Anyone going in to Pablo Larraín’s eagerly-anticipated biopic expecting Peter Morgan-esque high drama, character confrontations and power plays should temper their expectations. Spencer is decidedly not The Crown 2.0, nor is it really even about the late Princess of Wales’ relationship with Charles, The Queen or any particular member of the institution she eventually came to very publicly separate from. Indeed – bar fleeting glimpses and wide establishing shots of their arrivals at Sandringham early on – it’s almost a whole hour into proceedings before we even get a proper appearance from the Windsor elite, and even then it’s all disapproving glances and steely silence over a toe-curlingly uncomfortable dinner sequence where Diana (Kristen Stewart) battles to keep both her Bulimia and marital anguish bay.

No, this is Diana’s – and by proxy, Stewart’s – film, and for most of the first half we join the disillusioned royal as she scuttles about the unwelcoming, alien halls of Sandringham (take a shot every time someone mentions how ‘cold’ it is, and prepare for renal failure), with little by way of human contact or warmth outside of young Princes William (Jack Nielen) and Harry (Freddie Spry) and the odd helpful servant or member of staff.

Set over the course of a Christmas weekend stay at Sandringham at a time where Charles and Diana’s marriage was decidedly on the rocks (it’s the ultimate ‘Christmas with the in-laws’ horror, really), the context is well established – see, for instance, the shadow of Charles’ relationship with Camilla (Emma Darwall-Smith) looming large over early proceedings despite the latter’s actual appearance being no more than a fleeting churchyard camero – but it is ultimately set dressing for a fascinating, remarkably performed character study.

Dubbed ‘a fable from a true tragedy’ at the off, Spencer sets out its stall with a not terribly subtle opener that intercuts the quite literal military operation of Christmas ingredients arriving at Sandringham via an armed convoy with a lone, unprotected Diana driving top-down through the Countryside (she’s ‘lost’, you know…). It’s this very clash of the regimented and the precise with the spirited and the wilful that forms the key conflict at the heart of Spencer, and whilst its handling and depiction can occasionally be a little blunt, in Stewart’s steady hands and by isolating her and audience both, it makes for an absorbing, empathetic look into a troubled life.

‘Troubled’ being the operative word. Many will no doubt chew up and then spit Spencer back out over its perceived accuracy or lack thereof, whilst others still will debate ad naueseum as to whether or not screenwriter Steven Knight presents an axe to grind with the royals, or if he unduly deifies Diana here. Ultimately, it’s all irrelevant, as Spencer works best when it is full-frame focused on its damaged, struggling protagonist in a matter-of-fact fashion that bypasses obviously labelling.

Which, thankfully, is the vast majority of its run time – full-frame, warts and all.

Has one of Diana’s only friends and allies in the estate (delicately played by Sally Hawkins) actually been accusing her of going crazy behind her back? Did the all-seeing new major-domo (Timothy Spall in a stellar supporting turn) actually sneak a book on Anne Boleyn (‘the one that was beheaded’) into her room as a warning? Spencer does hint early on at Diana’s potentially loosening grip on reality, and she even implores her young boys to tell her if she gets a little too ‘silly’, adding that is only them she will believe.

What’s admirable in how Knight and Larraín craft Diana’s story here is in its ongoing ambiguity and nuance. Yes, in places it can get a little ‘silly’ – the recurring Anne Boleyn motif (a royal executed by a paranoid husband who was in fact the one having the affair… sound familiar?) is a trifle laden and overcooked, but generally much of the character’s anguish here is palpable and immediate. Relatable, even.

“What’s admirable in how Knight and Larraín craft Diana’s story here is in its ongoing ambiguity and nuance.”

The sense of discomfort and suffocation she feels as a string of pearls metaphorically choke her at the kind of family dinner or formal function we’ve all been to and loathed. The degree to which so much of her anxiety and frustration is either self-imposed or presumptive. And the aforementioned ever-circling gnawing of paranoia and uncertainty.

