I don't pretend to know the details of where they shot everything, and how, but: That is meant to be the house in the distance. And yet even shows that I know for a FACT use painted backdrops look LESS like painted backdrops than this one. Like, in two seconds, Mary Poppins is going to jump through this thing so that she can flirt with a chimney sweep and then fun-shame him later.
Here, the fake backgrounds are in aid of Victoria and Albert pretending to go on a chaperoned walk, so that they can covertly tongue each other behind various conveniently placed lawn curtains. I guess the man the Downstairs crew calls "The German Sausage" is sufficiently adept at this, because Victoria pants, "WE MUST MARRY AS SOON AS POSSIBLE." In real life Victoria wrote in her diaries of Albert's very tight trousers that he once wore "with nothing underneath," and so basically one of British history's great love stories may simply have been born out of INDOMITABLE hormones.
Then again, Albert may NOT be very good at kissing, because despite him ramming her back up against a wall her beautiful updo is still totally intact. Perhaps his libido is just very respectful of Skerrett's hard work. (Note: The use of flowers was often a custom to mask body odor. The more you know.)
Leopold, here, is telling his sons how thrilled he is that his plans have worked out so nicely, and coaching Albert through what he's to ask for: an allowance, a title, autonomy. Because he's a MAN, don'tcha know, and men need a lot of lead on their leashes. He blithely tells Albert that if he's sure to keep all his future mistresses under lock and key, it'll all be splendid. Albert frowns and mumbles about this, because Albert -- in this show -- frowns and mumbles about freaking everything.
This shot is very striking. Jenna Coleman obviously is very wee in real life, but Victoria does a good job visually driving home just how petite the queen was. Here, she is about to awkwardly tell Lord M that she's proposed to Albert, and he will gracefully be like, "WELL GREAT THEN, I GUESS I KNEW THIS WAS COMING. SO MUCH FOR OUR SEXUAL TENSION."
Alex Jennings's Leopold spends the entire episode looking like the cat that ate the cream, and then ate a canary and three mice before passing out in the lady of the house's favorite chair. He is TERRIBLY proud of himself. Vic's mother makes a reference to whether or not she'll be invited to the wedding; Victoria cannot seem to decide, moment to moment, if "Drina" is forgiving her mother these days or not.
And then Albert must leave to tend to his affairs in Germany, so that he and Victoria may be wed. This is their farewell. He shuffles up and gazes totally blankly into her face before mumbling something in her ear about how much they're going to mack on each other when he returns in six weeks. I keep wanting Victoria to snap her fingers in front of his face to see if he blinks. (In case you cannot tell, Tom Hughes is not my cup of tea. I find him totally unappealing in this part.) (Coleman's Victoria does not agree with me. Vic very nearly drops her knickers on the spot.) (But while this might be Tom Hughes's best facial angle -- he looks different from all sides, to me -- he still also comes off as weird mouth-breather who might be trying to figure out how much he could sell her teeth for on the black market.)
Let's pause for some blah-blah. Mr. Penge apparently has it bad for one of the German contingent's female dressers, and knowing they'll be returning, he is all atwitter and grooming himself impeccably and whatnot. When Hilde arrives she seems just as hot for Mr. Penge -- EVERYONE is into crossing the German borders here, it seems, if you feel me -- and he wooes her by telling her he wrote her letters every day for 18 months, or somesuch, and she never got them and wants to read them. Later there's a scene that I THOUGHT implied he never had sent the letters and was going to give them all to her, beacuse he had a bunch folded on his desk? But I have to tell you, I may be rememberin wrong, because I don't care in the SLIGHTEST about any of the Downstairs plots. They feel like the most perfunctory nod toward the popularity of Downton Abbey, as if they're a response to a network note: "Victoria needs about 24 percent less Victoria. Can't we get a Carson?"
This is a well-framed shot of Victoria facing off against the Privy Council -- a young woman on the throne of her nation, still having to beg a room full of old white dudes to approve of her marriage. The Duke of Wellington decides to make a stink about whether Albert is a Papist, like his uncle, rather than a Protestant. Just to be difficult.
Vic is extremely cheesed that they aren't as excited by Albert's blank utterances and ticklish mustache as she is. As Victoria rages, Rufus Sewell works his socks as best he can while Lord M reminds Victoria -- gently -- that a German husband of dubious religious affiliation MIGHT not be as warmly received by the country at large as he will be by her heaving bosom.
Albert's family home desperately needs its own helicopter pad. The good news is, you could shove someone out a window and they'd never find the body.
Albert's father is a total creep who, basically, is only excited for the marriage to line Albert's pockets -- and, he imagines, his own. It's worth noting that this mutton-chopped ghoul later married his own niece.
