Is The Crown’s portrayal of Margaret Thatcher too sympathetic?

Though there are only so many moments of the former prime minister’s political career that the writers can pack in, the choices they do make are telling

Loved by few, despised by many – if there is one political figure in postwar history guaranteed to get viewers flocking to screens, it is surely Margaret Thatcher. As someone who stands against virtually everything about Thatcher’s worldview, even I can admit that, upon seeing that Emmy award-winning actor Gillian Anderson had been cast to play the “Iron Lady” in The Crown, I was eager to see what would come of the portrayal. But while binging the admittedly riveting series after it came to Netflix on Sunday, I have found myself wondering if The Crown’s is still a bit too kind to the former prime minister.  

First, and perhaps most contentiously, is the series’ take on Thatcher’s gender. As the first woman to serve as prime minister, conversations regarding Thatcher’s relationship to women, and to feminism, were always going to rear their head this season. In mainstream political discourse, the question: “Was Thatcher a feminist?” is a painfully recurrent debate, that saw a marked resurgence after her death in 2013. Predictably, in season four of The Crown, these questions spring up early, awkwardly nudging at the idea that Thatcher should be admired for her struggles against sexism in the party.  

The Crown’s Thatcher is never wholly glorified, but there is something romanticised, gendered, and also class-informed about her framing as a new-money Tory rebel. Episode two, “The Balmoral Test'', sees her fighting her cabinet on cuts to public spending, after which she complains to her husband: “the way those men patronize me – lecture me… upper class bastards”. After a cabinet reshuffle, the episode closes with Thatcher in her signature royal blue skirt suit, pussybow pinned to her collar, ankles crossed, surrounded by her cabinet of 22 men. It’s a striking image, which feels like a subtle signal that while Thatcher’s policies in many ways hurt Britain, there is something perhaps subversive or redeeming about the sheer fact that she is a woman.  

This idea leaks through once again in the final episode, in which Thatcher finally stands down after a leadership challenge (“oh those little men!”), and the Queen admits: “the way you dealt with all your stuffy, rather patronising grey-haired men throughout your time in office… I wanted to offer my sympathy. Not just as Queen to prime minister, but woman to woman.”

The gestures towards feminism are subtle, but they are there all the same. Peter Morgan, the show’s creator since 2016, confirmed this feminist undercurrent on The Crown’s official podcast last week: “[Thatcher is] such an interesting case because she did things that make her a feminist icon… She had absolutely no time or regard for women in a professional way. And yet, the way in which she overcame boys' club patronizing sort of contempt… makes her a feminist heroine, I think.”

But of course, Thatcher was not a feminist. We’re presented with a number of arguments for that notion (which mostly hinge on the idea of her simply being a woman in a position of power, and acting “like a man”), while arguments against it mainly surround her personal relationships with women. But less series airtime is dedicated to the fact that Thatcher’s cuts to public services, union-busting and extreme free-market and individualist ideology run completely counter to the basic principles of feminism. Feminism is about structural change that benefits and liberates all women (including working class ones), not just representation at the top. As Beatrix Campbell, author of The Iron Ladies, said in 2013: “[Thatcher] gave the feminine face to a thoroughly patriarchal political project. Privatization, this diminishing of the public good… Thatcher hated feminism. It's an egalitarian project, and she was an elitist – never an egalitarian."

That said, it would be unfair to say the show as a whole portrays Thatcher as a heroine. Throughout the series, we are presented with a lot of left-leaning critiques of her actions as prime minister – her economic recklessness, her determination to go to war in the Falklands and reap all the political brownie points, and her refusal to impose sanctions on apartheid South Africa. Episode five even pointedly closes to the sound of “Stand Down Margaret” by The Beat – a ska song which called on Thatcher to resign in 1980. And, by the end of the season, the writers accurately show that Thatcher turned the Queen, the Conservative party, and the country at large, against her.  

But through it all, we are still, regrettably, often encouraged to sympathise with her. Somehow, she is always crying – despite only crying once on the record throughout her premiership. And during Thatcher’s trip to Balmoral (an etiquette-laden weekend away used by the royals to judge newcomers), I squirmed as I found myself sympathising with Thatcher’s position. The prime minister and her husband, who are undoubtedly middle class, stumble still when it comes to fitting in with upper-class customs – for example coming to drinks in black tie when the royals are all wearing their casual hunting clothes. It is utterly cringe-worthy, and I followed on Twitter as other viewers said they couldn’t help but put themselves in her shoes. But as writer James Greig has pointed out, it is an intentional choice on the part of the show’s creators to portray Thatcher in a sympathetic light. “Netflix is playing you,” Greig wrote on Monday. “You sympathise with her because they want you to – they’re telling a specific story, not offering a window into reality.”  

This is perhaps at the heart of my unease surrounding this season’s portrayal of Thatcher. With a large cast of characters and only 10 episodes, there are only so many moments of Thatcher’s political career that the writers could pack in. This makes their choices regarding what they do include – particularly the fictionalised elements – all the more telling. There are numerous efforts to arouse sympathy for Thatcher, yet there isn’t a single mention of Section 28 or the miner’s strike throughout the entire series.

All in all, The Crown’s take on Thatcher (and Anderson’s fantastically eery performance) definitely didn’t make the politician look great. But, considering she was one of the most detested prime ministers in British history, I still came away from the newest series feeling a little like the makers were flip-flopping – as if it might be possible to keep Thatcher’s supporters satisfied too. As journalist Eliana Dockterman wrote on Sunday, if there’s any clear cut villain in this series, it is more likely Charles than Thatcher. Dockterman added that perhaps there is a broader problem with how film and television attempts to tell the stories of conservative women – after all, how do we give their characters depth without justifying their actions, and how do we avoid revisionism when girlboss feminism is currently running rife?

In 2020, the politics of representation – now also in the domain of race – is being leveraged by a government whose recent actions have particularly hurt working-class women and people of colour. This makes The Crown’s “Was Thatcher a feminist?” question that bit more uncomfortable; it feels directly comparable to statements made by Priti Patel, the home secretary, who, despite allowing women to be detained for indefinite periods in inhumane conditions at Yarl’s Wood, told Glamour magazine in October: “I do consider myself a feminist”.  

Ultimately, there is an inherent problem with the intimate view we are given into Thatcher’s emotional world and her struggles in a sexist society – because we don’t really get the same look into the vast and varied ways she hurt millions across the country throughout her time in office. Obviously, as a show that primarily centres around the monarchy, The Crown faces challenges in achieving the latter. But if I were the creators, I would at least start by including a passing mention of the miner’s strike.