To give the narrative depth, bite, or oomph, as naturalism, irony, or romance, or some combination — which is not an unreasonable expectation of director Stephen Frears, whose best movies include My Beautiful Laundrette (1985), Dangerous Liaisons (1988), and The Grifters (1990) — Morgan would have to have invented more (as Shakespeare and Schiller did with their historical royalty), and we probably would need to see Elizabeth's relationship with Diana. So much of Elizabeth's reaction springs from her pole-to-pole repulsion from Diana that it dulls things a bit not to witness that back story.

As it is, the movie springs from journalistic and biographical matter presented as the moviemakers believe it happened, but they wouldn't dare go absolutely anywhere a dedication to naturalism might lead them. Otherwise, the movie is full of interesting details, such as the fact that Elizabeth prefers to drive her own car and, having been a military driver during World War II, can readily assess the cause of a breakdown. Frears also has a light enough touch to show us only peripherally that her Welsh Corgis are as well-trained as if they were in variety, and other minor matters. These data do not, however, add up to a narrative structure.

Despite the movie's default naturalistic handling, the makers don't appear to identify with Elizabeth or with Blair. Their attitude is probably best represented by Blair's wife Cherie (Helen McCrory), a left-progressive barrister who is highly skeptical of the royals and who predicts that her husband will become entranced by the Queen. Cherie is a minor character, however, so this doesn't add much in the way of an ironic structure.

There's plenty of juicy material for a more inventive, and likely more intrusive, approach. I tend to see Diana ironically, as Princess Barbie, with her figure-skater's hairdo and star-struck teenagers' dreams of being a royal celeb; her careful, cultivated vacuity and contrasting flagrancy; her seeming unawareness of immense privilege combined with a frequently aired sense of grievance. Since Elizabeth displays a surprising dry wit, her distaste for Diana might have made a better source of irony than Cherie Blair's ideological posture. But Elizabeth's wit is too dry; in response to it my facial muscles didn't move any more than hers do. (She may be the Queen of England, but she's no Tallulah Bankhead.)

Instead, the moviemakers gesture toward an ironic view of the Queen herself, who, in contrast to her daughter-in-law, perceives as higher virtues her own impassiveness, even her own dowdiness. (Elizabeth chooses to be nutritious rather than delicious, and forget about the attractive packaging.) She imagines it is enough for her to shoulder the responsibilities of sovereignty without faltering, even if that does not make her the kind of queen the public wants. You may suspect, in fact, that her conception of the English character is that they would take pride in a duteous queen almost because they don't particularly care for her. That gets right to the heart of "fealty," after all.