Victoria learns Parliament absolutely will not entitle Albert, nor give him more than 30k a year. O WOE. Albert just wants the financial freedom to buy his own handkerchiefs, but no, how can he POSSIBLY on such a paucity. And Lord M points out that "King Consort" is off the table because "if we get in the habit of making kings, we could get in the habit of unmaking them," or somesuch. In a snit, Victoria pokes her head through a paper placemat.
Albert's quaint little schloss in Middle Earth comes complete with its own enormously empty fencing chamber. This feels like they rented a set from another show and then never got around to repainting and decorating it, so it's just the Swordplay Den. It is not a subtle metaphor that whenever Albert is feeling powerless or confused, he whips out his sword and vanquishes someone with it (in this case, his bro Ernest). Here, he's grossed out by his craven father, but also frustrated because Parliament doesn't want to give him money or a title. He's being so Prince Philip about it, except for how he came first.
Albert also tries to sweat out his feelings in a sauna. If Wham had been German, and much much older, this might have been the Last Christmas video.
Victoria literally rolls around in bed rubbing Albert's letters all over her bosom. They are each other's precious dearest angels, givers of a love they never thought could inhabit the Earth. Also, Victoria is like, "Why do you need cash, bro? I'M THE QUEEN. I'm loaded and MY BODY IS YOUR ALLOWANCE."
I thought you'd like to see the logistics of taking a bath. Victoria is in a full dress, which sounds miserable and clammy. It was the custom of the time, possibly due to modesty -- women entertained visitors while bathing at times -- but also, bringing in the hot water and such took an eternity and standing around starkers wasn't that appealing. You couldn't wait for it to be full or else it'd go cold; sitting naked in a quarter-full warmish tub while waiting for the next vat of water also maybe wasn't fun-sounding. Anyway: Part of the issue here is that Leopold still takes 50,000 pounds a year from his marriage to Poor Dear Sweet Departed Charlotte... and spends it all on his longtime mistress ("an ACTRESS," they all whisper, scandalized). Parliament doesn't want to shell out MORE to Albert's family. And suddenly, as Victoria clutches her naive little pearls, EVERYONE around her has a gossipy tidbit about someone else's lover, or how mistresses are inevitable. This is a woman whose best friend, Lord M, had a scandalous ex-wife and I believe a lover of his own at one point in that marriage. I doubt her innocence on this front would've lasted much into her reign. But she's now paranoid about fidelity.
Even her mother says something about being grateful, at least, that Victoria's father gave his mistress the boot when they wed. Victoria is like WHAAAAT and her mother hilariously just gives her a look that says, "Oh, girl, who are you even kidding." Her mother had that creepy dude, Conroy, as her "best friend" for a long-ass time, and Victoria seemed clearly to believe something more was afoot there. I guess now that the concept of a mistress is more personal to HER, she's all worried.
Right when Victoria is freaking out about whether Albert's sausage has found purchase in other buns, Ernest takes his brother to a brothel for an education in the carnal arts. Albert's response, hilariously, is to ask the prostitute if he can please just talk through things with her and take a few notes. Albert is to sex what Jessica and I were to the Buckingham Palace tour, although I suspect HIS questions about how often to lower and clean the chandeliers were euphemistic in nature.
The creepy chef has begun work on a wedding cake he says will take six weeks, to which my response is, "WON'T IT SPOIL?" As Miss Skerrett admires it, he tells her that she should run off and start a bakery with him. She's like, "YEAH RIGHT," insiting she likes the life she has. Which is, as it turns out, not her life: We see that her sister, the REAL Miss Skerrett, has a daughter out of wedlock and needs Fake Skerrett to support them. So basically, she was working in the "nunnery" under her real name, and then stepped into her SISTER'S identity to get the job in the palace, and that explains how she made that turn so smoothly.
This is sort of sweet. In the halls of their absurdly manly schloss, rife with antlers, Ernest and Albert have a moment. Ernest -- the jolly cad, ladies' man, man's man, man about town -- essentially establishes for us that they've been everything to each other since their mother divorced their father, was exiled, and died of cancer. Ern sees that Albert has a loyal partner in Victoria who will now supplant him, and is going to miss his low-talking broom of a brother fiercely. We get a little actual emotion here from both. This one scene makes me more interest in Ernest than I have EVER been in Albert.
These two are reunited at court in front of everyone, and try not to eat each other's flesh from lust, while also bickering mildly about him not getting the title/money/appearance of independence he wants. (They kinda gloss over Albert having to naturalize before they can wed.)(They ALSO ignore that in real life, Albert didn't WANT to be in the peerage because he felt like any of those titles were sort of a dumb step down from de-facto king. SPOILER: Someday they settle on "Prince Consort.")
Leopold is the Duke of Gloaters, though, I'll tell you what.
