“A fable from a true tragedy,” cautions the caption of the first frame from Pablo Larraín’s much-anticipated “biopic” of Princess Diana, called simply: Spencer. With a more grounded-in-reality biopic of another “royal” woman (by American standards) under his belt entitled Jackie (starring Natalie Portman as Mrs. Kennedy, hamming it up a little too much with her impersonation of some kind of Mid-Atlantic accent), Larraín was clearly ready to tackle a political fashion icon from a different era and country. As well as take a greater risk on giving the tone a more surrealist slant. After all, what was more surreal than the kind of life Diana was forced to lead? And all while everyone in the Royal Family insisted to her that it was “perfectly normal.” The repression, the stifling of feelings. And oh, speaking of that stiflement, Diana clearly couldn’t keep it in, forced to release it in some way: very literally through her bulimia.
Kristen Stewart, who carries the majority of the movie on her deliberately slumping shoulders (just one of many physical expressions through which she emulates Diana to a tee), appears in the film already looking like the hunted animal as she barrels down a deserted country road. Lamenting being lost, we know she doesn’t just mean geographically. The entire purpose of Spencer, in fact, is to show us that Diana is trying desperately to find her way back to herself, hence the title using her maiden name as its moniker. Having gotten off-track among the sound and fury of the paparazzi, as well as the insecurities that flared up within her thanks to the Royal Family looking down on her “middle-class” interests and Charles blatantly cheating on her with Camilla, Diana, by Christmas 1991 (when Spencer takes place), is in desperate need of re-securing her own identity. Which is why this would be the last Christmas that Diana would ever spend among the Royal Family.
Her reclaiming of the self starts simply enough, when she sees a scarecrow on the old Spencer property, Park House, at Sandringham. The idea that Diana was actually born on “the Queen’s soil” seemed to seal a certain fate. A destiny she couldn’t fight in terms of her inevitable entwinement with the House of Windsor (a title apparently now off limits thanks to a certain Lady Gaga vehicle called House of Gucci). But seeing that scarecrow with her father’s old coat on it activates something within Diana as she runs to collect it and have it mended by her royal dresser, Maggie (Sally Hawkins). Her persistent running back to the Spencer home of her childhood is a symbolic gesture that will carry on for the duration of the narrative, the intent being to spotlight just how much Diana wants to return to a time in her life when she was bound by no royal restrictions.
On the one hand, there is the perspective (especially from the Royal Family’s view) that Diana is “going mad,” “cracking up.” But those are euphemisms to describe any woman who expresses marked dissatisfaction with her situation. Even when it’s rightfully so, in a scenario as prison-like as Diana’s. In truth, although not “legally speaking,” the limitations of Diana’s life at this time were not unlike the iron-fisted rule that Britney Spears has been subject to since 2007. And it’s no secret that there’s a parallel between these two icons, each one a drop of blood in paparazzi-infested water. The sacrificial lambs delivered to the slaughter of public obsession. Stalked and hounded until one succumbed to death and the other to being Norma Desmond but with Instagram.
Britney had her own shitty family to contend with, whereas Diana was more embroiled in battling the family of another. Perhaps if Charles (played by Jack Farthing) had made it more worth her while—given her some kind of reason to stay, putting up with the neuroses of his family might have been more palatable. But no, it’s not exactly like Charles was even dicking her down on the regular.
Another important aspect of the many-layered symbolism in Spencer is how, immediately upon arrival, there is the complaint that the house is too cold. There is no warmth to be had, and the family won’t turn up the heat—only give the offer of more blankets. Not only is it a testament to how the rich are always stingy as fuck, but also speaks to a quote from The Crown’s version of Charles, “What does one have to do to get some kindness in this family?” In short, where’s the fucking warmth? But tradition does not stipulate for any such characteristics, least of all in a steadfastly stodgy environment. One where Diana says she can still feel the dead skin of royals past floating in the air. An indelible visual to imagine. And apparently it includes the dead skin of Anne Boleyn, who comes to Diana’s attention via a book on the bed entitled Anne Boleyn: Life of a Martyr.
