Blocking: Wilhelm’s many ‘switches’ (example: “Young Royals”)

I’m sure everyone who has watched ‘Young Royals’ has noticed the moment Wilhelm and Erik are asked to switch places on the sofa in episode one of the show, a moment foreshadowing the fact that Wilhelm will later on take Erik’s place as Crown Prince in the narrative.

But did you notice the moment Wilhelm is asked to switch places with the Headmistress of Hillerska, as well? It happens in the same episode, just a few minutes of screen time after the first ‘switch’, in fact. And if the first ‘switch’ is symbolically meaningful, why would we assume that the second one is not?

Blocking is the art of positioning your actors on stage or in a camera frame. Anyone who has ever stood on a spacious theatre stage will probably understand how crucial it is for a director to decide where each actor is supposed to stand, sit or lie, and when, how and where each of them is supposed to move in each and every scene throughout the entire play.

Blocking is clearly important for practical reasons (it’s crucial for lighting considerations, for example; for continuity between different performances of a play running night after night for weeks or even months; to make sure your actors are positioned right so they can enter and exit when they’re supposed to; even the ego of your lead actor might play a role when they throw a temper tantrum after being upstaged by some understudy). But blocking has more than just practical implications; it’s often used to convey a symbolic meaning: Spatial relationships between the actors on stage can reflect the characters’ actual emotional relationships, for example. The way a scene is blocked can also foreshadow a key detail about the story you’re trying to tell (as is the case with our Erik-Wilhelm ‘switch’ in episode one).

On screen, the whole process of blocking gets even more condensed: Unlike on a big stage, you have a medium that confines you to a rather small frame, not unlike an oil painting in a museum, but which can potentially contain the fictional reality of sheer endless worlds (think: outdoor shots of a vast lake landscape or interior shots of a large hall in a castle). So, choreographing a scene with the frame in mind becomes even more significant – both for practical and symbolic reasons.

What’s particularly important to understand is the fact that, with films and TV shows, the camera is an important part of the blocking process, as well: The camera represents us, the viewers. After all, we see the scene through the eyes of the cameraperson. And unlike in an auditorium at the theatre where the audience sees everything from the same angle throughout the entire play, a camera can move around like a person, be tilted up and down, track the actors’ movements in a dolly shot, rotate, swivel, etc. In other words, the camera has to be treated like an actor and become part of the choreography. That’s also why the viewing experience is so different: static in a seat at the theatre and almost lifelike on the sofa in front of your TV. All of this should explain why, on screen, blocking and camera work form an inseparable unit where choreography and cinematography are so intertwined that they constantly reinforce each other.

Now, what about those scenes in which Wilhelm switches places with other characters?

Having two actors switch positions on stage or in front of the camera clearly conveys a symbolic meaning. (Just like having an actor put on another actor’s costume, this makes the character in question take the other character’s place in the narrative, embody their role, so to speak). But on the practical side of things, it also has to be choreographed meticulously: As a director, you have to make sure your actors both know who’s going to cross in front or behind of whom; both actors have to know how quickly to execute the switch, whether to look at each other or avoid eye contact, whether to brush up against each other or cross in a wide circle around each other, etc. All of these questions have to be decided beforehand, clearly communicated to your actors, and then the switch has to be rehearsed in order to make sure that the two of them don’t just involuntarily collide on stage or in front of the camera.

Which is exactly why the Erik-Wilhelm ‘switch’ in episode one at the castle instantly stands out to us as so odd: The two characters awkwardly bump into each other. For a moment, Wilhelm and Erik don’t seem to know who should cross in front or behind of whom and how to walk around each other before they finally work it out and sit down on the sofa again.

Obviously no one in their right mind would ever assume that this awkward almost-collision was an accident that somehow ended up on tape and didn’t wind up on the cutting-room floor; this was clearly an artistic choice. Which means that it constitutes a deliberate breach of a basic blocking rule.

