Like most period dramas, particularly those based on the lives of real historical figures, PBS’s Victoria must walk a fine line between fact and fantasy. The actual lives of famous figures from history rarely live up to the ideas of them we carry in our heads, and the ideologies of earlier times often clash with our more modern or progressive sensibilities. It’s a difficult challenge: tell a compelling story, keep it reasonably true to the time period in which it’s set, and still say something interesting and worthwhile about the past.
In truth, Victoria often wanders a bit far afield from hard fact—but it nevertheless manages to use this historical license for something worthwhile in the end. Instead of settling for being a pleasant, diversionary costume drama, the series uses the personal life of its historical queen to explore more modern-day issues of gender and politics.
At its heart, Victoria is a feminist tale. Though the series spends a lot of time on romances—including Victoria’s passionate marriage to Albert and several love stories involving downstairs servants, court hangers-on, and even a same-sex couple—the young queen remains its narrative center. The story of Victoria is the story of her journey, from a teenage girl, to a young mother, to a monarch who knows her own mind. The conflict between the woman she wants to become, and the woman that society thinks she should be, is central to the story’s narrative.
Creator Daisy Goodwin has been remarkably upfront about the fact that her fictionalized Victoria is largely based on her personal beliefs about who the actual queen really was. Sure, there are some historical inaccuracies and even what might be termed a few flights of utter fancy here and there, but they all work toward the overall story that Goodwin is trying to tell—one of a young women learning to recognize and wield her own agency in a world that has long told her that her opinions and abilities don’t matter.
Perhaps getting that story right is more important than the individual nuances of history. After all, that’s what period drama is for, isn’t it? Not just to serve as a dry retelling of the history we already know, but an opportunity to interrogate our modern attitudes through the lens of the past.
Plus, I think we all know that the idea of a woman in power is a particularly fraught topic these days.
The Victoria who begins this series is just eighteen years old, a teenager handed immense power and the heavy expectations that come along with it. Her struggle to be taken seriously—to prove that she is as capable as any man might be in her role, despite her age and gender—is compelling precisely because it isn’t perfect. She stumbles and makes poor choices as often as she triumphs. She can be petty and cruel, as well as brave and compassionate. This characterization makes her a very human and relatable figure, despite her royal trappings.
This queen is a multi-dimensional woman who tries her best to rewrite the rules of the man’s world she finds herself in. She isn’t always successful, but her determination to be both heard and taken seriously is obvious. She’s clever, capable, and stubborn. She loves sex, but isn’t crazy about the pregnancies it produces. She wrestles with “work-life balance,” refusing to give up any of her royal duties in favor of more time in the nursery. Perhaps most importantly, Victoria enjoys the power she wields as queen. She wants to be the person making decisions and resents Albert and other (male) members of her family for trying to take any part of that power away from her.
This is a rather remarkable presentation of any female character in a period drama, let alone a queen. Women in stories like this are generally not allowed to be characters who freely embrace their own power, insist that they are more capable than their husbands, enjoy sex for its own sake, or otherwise reject the traditional feminine expectations of society. That Victoria does, and is not condemned for it within the narrative, is kind of amazing. This is especially true when it comes to the way the series handles the issue of motherhood, and the queen’s complicated feelings about it.
Motherhood is often presented as the holy grail of female life. Yet, Victoria is often depicted as distinctly not maternal. This jibes, to some extent, with reality; the real Victoria wasn’t that fond of babies either, though she loved her children fiercely. What is surprising, however, is that Victoria tackles this issue—and other, darker aspects of motherhood—so forthrightly. Even more impressive is that the series seems so unconcerned with whether this makes its lead “unlikeable.” Victoria’s feelings are simply taken as they are, as they would be with anyone else.
The queen openly admits that she struggles to bond with her children, that she doesn’t like being pregnant, that she has goals beyond producing a string of heirs for the throne. She cries at realizing she’s with child again and compares her pregnancy-induced confinement to prison. When Victoria tells Melbourne that she wishes she’d been born a man, it’s almost impossible not to feel for her; it’s a painfully sympathetic and realistic position. She wants to be so much more than a “broodmare,” as she puts it.
The series also grapples honestly with Victoria’s postpartum depression, depicting a queen who succeeds at her most important task—providing an heir—but who is ashamed that she doesn’t feel the way about it that she’s always been taught she should. It’s a surprisingly stark portrayal of what the real life Victoria likely went through herself, and a glaring reminder that we still desperately need alternative portrayals of motherhood onscreen. The queen’s relief as she learns she’s not alone in her feelings, that others have experienced similar lows, is palpable, and it’s rather amazing to see a female figure of such power and historical significance struggle in this way.
In the end, this Victoria is certainly a woman ahead of her time, though perhaps not quite a feminist as we would understand that today. She’s not exactly advocating for improved conditions for other women, for example, nor does she particularly care about the plight of the less fortunate, except when it impacts her directly. But our collective desire to see Victoria succeed—to be the progressive, pseudo-feminist monarch we want to believe her to be—occasionally allows the show to get away with some creative interpretations of the facts. This idea of Victoria is such a powerful one; it makes the show even more compelling than it might be otherwise. We want to believe this is a woman who advocates for starving Irish families, or forgives lying servants.
Does all of this ultimately make Victoria a feminist figure? Perhaps. But Victoria is most certainly a feminist show, and one that challenges us to see this queen as a woman, and not as an object of history. More dramas should follow its lead.
(image: PBS)
Lacy Baugher is a digital strategist and writer living in Washington, D.C., who’s still hoping that the TARDIS will show up at her door eventually. A fan of complicated comic book villains, British period dramas and whatever Jessica Lange happens to be doing today, her work has been featured on The Baltimore Sun, Bitch Flicks, Culturess, The Tracking Board and more. She livetweets way too many things on Twitter, and is always looking for new friends to yell about Game of Thrones with.
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