It’s around this time that the surrealist qualities of the film creep in slowly and then go all-out, like one of the dinners during which Diana, suffocating from the repression, rips off her pearls and proceeds to eat the gems that have fallen into her elegantly crafted soup (giving Hunter Conrad in Swallow some competition). Then there is the sudden yet tailored appearance of Anne Boleyn (Amy Manson), a talisman for Diana who serves as her historical counterpart and guide. Diana remarks on their obvious similarities, with Henry VIII wanting to get rid of her in favor of a new wife, same as Charles wants to in favor of Camilla. But Anne was more obsequious about giving her life (by way of her head). Diana, contrastly, can’t bring herself to go down without a fight. She can’t “just behave,” in other words—not if it means sacrificing so much of herself to do so.
But they won’t let her simply “be.” They must keep tweaking and adjusting, passive aggressively monitoring her with the implementation of Equerry Major Alistair Gregory (Timothy Spall), a character based on David Walker. With his gross, anus-esque mouth (in the style of Donald Trump), all one wants to do from the instant they see him is punch him in the face. And it’s a wonder Diana doesn’t do the same, his abrasiveness and invasiveness palpable from the second she finally arrives and is asked to sit on the scale. Part of yet another “tradition”: the mark of having a truly great Christmas is gaining three pounds before leaving the Estate. To this end, Diana muses to her sons Harry (Freddy Spry) and William (Jack Nielen), “You know the tenses? Past, present, future. Well, there’s no future here. The past is the present.” Diana’s brutal but accurate assessment of the Royal Family and their devotion to tradition is one that will haunt her for her three-day stay (not to say it hasn’t haunted her for the past ten years since marrying in).
Not to mention Alistair’s constant threat that the paparazzi could be lurking anywhere and that the curtains of her room must stay closed. They all keep telling Diana this throughout the Christmas “festivities”—a none too veiled metaphor for how she ought to keep her business private. Not be so volatile a.k.a. wear her heart on her sleeve. When someone actually sews the curtains shut, Diana tears the seam out with wire cutters, which she then uses to poke at her own arm. In a scene after, the mark is gone, leading us to wonder if it was yet another hallucination, another part of Spencer’s surrealism. Yet there’s also a mention of the fact that the Royal Family not only knows she’s been “regurgitating” again, but also that she’s been self-harming. Anything to help release some of the pain. To help her cope with living in such a loveless habitat.
She tells Maggie that her beauty means nothing. Not if she can’t have the one thing she wants, which is love—specifically, being loved for who she is, not the version they want to manufacture. Such a desire is an impossibility within the Royal Family, confirmed by Charles when he tells her she must have two selves, the one for the cameras and the one she keeps for behind closed doors. For he insists “the people” do not want the royals to be human. But, as Diana single-handedly proved, that was exactly what they wanted. And have for some time.
On that note, even Diana’s wardrobe choices made her more approachable than other royals, complete with casual attire immortalized by paparazzi photos documenting her sweatshirt-laden street style. Costume designer Jacqueline Durran—who’s known for working on films with lavish fashion, including Anna Karenina, Mr. Turner and Beauty and the Beast—is as integral to telling the story of Diana’s gradual meltdown through her attire as Spencer’s production designer, Guy Hendrix Dyas, who uses Potsdam’s Marquardt Palace as an important visual for capturing the “trapped animal” state of Diana.
So much of the film also sees Diana running, running, running. As though chased by an invisible force—which, of course, she was. When it wasn’t being manifested outright by the paparazzi, it remained there nonetheless, threatening to lunge at her at any moment and interrupt her small semblance of peace.
Written by Steven Knight (redeeming himself after Locked Down), so much of the film relies on the subtle expressions and movements of Stewart embodying Diana. And it is specifically during one of the many surrealist instances of Spencer that Diana is at her freest—namely the montage of her dancing in various styles and ensembles through the halls. Sometimes her younger self is there too, still free and unburdened, therefore the movements even more uninhibited. Ultimately, that’s all Diana wants to be: unburdened by the weight of the albatross that is the Royal Family.