Albert, however, is still peeved. We know this because when Victoria gives him the gift of one of Lord M's old personal secretaries, Albert feels like he's been saddled with a spy as a way of keeping Lord M close, and Victoria calls him "peevish." To which he sasses, "This is a word I do not understand. Perhaps I should ask my new secretary to translate it for me." Victoria is so mad that she basically stands up and sends him to bed. I love it. GET BACK TO YOUR BROOM CLOSET, LOW-TALKER.
It's time for a righteous pout-cuddle. Dash's leg is still wrapped from last week's incident, which is actually a very smart touch.
Oh, boy, Albert's still working through some impotent rage. Ernest is like, "You are FOR REAL no fun anymore. I take back EVERYTHING I SAID."
Victoria finally admits her fears to Lord M -- that Albert only wants the money so he can keep a woman or three -- and Lord M sensibly advises her to discuss this with her fiance immediately, because he's a huge Nashville fan.
And so Victoria somehow looks out her window and sees Albert a country mile away giving his prong a pouty solo workout. She runs through a smoke machine and he halts his exertions with a limp fall of the sword that is hilariously symbolic as well. Albert is terribly hurt that Victoria would think ill of him; they've courted for six whole hours now and SURELY she understands that he will, now and forever, want and love only her. (He apparently DID stay faithful, from what I understand, but the show/actor are not good at giving Albert an inner life so it's hard to tell in this context why Victoria would take him at his word.) All he wants is a tiny piece of something to call his own, so that he's not just her plus-one at parties. Victoria, as a way of showing she understands, tells him that she will marry him as "an ordinary woman" and that she will promise in her vows to obey him despite advice from Lord M that she should omit it.
Then Lord M and Lehzen basically watch -- from the same window -- as Victoria and Albert make out, and mutually lament that they are fading stars. Victoria no longer needs them. Not in the same way, and possibly not ever again.
This interested me because the show took pains to include the people reacting on Vic's wedding day, but dwells on it no longer than it has to -- and thus leaves zero impression about how anyone feels. The shot illustrates how distant this show is from the England its queen rules.
Albert's eyes greet his bride with all the excitement of a man who has been told it's meatloaf night. Again. For the sixth time in a row.
Lord M gets to stare at his very beautiful sword that he only carries for show, which is probably also what he will do at home later when he is sad.
Victoria looks very lovely, eschewing jewels for a crown of flowers -- "ordinary woman," don't you know. She started the white wedding dress trend here, surprising people who expected her to select a color, as was the fashion at the time. We didn't get much of an explanation for why; just her being like, "Hmm, I want to wear white," and everyone reacting with shock. Which honestly could have been interpreted as an insult about her purity, y'all, so take care with that.
Oh, Leopold, you might as well run around the church screaming, "I AM THE PUPPETMASTER AND YOU ALL ANSWER TO MEEEEE." There is also an amusing moment wherein the Duke of Wellington snorts to himself when Albert says, "And with all my wordly goods, I thee endow." You snarky little war hero, you.
Albert also gets in a dig at Leopold, pointing out that his allowance would be much more generous if only Leopold would stop supporting his actress and her children. Leo airily refuses to make eye contact as he scoffs that he could NEVER abandon his, ahem, philanthropic work... after which he does side-eye Albert pointedly. Leopold, you are the worst and I love you.
And THEN the lighting crew kisses Rufus Sewell for what might be one last time. As our erstwhile romantic hero takes his leave of his queen, they endeavor to make it the loveliest shot of all. Victoria recalls him telling her that when she fell in love, she would give her heart without reservation, and she poignantly tells him that's not entirely true and that she will never forget -- the unspoken being, he was (in this show's universe) her first love and he will never really leave her even once they have parted.
"May I kiss the bride?" he asks, before laying a chaste peck on her cheek. Dude, you're leaving. You might as well go in for the kill. REALLY confuse the hell out of her, and while she's in her wedding bonnet, to boot.
Whatsit finds the flower crown and tries it on sadly. Francatelli, the chef who sucks at hitting on her, basically tells her that they should leave together before her face and her uterus shrivel up and die. She runs off sobbing, crumbling under the weight of her secret responsibilties and the live she can't have, and then confesses all to a largely German-speaking valet who is terribly sympathetic despite not -- it's implied -- being able to understand it all. Poor Whatsit. Except, I sort of feel worse for the sister? Apparently this show, for me, is better when it's about people's siblings.
Jenna Coleman really does look crazy young.
This is her marital bedchamber, reached after a long carriage ride during which Vic and Albert hesitate before grabbing each other's hands (and imagining what those hands will later grab).
Victoria nervously blurts out that maybe they should have a drink. Blankly, he whispers with great blankess that he is not thirsty. All he wants, blankly, is to blank her blank. So he skillfully lays her down on the bed -- those were some A-plus hooker notes, dude! -- and the two of them half kiss and half murmur each other's names. Then we cut to black so that Victoria's maidenhood can misplace itself in private. Blankety-blank.