Most likely this was done to emphasize something about the foreshadowed metaphorical ‘switch’, as well: The ‘switch’ from Crown Prince Erik to Crown Prince Wilhelm, later on in the story, won’t go smoothly either; it will be quite ‘bumpy’, as a matter of fact (understatement of the year, I know). So, this brilliant little detail about the execution of the ‘switch’, that plays with our expectations of how perfectly choreographed a well-blocked scene is supposed to look and subverts them by presenting us with something seemingly wrong and weird, actually imbues the ‘switch’ with a rather clever metaphorical meaning.

And here’s the other instantly noticeable thing about this unusually executed ‘switch’: It’s embedded in a broader scene (in that grand hall at the castle) that boasts some rather unusual cinematography. (As I mentioned above: On screen, blocking and camera work form an inseparable unit!)

What’s unusual about the cinematography here? I’m sure everyone watching this show has picked up on that, as well: It’s a long take without a cut, of course. (Although long takes and even entire one-shot films have become more commonplace since the invention and wider use of the Steadicam, they’re still a rather special and fascinating tool in the cinematography toolbox. If you want to see what can be achieved artistically by means of a long take, I would still recommend watching Alexander Sokurov’s 2002 film “Russian Ark” above all else. It’s a bit more on the ‘arthouse’ side of things, but it’s absolutely unparalleled in scope and scale when it comes to working magic with an extraordinarily long continuous shot.)

What’s important for our purposes here is to understand that long takes give us, the viewers, an incredible feeling of temporal immersion into the scene: What’s happening on screen is seemingly happening in real time for us, as well. This is, of course, a very clever artistic trick, seeing as the whole scene at the castle ends in a fourth-wall break by Wilhelm: The long take gives us the feeling of being right there in the room with him, of experiencing everything in real time. The slow zoom on Wilhelm enhances that feeling by giving us the impression that our own eyes are drawn closer and closer to him, and then this feeling of total immersion culminates in him suddenly breaking the fourth wall. (‘Don’t establish eye contact with the audience,’ is of course another important rule of acting, and a fourth-wall break is obviously an intentional violation of that rule. So you can see how many ‘unusual’ things the show managed to cram into this one scene.)

What’s also important to note is the fact that this long take is a seemingly static shot (at least at first glance): The camera seems almost immobile, and even the zoom-in starts so slowly that it’s barely noticeable at first. This creates a viewing experience not unlike at the theatre; it’s as if we’re sitting in an auditorium, watching people on a brightly lit stage, looking at them from the same angle throughout the entire scene. 

If you re-watch the scene, pay attention to the way it’s set up: The ornate grand hall, the gilded sofa with the oil painting aligned symmetrically above it, the blocking here that has the Royal Family slowly file into the hall like in a procession and sit down ceremoniously, the press attachés and other staff forming a guard of honour in front of the door – it looks like a grand spectacle and feels like a grand spectacle because it is a grand spectacle; it’s theatre. And this stagy feeling is reinforced by the continuous shot and the near-static camera that transitions seamlessly into a zoom shot.

All of this staginess serves a dual purpose: It gives us the impression that these people there, those Royals on that gilded sofa, are just playing a role, acting, playing a part instead of being their own true selves. We see their perfect, polished façades but nothing else. But it also draws even more attention to the one moment of the whole scene that seems less than perfect and a bit unpolished: the seemingly bumpy blocking during that ‘switch’ (that’s obviously meticulously choreographed to look awkward and uncoordinated).

So, you can see how the setting of that scene, the cinematography and the blocking all reinforce one another to give us the subliminal impression that something about this whole scene is exceptional, unorthodox and unusual. (And arguably, a Crown Prince dying and the ‘spare’ suddenly being next in line to the throne is all of these things. So, metaphorically foreshadowing that in this way, with the blocking and cinematography cleverly working hand in glove, makes sense.)

