The Crown becomes even more of a Corleone drama in Season 5

The emotional pivot is a man caught between the dying embers of marriage and an unwavering devotion to his family. His mother, on the other hand, is a staunch supporter of tradition. And between them stands another family member, sobbing over an arc that could have shown each one their strengths rather than their weaknesses. Welcome to The crownalthough this summary could also easily apply with some adjustments The Godfather trilogy, a blazing, uninhibited elegy of a family struggling to reconcile their personal philosophies with the changing demands of their adoptive countries.

Agitation and irritation are the key adjectives to describe The crown, which recently released a fifth season that brings together the best cast of actors the show has rounded up to date. It’s a series that posits a Britain almost as sad (and arguably more complex) than the America portrayed by Francis Ford Coppola. The comparison is not mere cushioning: both companies espouse a kinetic view of human values, laced with a desperation to pursue personal happiness, regardless of the impact those choices might have on future members of the tribe. And through experiencing this story, audiences can reflect on the discoveries, the glory, and the immense mistakes their predecessors were capable of.

The crown began as a vibrant, lush portrait of a dynasty that had become a staple of the British environment for eons before changing gears to become something more flashy, stoic and Shakespearean-esque. There were numerous supporting characters who flitted back and forth throughout the first two seasons (the boisterous John Lithgow was a particular showstopper as Winston Churchill), but over time The crown had unveiled its third iteration, the series had centered on Charles Windsor. Broodingly handsome and driven by a desire to fulfill his self-proclaimed journey, Charles (whether played by Josh O’Connor or Dominic West) is as much the Adonis as Michael Corleone, driven by love but taxed by vain ideals that contradict the Odyssey that he took upon himself. Of the two, West’s performance is closer to that of Al Pacino, particularly as Corleone, who had pushed his limits as an entrepreneur before healed his wounds from the ramifications this world held for him.

West makes his debut in the latest version of The crown, a series that jumps out of the doldrums of Thatcher’s Britain into the cold, uncertain waters of a newer, trendier decade. Seated between three women – wife, lover and mother – West’s character is a man of contradictions whose movements are accommodated, however urgent his motives. He is joined by the stalwarts Jonathan Pryce and Jonny Lee Miller, each as stalwart in their family quest as the Corleone dynasty was in theirs.

And – yes – as always inevitable, The crown‘s fifth series is Elizabeth Debicki’s show. She plays Diana Spencer, the betrayed wife who crosses the line between dissatisfied and vengeful, often in the matter of milliseconds. It’s an elegiac performance that captures the pain, vulnerability and feeble choreography of a woman burdened by the presence of an institution that has shadowed like-minded princesses for centuries. In a way, the performance mirrors John Cazale’s role as Fredo, lost in a fog of tradition and tyranny, desperate to present herself as the leader she’s always believed herself to be. Debicki’s performance has a tragic pathos similar to Cazale’s.

Furthermore, the Windsor clan has a loyalty to agricultural strength as enduring as the Corleones’ self-proclaimed commitment to Sicilian Catholic values. In both iterations, the family is tasked with honoring the principles of their people, their ancestors, and their God, and adapting those ideologies to the beliefs and tastes of the time. And in Charles and Michael we have two men who are forced to reconcile their mistakes with their parents’ actions and mantras, knowing that their mistakes, not their innovations, will outlive them, regardless of their intentions. Both men watch their wives from afar, knowing that their marriage is another chapter in a tale of disappointment and dishonesty.

However, let’s not forget that the two characters represent two completely different masks of their creators. As much as the director might deny it, one could say that Michael Corleone Coppola is distilled, reflecting the artist’s strict, self-important approach to his craft. Charles too could be seen as a projection of Peter Morgan’s view of the current and future king.

Of course, it’s common to speculate about the inner workings of a historical figure (playwrights have been composing odes to their royal subjects for centuries), but The crown exhibits a final resemblance to the more overtly rhapsodic godfather movies. In both works, the sons (Charles and Michael) turn to their mothers for guidance, context, and absolution. And in their private exchange, both men, riveted by a nod to a bygone era, recognize something about themselves. It’s not their lack of responsibility or their vulnerability that has caused them so much grief as adults. It’s her humanity that catches her totally and completely off guard.