursors or Churchill’s stroke.
- Watch the Wardrobe: Costume designer Michele Clapton didn't just make "pretty dresses." The Queen's clothes become more structured and "armor-like" as the season progresses. Watch how she loses her personal style to adopt the "uniform" of the Monarch.
- Read the Letters: If you want the real tea, look up the letters between Edward VIII (the Duke of Windsor) and Wallis Simpson. The show depicts his "pet names" for the family (calling the Queen Mother "Cookie," for example), and those are 100% real and pulled from his private correspondence.
- Compare the Speeches: Many of the speeches in the show, like the Queen's Christmas broadcasts, are taken almost verbatim from the archives. Listen to the real recordings on YouTube to see how closely Claire Foy matched the cadence and "Received Pronunciation" of the era.
The genius of the show isn't that it tells us what happened. We can find that in a textbook. It tells us how it felt. It takes these icons off the stamps and the coins and puts them in a room where they’re arguing about the dishes or crying in the bathroom. It makes the untouchable feel relatable, which is probably why we’re still talking about it years later.
To truly understand the modern British monarchy, you have to understand 1952. You have to understand a world reeling from war, a crumbling empire, and a young woman trying to find her footing in a room full of men who thought they knew better. That’s what makes this season the definitive piece of royal media. It wasn't just about a crown; it was about the person underneath it.