Knowing how well-thought-out and symbolically meaningful the Erik-Wilhelm ‘switch’ is at the beginning of episode one, the following question becomes pressing:

Why shouldn’t the second ‘switch’ scene, the Headmistress-Wilhelm ‘switch’, be symbolically meaningful, as well? 

It happens just a few minutes of screen time later. Plot-wise it’s executed in much the same way: The press team demands the ‘switch’. Wilhelm follows through (rather reluctantly). And there’s some really interesting cinematography emphasizing it, as well: The Erik-Wilhelm ‘switch’ deliberately violated a basic rule of blocking, and the Headmistress-Wilhelm ‘switch’ violates so many rules that it gets hard to count them all (as we will see in a minute). It stands to reason that both scenes carry a metaphorical meaning.

Erik and Wilhelm switching places was clearly foreshadowing something. So, that moment in front of the grand piano at Hillerska, when Wilhelm is asked to switch places with the Headmistress during a photo op, must be foreshadowing something, as well.

Let's first discuss what that might be before we venture further and analyze the blocking and the camera work in this second ‘switch’ scene.

Personally, I see two possible explanations (maybe you can come up with more):

1. Either the ‘switch’ is meant to be taken literally: with Wilhelm literally taking the Headmistress’s place, the same way he did with Erik’s. This would almost definitely mean abdication for Wilhelm. It’s possible that this is the writers’ subtle way of telling us what will happen long after the show is over: Having abdicated, Wilhelm will get the normal life he always wanted, go to university and become a teacher and eventually the Headmaster at this particular school. This would make for some great character development (even if most of it would be imagined and off-screen): from an insecure schoolboy to a teacher who helps other kids. And he would probably do a much better job at leading this school than Anette Lilja.

2. Or it’s meant to be read figuratively: (I’m obviously leaning towards this explanation.) This might mean that, at some point in season three, Wilhelm will have to take charge at that school, that he will get the Headmistress, under whose auspices the school has degenerated to worrying levels of despotism and abuse, fired and replaced. (If the Headmistress turns a blind eye to almost everything that is going on at Hillerska from perpetual humiliation of new students in brutal hazing rituals to sexual abuse of teenagers via revenge porn, if this Headmistress doesn’t care about what’s done to the children who have been placed in her care, then she has got to be replaced.) It could also mean that he has to take charge of the narrative without having her thrown out, but by taking control and somehow getting her on his side. (I doubt this second option, though.) 

   So, all in all, Wilhelm might not literally become the Headmaster of Hillerska later in life, but he might take her place in the sense that he might take over in season three once everything that’s been going on at that school is revealed. (Note how that entire ‘switch’ scene is unfolding in front of those reporters and photographers, which probably foreshadows the fact that all of it will occur while the eyes of the public and the press will be trained on the school. In fact, it’s the reporter lady who initiates the ‘switch’ in the first place, which probably means that, just as with the ‘baggage’ scene, the press will be very much involved in what’s going to happen.)

Note that Wilhelm actually groans, “Fuck!” under his breath when he’s asked to switch places with her, i.e. he is reluctant to do so, which strongly suggests that the figurative reading (2) is the right one here. Subtextually, it connects this four-letter-word to the foreshadowed ‘switch’. (And why would Wilhelm be so reluctant to become a teacher if that’s his career choice after abdicating? Being not exactly too keen on taking charge, on the other hand, on getting the Headmistress fired…all of that would be very understandable.) 

Just as with the awkward, bumpy blocking during the Erik-Wilhelm ‘switch’, the muttered swear word gives us just a splash of subtextual extra information that colours the way we perceive the scene and what it might metaphorically stand for.

Now let’s talk about the way this scene was filmed. First I have to explain something, though:

Imagine you’re watching a movie (any movie), and there’s a scene in which Character A is standing on the left side of the frame and Character B on the right.

Then, at some point during their conversation, the camera (not the characters!) moves around and behind them, so that now Character B is on the left side of the frame and Character A is on the right. (The characters themselves have not moved at all; it’s just that the camera has reversed its angle, turned 180 degrees and is now shooting from the opposite direction.)

