The movie feels far more cheeky than coruscating, however. It couldn't possibly offend Diana's fans and is reasonably gentle with Elizabeth. Blair's entrancement with the Queen, for instance, takes the form of defending her to his own staff who have been helping him convince her to address the public. The greatest scorn is reserved for Prince Charles, depicted as a selfish coward whose principal reaction to his ex-wife's death is fear of assassination. This is just crude, in the nature of an editorial cartoon.

In terms of romance, there is an allegorical development of her feelings when a contemplative Elizabeth sees a magnificent 14-point stag in Scotland. She tries to start it so that her consort and grandsons won't bag it, but eventually sees it headless, hanging in a neighboring gamehouse. (The old England is gone.) Though allegory, with its demonstrative yet seductive unreality, can be a great genre, its use here is not intricate or magical enough for it to sustain interest on its own.

At the end, after conceding to Blair's pressure to stage a response to Diana's death, Elizabeth strolls among the mourning crowds outside Buckingham Palace and asks a little girl if she may place a bouquet for her among the heaps laid for the late Princess. Elizabeth is confused when she says no, but when the girl explains that the flowers are for her, the Queen, Elizabeth is as thankful as a gentle giant in a fairy tale once he is "understood."

That's about the limit of the movie's tonal and emotional complexity. In sum, The Queen is a collection of small-scale sketches in an assortment of styles — postage-stamp likenesses, caricatures, icons — but even spread out side by side they aren't expansive enough to fill the frame.