Shortly after King James succeeded England’s first long-serving female monarch, Queen Elizabeth, William Shakespeare’s theatre company mounted a production inspired by James’s actions. After only a few performance, the King requested the play be ended and the company voluntarily complied. His reign was too new to withstand this fictionalization, even if he was written in as the hero — the Renaissance version of “too soon.”
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That we are now more than a century past the reign of Queen Victoria allows “Victoria”‘s production a greater freedom than that of its distant relation, Netflix’s “The Crown.” The latter, set in a still-familiar post-WW2 London and featuring a monarch who is still on the throne, moves fluidly through the timeline but knows it must at least nod to a series of events and politicians its audience expects to see.
“Victoria,” based on the Queen’s own diaries, is faithful in broad strokes to its subject’s life story — but the greater historical distance permits it a greater allowance for imagination. The characterization of Victoria (Jenna Coleman) is its emotional core, and her portrayal here is consistent with the written record of a stubborn, confident, extremely short and extremely self-assured woman. This series is also fortunate to know that the minutae of its political plot lines are neither well-known nor of any great interest to the viewing audience — and eliminating much of the 1830s politicking just allows more room for Victoria herself to shine.
Among the tropes that make British costume dramas so beloved is that of repressed passion, the agony of repressing feelings in an era when propriety reigns supreme. Fans of the genre eagerly await every time hands almost touch or a handkerchief is dropped, every time two peoples’ eyes meet near a piano, the way that only in regimented dance numbers are the lovers able to touch.
Most of these tropes are brought to life in the first three episodes by Victoria’s steadfast advisor Lord Melbourne (Rufus Sewell) whose cheekbones and constrained passion seem well on their way to earning him a spot in the hall of smoldering fame near Richard Armitage in “North and South,” Ciarán Hinds in “Persuasion” or Colin Firth in “Pride and Prejudice”… But then something unexpected happens.
When Prince Albert (Tom Hughes) arrives in episode three, the entire enterprise readjusts itself around him. Not since the appearance of Mark “McSteamy” Sloan (Eric Dane) on “Grey’s Anatomy” has a late-coming male cast member so shaken up an audience’s expectation. It’s obvious that he would catch Victoria’s attention; he stands out as much among her courtiers as he does the other characters on the show, unadulterated sex appeal radiating through his period-appropriate facial hair and emo bangs.
In a twist that would never work in a fictional narrative, this newcomer is neither naif nor cad; he is merely a man with no artifice, whose quiet confidence disarms the Queen almost entirely. Albert’s dialogue is at times shockingly frank — English isn’t his first language, and then there’s the fact that he’s incapable of acting any other way. And so it follows that he also has no time for repressed emotions, his distaste — and subsequent all-consuming lust — for the Queen obvious to everyone around him. To a woman raised in the stifling rigidity of the British class system, Victoria finds him at once infuriating and captivating.
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Where Melbourne was all clenched jaw and significant looks, once Albert falls for Victoria, goes non-stop undressing her with his eyes — his passion overflowing to shirt-ripping levels on two separate occasions. “Victoria” does not go so far with its artistic license to show these two kissing prior to their engagement, but his words are just as provocative: In one memorable scene, seeing her sans hat in the woods, he purrs, “I like to see you unbound.” By the time they walk down the aisle, the Queen is more or less quivering with desire. Their courtship is startling for its passion, surprising fans of the genre much as, it seems, to the courtiers who witness their single-minded horniness right up to their wedding.
And yet it’s more than physical attraction drawing these two together. Each had a lonely upbringing, and crave the stability of a traditional family structure — Albert especially. Victoria — unlike her descendant Elizabeth (Claire Foy) on “The Crown” — is terrified of motherhood. She only ascended to the throne because her cousin died giving birth to a stillborn son, a death which haunted her even before her wedding night. She is also anxious about Albert’s fidelity — and whether a happy marriage is even possibly a fair concern, given her family history. Her immediate predecessors were both fairly disreputable, known more for their gambling and mistresses than for their rule, after all.
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So we, along with Victoria, initially question Albert’s intense interest: Could this man, with his floppy hair and perpetual smoldering eyes, truly have no ulterior motive when dealing with his more powerful cousin? Scenes with his brother and servants, people with whom there is no reason for pretense, support that this man may just be what he seems to be. Any final doubt is cast aside in episode 4, when — upon being brought to a brothel to lose his virginity — he politely asks his escort for a pen and paper to take notes, rather than “engage with her.”
Victoria and Albert’s marriage was known to be absolutely loving, such that she spent decades following his death in mourning. Here, their early affection is shown in public only in “Virgin Suicides”-level almost-hand-touching while sitting side-by-side; in private, they are giddy with lust as they thrill in finding one another — a rare, and appreciated, portrayal of a healthy and goofy sex life between two people who legitimately like one another.
Upon the advice of one of her ladies, Victoria attempts to secretly prevent pregnancy by jumping up and town ten times after sex, only to be caught by her husband. Albert gently breaks it to her that the only way to avoid any risk of pregnancy is abstinence, leaning in closely to purr, “Is that what you want, Victoria? Abstinence?” Naturally, they fall back into bed immediately, and by the next episode she’s confessing she’s pregnant without being able to bring herself to use the term.
Costume dramas based on 19th century novels often end at the moment a couple declare love, or possibly at the wedding itself. “Victoria,” based on life and not a book, differentiates itself by continuing to return to the marital bed where — in another break from tradition, the couple’s passion only seems to grow. For a woman remembered now as the figurehead of an era of prudishness, this is absolutely not a portrayal that could have been sanctioned during her lifetime — and we’re all the better for it.
“Victoria” airs its 90-minute season finale on Sunday at 9 p.m. ET/PT on PBS, followed by an afterparty special.