What I’ve just described is called ‘breaking the 180° rule’ or ‘crossing the 180° line’ or just ‘jumping the line of action’ for short. (It’s actually a bit more complicated than what I’ve described above, but I’m trying to simplify things a bit for the purposes of this article here.)

Why and when is it done? Well, sometimes it’s done simply to shake things up a bit during an otherwise long scene that the filmmakers fear might get too boring. It’s done to add some visual variety to the shots for our viewing pleasure. (Note that the Headmistress-Wilhelm ‘switch’ is not by any means a long scene; it’s only a few seconds long.) 

But sometimes this is done for a different reason, as well: to denote a shift in power between the two interlocutors. The moment the camera ‘jumps the line of action’, the power between the two characters shifts. In other words, the 180° rule is sometimes broken for storytelling purposes. (Just to give you an example: Christopher Nolan crosses the 180° line several times in the interrogation scene of his movie ‘The Dark Knight’: Batman interrogates the Joker (played ingeniously by Heath Ledger) in a prison cell, but the constant ‘jumps’ across the 180° line make it appear at times as though the Joker were interrogating Batman. Watching it, we keep wondering who actually holds power over who in that scene and who has – figuratively speaking – imprisoned who.)

Now, would it surprise you if I told you that the 180° rule is, in fact, broken during the Headmistress-Wilhelm ‘switch’?

The scene itself goes by so fast that it’s difficult to catch, so allow me to break it down for you: It starts off with both of them, Wilhelm and the Headmistress, standing in front of the grand piano, having their picture taken. The camera moves in a circle from the side (and almost from behind of them) to a position in front of them. For the fraction of a second, Wilhelm can be seen on the right and the Headmistress on the left side of the frame before the reporter lady addresses them, asking them to switch positions. Before they can actually execute the switch, the camera starts to retreat back behind their backs…

…and then there’s an almost imperceptible cut: The camera is suddenly fully behind their backs. (The 180 ° line has just been crossed!) Wilhelm appears on the left side of the frame now and the Headmistress on the right, but only for a second again. Because that’s the moment the two actors physically (!) switch positions themselves, so that Wilhelm is again on the right side of the frame and the Headmistress on the left. Then they shake hands and the scene is over.

The breach of the 180° rule (i.e. the camera moving behind them) happens almost simultaneously with them switching positions. It’s very well choreographed, with the blocking and the camera working almost in unison and thus reinforcing the feeling that something here is being switched.

We have already talked about the ‘switch’ itself possibly foreshadowing the fact that Wilhelm will take control of the narrative, now we get a violation of the 180° rule as well, which seems to underscore the fact that a power shift is going to occur at that school. After all, the two things, the ‘switch’ and the ‘jump’ across the 180° line, happen at the same time!

Note how our observation that, on screen, the camera has to become part of the blocking process is vindicated here: This scene is absurdly well choreographed with both, the actors and the cameraperson, almost dancing around each other.

But that’s not even the only thing that’s unusual about this scene. As I pointed out above, the moment the Headmistress and Wilhelm switch positions is filmed from behind. 

Well, here’s another ground rule of blocking: ‘As an actor, don’t ever turn your back to the auditorium or the camera.’ (Obviously that rule is broken sometimes, but when it is, it’s done deliberately, i.e. for very specific artistic reasons.)

So, why does this second ‘switch’ scene within a few minutes of the first episode break a basic blocking rule again?

After all, the filmmakers could have easily shown us this scene through the lens of one of the photographers or in an over-the-shoulder shot from the reporter lady’s point of view, but they didn’t. It was apparently important to have that part of the grand piano in the foreground of the shot! If the scene had been shot from the other direction the piano would have been in the background behind the Headmistress and Wilhelm.

As strange as this might sound, but we’re actually watching this ‘switch’ from a piano’s point of view. It’s as if they were shooting over the ‘shoulder’ of that instrument.