It leaves, admirably, in Spencer a tale that doesn’t glibly depict either side as right or wrong. Stella Gonet is mostly decoration on the periphery as big Liz herself – barring a short exchange where she punctures through Diana’s popularity and media darling status, and Charles (Jack Farthing) mostly operates from the shadows, for instance presumably the agent behind Diana’s curtains being sewn together as a further act of suffocation. Or is even that genuine concern when she has already been spotted undressing in plain sight of the much-mentioned (yet never seen) cabal of photographers and paparazzi supposedly circling the estate.

Take too much of it at face value, and Spencer can seem to bandy between the mundane and the melodramatic. But it is in its restraint, in its multitude of murky grey territory where it really shines.

Of course, the conduit for almost all of this is Stewart, who is exceptional and utterly transformative here. The physical resemblance ebbs from passing to borderline uncanny, but so much more than simply attempting to create a biopic, Stewart dives wholesale into an intoxicating, unforgettable exploration of a wife, mother and woman desperately attempting to navigate her isolation, her confinement (both mental and physical) and her demons within an institution not exactly renowned for its empathy or modernity in handling such matters.

“Stewart dives wholesale into an intoxicating, unforgettable exploration of a woman desperately attempting to navigate her isolation, her confinement and her demons…”

Much has already been written, said and performed about the idea that it’s a selfless, sacrifical life to be a royal – even in other fairly Diana-centric fare such as Stephen Frears’ The Queen (2006). But, barring a brief verbal jostle between Charles and Diana on the subject, there’s very little of that overt postulating going on here. Instead, the full weight of the stifling formality, traditions and expectations of royal life are simply thrown on top of an already existing bonfire of marital unhappiness, and we get to watch the emotional fireworks fly almost entirely through Diana’s eyes.

Larraín and cinematographer Claire Mathon bathe much of Spencer in moody hues of muted grey and blue, lending even scenes that should conventionally feel festive and inviting (being set, after all, at Christmas) that consciously cold, unwelcoming nip. And they bandy – sometimes suddenly – between the intense immediacy, extreme close ups and whips of Diana’s face filling the screen, to the distance, rigorous uniformity and stillness of the royals, whom, perhaps like Diana herself, Larraín never allows us to get too close to – casting them in shadow, or blocking them out of reach behind overstretched billiard tables or elaborate candelabras.

Though indeed befitting the erratic nature of its central character, Jonny Greenwood’s overbearing score is nonetheless a slightly jarring mash-up of style and approach. Light, almost improvisational jazz plays over Diana sneaking out into the grounds of Sandringham by night. Organs deafen out a Christmas morning church trip, and the initial arrival at Sandringham sounds more akin to something ripped from a James Wan piece. Again, intentional as the discombobulation and discordance may be, it’s still amongst the film’s lesser achievements.

Ultimately, though, despite some handsome and clever camerawork, plenty of era-appropriate hair, costume and production design that completely convince, this is, as mentioned, a character study front and centre.

“Despite some handsome and clever camerawork, plenty of era-appropriate hair, costume and production design, this is a character study front and centre.”

Very often, big ticket film biopics like this flail about attempting to cover too much ground, shoehorning in too much backstory or event, or simply unable to find an effective way to convey their subject matter through the prism of cinema.

By stripping out so much of what would have seemed de facto inclusions, and instead taking essentially one key moment and decision in Diana’s life, Pablo Larraín and Kristen Stewart afford their piece the time and opportunity to do something far more interesting; really explore and consider the psyche, potential unravelling and the hopes and fortitude of a woman whose story would only be cheapened by filtering it through such conventional, soapy means.

It’s a bold masterstroke of a move, making a movie at such a pivotal moment in Diana’s journey that hardly features Charles, Camilla, the Queen or any of the usual suspects. Prince Phillip, for instance, who famously had a complicated relationship with Diana, gets nary a line.

But in doing so, and in much the same spirit as its late, iconic muse, Spencer sweeps away so much baggage and weight from its shoulders, and unburdens itself to become a wholly absorbing, remarkably focused and perennially fascinating biopic that knows exactly where its worth and merit lies – in a central character and accompanying performance that are both truly for the ages.