Did Tony Armstrong-Jones truly embrace bis*xuality? Here, we untangle fact from fiction in the mesmerizing Netflix sensation, "The Crown."
Netflix's opulent portrayal of the royal family saga, "The Crown," now gracefully entering its second season, metamorphoses ordinary souls into amateur historians.
(Who among us has not hastily delved into the depths of Google while engrossed in a binge-watch, thirsting for tidbits regarding the Suez Crisis and the Profumo affair?) This captivating series takes creative liberties with historical chronicles, undoubtedly, yet fear not, for NBC News emerges as your guide through the labyrinth, navigating you through the treacherous terrains of reality and imagination.
Dive into the exquisite tapestry of Queen Elizabeth II's solitary sibling: Princess Margaret, the Countess of Snowdon, whose earthly journey concluded in 2002. Within the second season's opulent narrative of "The Crown," Margaret (personified by the resplendent Vanessa Kirby) emerges as a capricious romantic, her yearning for life's pleasures manifested through a symphony of cigarettes, libations, and the timeless melodies of 1950s doo-wop.
The ever-watchful Elizabeth (the ethereal Claire Foy), a blend of concern and caution, contemplates the ramifications of her vivacious sister's actions - a mere misstep could tarnish the family's illustrious image, or worse yet, shatter Margaret's heart as she contemplates matrimony to Tony Armstrong-Jones (the dashing Matthew Goode), a rakish photographer whose bohemian aura is as captivating as his enigmatic past is perplexing.
Yet, the veritable extent of Princess Margaret's self-destruction - was it truly a spectacle? Was her union with Armstrong-Jones truly ensnared within tempestuous currents?
"She indulged in excess - a penchant for inebriation, a cloud of smoke. Her temperament could, at times, present a challenge, her desires prone to coddling," intones Sally Bedell Smith, the architect of biographical wonders chronicling the lives of Elizabeth II and Prince Charles.
Nonetheless, the flamboyant, spirits-drenched dance of Margaret upon "The Crown's" stage is undoubtedly burnished for theatrical grandeur. (Perhaps most memorable, the scene where the princess, consumed by heartbreak following her rift with the high-society confidante Billy Wallace, hurls herself into a maelstrom of shattered decor, all the while serenaded by the dulcet tones of Ella Fitzgerald.)
"Margaret harbored passions for art, culture, and the theatrical realm. Yet, the show's canvas fails to capture the entirety of her expansive interests," laments Carolyn Harris, a guardian of history's annals, her pen crafting "Raising Royalty: A Millennium of Monarchical Nurturing." "Selective facets of her persona dance upon the stage, while others retreat into the wings."
What impelled her toward the sacred bonds of matrimony?
Margaret's nuptials to the unrestrained maverick, the photographer Armstrong-Jones, forever etched their tale upon the annals of The New York Times, as the date of February 27, 1960, heralded the resounding proclamation: "Margaret Embarks on Conjugal Odyssey with a Commoner."
As evinced within the second act of "The Crown," Margaret's hastened footsteps into the realm of marriage with Armstrong-Jones, akin to an aching pendulum, a striving for equilibrium after the heartache incurred from her ill-fated liaison with Peter Townsend, a valiant hero vanquished by divorce. History's echo resonates in Smith's assertion: "Armstrong-Jones captivated her as a refuge, an escape from her heart's tempestuous turbulence," unveils the scribe of regal biographies.
And the labyrinthine labyrinth of their union, what enigma does it conceal?
"The Crown," a masterful tale-spinner, dedicates an entire epoch to the courtship, an intricately woven dance of Margaret and Armstrong-Jones. Here, the latter's liaisons weave a kaleidoscope of intrigue, meandering between the arms of both women and men, an entangled pas de deux with even a married couple. "A vivacious personal existence did adorn him," muses Harris, her voice a tapestry of historical cadence. Truth be told, just as the fictionalized silhouette depicts, the very fabric of Armstrong-Jones, the real-life enigma known as Lord Snowdon, bears whispers of bis*xuality's tender touch.
Their marital symphony echoed discord, its crescendo an exaggerated resonance rather than an imaginative invention, as Smith discloses, "Frictions simmered, undertones of disquiet threaded their narrative, spiraling into a tempest with the passage of time." The dalliance of Margaret and Armstrong-Jones culminated in a divorce's poignant dirge in 1978, and, with the sands of time drifting away, he bid adieu to life's grand stage the year prior.