Since the protagonists could have just as well had their little photo op out in the garden or facing the other way in the hall, the piano setting must have been a deliberate choice. 

We know that ‘music’ on this show metaphorically represents love, the ‘music’ metaphor being a very, very consistent metaphor on ‘Young Royals’. So, personally I don’t think that the piano in the foreground of this shot is a coincidence: Whatever the ‘switch’ between the Headmistress and Wilhelm is foreshadowing, it’s clear that ‘music’ (read: love) will play a key role in it; it’s literally in the foreground. It’s most likely the reason why Wilhelm will take the Headmistress’s place, i.e. will take charge, at some point in the story.

So, what we’re getting in that ‘switch’ scene is: two actors physically switching positions (potentially foreshadowing Wilhelm taking charge at the school), a breach of the 180° rule by the camera (possibly foreshadowing a power shift) and a grand piano in the foreground (most likely foreshadowing the fact that all of this is going to happen because of love).

And still, that’s not even all that’s weird and unusual about that scene! We’ve talked about several blocking and filming conventions that were broken during that ‘switch’, but I haven’t yet mentioned the framing rule that is broken in the broader scene this ‘switch’ is embedded in.

Let’s refresh our memory for a moment: The Headmistress and Wilhelm are asked to switch places. Wilhelm groans, “Fuck,” under his breath. They switch places. Then we see the Headmistress stretch out her hand towards Wilhelm:

And then the shot transforms into this little gem here just as they shake hands:

The camera tilts down for a split second and thus cuts their heads out of the frame. I cannot stress enough how unusual this is. There’s a very basic rule when it comes to framing: In a medium shot, you have to give your characters enough headroom, and you certainly cannot under any circumstances cut off their heads! Simple, right?

Now, you could argue that this might have been an accident – I personally don’t believe in accidents on that scale, not in a well-thought-out production such as this – but the main reason why it’s unlikely to be unintentional is the fact that this is, in fact, the second time this happens in about a minute or so:

Moments earlier, just as Wilhelm and Erik shake hands with a long line of other teachers, you get a similar shot (not from behind this time, but largely in profile): You see the teachers’ faces in the line-up first, and then the camera tilts down briefly towards their midriff as they shake hands with the princes, which momentarily cuts their heads off at the upper edge of the frame.

In other words, this basic framing rule is broken twice within a matter of minutes. It’s only a brief moment, sure, and you could argue, “The camera is just doing this to highlight all the handshaking that’s going down,” which is certainly a part of it, but still…Cutting off someone’s head in a medium shot is weird. And doing so twice is doubly weird. Especially since you don’t have to move the camera at all when people are shaking hands, you can just make sure every part of the body above the waist (faces and hands) ends up in the frame in the first place and keep the camera static.

A medium shot (waist shot) is usually a shot that focuses the attention of the viewer on the face and the upper part of the body, and it automatically draws our eyes to the characters’ eyes. But when you crop the heads out of the frame, this becomes impossible.

If this was, indeed, done to highlight the handshaking, then it achieves something interesting, in fact:

It literally accentuates the handshake at the expense of the head.

In other words, shaking hands with royalty becomes more important to these characters than having a head.

You obviously don’t have to read it in this way, but here’s a metaphorical reading that’s at least conceivable:

All of these teachers aren’t free to use their own head, their mind, their reason. They have little agency and no power. They’re not really in charge of this school. That’s why they visually ‘lose’ their heads for a moment. We might think of these teachers as powerful authoritarians, but they’re not truly reigning at this school. Even a despotic teacher such as Magister Englund has no real power. All the teachers (including the utterly hapless and helpless Headmistress) are most likely middle-class, as teachers tend to be.

