Director Pablo Lorrain gives us a warning right from the start—this is a fable. But what Spencer really is, is a rollercoaster.
At first, you’ll ask yourself why you’re watching Kristen Stewart chew on thick pearls after yanking them off her neck. Then, you’ll wonder why the hell you’re looking at King Henry VIII’s late wife Anne Boleyn several times (who, if you can’t recall, was beheaded)—is this a psychological drama or a twisted horror?
The answer is neither. Spencer is a nod to what the late Princess Diana likely experienced. How would most of us feel if we couldn‘t even open our own bedroom curtains to see the outside world, or if we always had someone knock, knock, knocking at our door saying, “They’re waiting for you?”
Now, who knows if that’s what really happened to Diana? But Spencer is not at all trying to be factual; it’s simply trying to acknowledge how she felt, feeling limited within palace walls and in a loveless marriage (from what we all saw unravel, at least).
Now that you’ve been forewarned, you really do need to buckle up for this topsy-turvy ride because this isn’t The Crown; this isn’t a CNN documentary. Spencer is its own masterpiece.
Aside from plot devices and a reality check, what makes Spencer so impactful is that it’s driven by a musical cacophony. Through symphonic crescendos, this film wouldn’t be as horrifyingly cringe-worthy or as happy (in the end) as it is without the music.
In the pearl-chewing scene (yes, good luck with sitting through that, let alone trying to interpret it), the deafening orchestral track remains at a constant high. It doesn’t soften or change for what seems like a while, creating an ear-shattering, eye-twitching, long moment.
So instead of building suspense, the score literally creates it, such as when the overwhelming click, click, clicking of cameras and the paparazzi shouting at Diana become heightened as one overbearing sound.
In fact, without the music, Spencer would probably put some viewers to sleep in the beginning. If it weren’t for the orchestral background, that pearl-infused soup scene would seem confusing through the silent, eye-glancing exchange between Diana, Charles, and the Queen at the dinner table.
Perhaps, without the film score, the movie might even seem boring in its entirety since today’s audiences can get a little antsy if they’re not watching something action-packed. It’s easier to be entertained by a movie that has multiple layers to it.
Spencer on the other hand has very few layers, in my opinion. If it were a book, the flick would be an English teacher’s dream with its wide array of symbols, analogies, hyperboles—you name it. For instance, a viewer might quickly realize what the pearls embody, yet others might only figure it out toward the end when Diana revisits her hauntingly dark, decrepit, abandoned childhood home as Anne reappears.
The crumbled staircase is one of these devices that, by the time you get to it, you ask, God, what next? If you had to read it on a page, your eyes would get sore. But watching it unfurl on a screen tires out your whole body as you sit on the edge of your seat. Not only that, but it’s also a reminder of what the pearl-munching scene and the delusion of Diana’s friend Maggie both indicate—are Diana’s experiences really happening, or is this just in her head?
Overall, Spencer will exhaust you. It might even frustrate you with its constant references to a historical royal figure you barely learned about in school, or especially through its assumption of the royal family’s boring, emotionless aura. But I think its ending is the breath of fresh air we all want—not only for the character but for what we know the real Diana deserved.
Here’s a hint of what that was: she was a mom of two young boys. That’s what she cared about more than anything. Keep that in mind when you come up for oxygen after drowning in Spencer‘s deep intensity.