The people in charge of this school are the wealthy kids – and even more so their parents. The richer they are and the higher up in the aristocratic pecking order, the more power they have. In that system, the teachers are just headless chicken, mindlessly following orders. They might be granted a little power here and there to force their students to stand up before class or pray before dinner, but ultimately they’re all subordinates who are embedded in a broader system in which power flows downstream from the upper class. (Remember how the Headmistress is stopped the moment she expresses her wish to make a statement to address the sexual abuse suffered by two boys in her care.) It’s the rich and noble alumni of the school who run Hillerska behind the scenes, the ones we see on Parents’ Day, the ones who know the school anthem by heart. And who has the most prestige among those high-status bigwigs? The Royal Family, of course.

That’s why we see those teachers fall all over themselves to greet the two princes, and that’s why that handshake needs to be accentuated in the shot so very weirdly: It’s through that handshake that the teachers (and the Headmistress) are invested with power; the handshake is the metaphorical bond that binds them to this system. It’s just that, the moment they enter this covenant of sorts, their heads get cut off and they lose their agency. (Note that Wilhelm ‘loses’ his head in that scene, as well, because he’s the most powerless of them all in that situation in episode one. He doesn’t have anyone, as we’ve already seen in the ‘baggage’ scene. He’s trapped in the same system. He might at some point in the future take charge and get the Headmistress replaced; there might be a power shift in season three, and it was actually already foreshadowed by the reference to a different kind of head-cutting if you remember Sara’s line about Marie Antoinette getting decapitated, but for now, Wilhelm is utterly without agency and completely alone.)

(This is just my very speculative reading of this, mind you. You don’t have to interpret the strange framing here the same way I do.) What’s clear, though, is that once again blocking and cinematography work in tandem in that scene.

The Erik-Wilhelm ‘switch’ gives us some unusual blocking and some unusual cinematography; it even breaks a rule or two. The Headmistress-Wilhelm ‘switch’ is just unusual through and through, giving us rule break after rule break.

We’ve now looked at two different scenes with a ‘switch’. Are there any more scenes in which Wilhelm physically takes some other character’s place?

Yes. And it even happens in the same episode…again!

I’m sure you all remember the scene in which Wilhelm introduces himself to Simon for the very first time in the dining hall during their lunch break. Unfortunately, August witnesses their conversation, interrupts them and tells Wilhelm to join him and the other third-years. Once Wilhelm has made his way over to them, August suddenly does something very interesting: He gestures for Nils to scoot over and then asks Wilhelm to sit down in Nils’ place.

Remember that film analysis means we’re never assuming that the characters are real; we know they’re fictional characters, i.e. an explanation à la, “August just wanted Wilhelm to sit closer to him,” doesn’t really cut it. The writers make the characters do things, and if the writers had wanted to, they could have set up this scene in a different way. From a plot-level point of view, August shooing Nils away is a completely unnecessary detail, so it must be important for the metaphorical subtext.

What the blocking of this scene clearly shows us is that Wilhelm, once again (for the third time in this episode!), is taking someone else’s place: This time, it’s Nils’. So, what’s up with that?

Later in the story, we find out that Nils is, in fact, gay, deeply closeted and uses sexual encounters with women for social validation. (We can infer that third point from his on-the-table moment in the next episode; it arguably foreshadows how Nils intends to lead his life after graduation: Get married to a woman and have secret encounters (mostly of the paid-for variety) in the Swiss Alps when he needs to blow off some steam.)

This is the person whose place Wilhelm physically takes in that scene in episode one, i.e. he sits down in Nils’ seat and thus metaphorically takes on his role.

Well, and who is the one who puts Wilhelm in that seat? August! August is the whole reason why Wilhelm is suddenly pushed into the role of a deeply closeted man who’s on track to get married to a woman and only seek out men in secret.

Arguably, this entire scene foreshadows future events after the release of the infamous video: Wilhelm does indeed get pushed into that very role for quite a bit (until he, of course, manages to break out of it during his speech in the season finale of season two).

If we re-watch this entire scene in the dining hall in episode one, it quickly becomes clear that the whole scene’s purpose is actually to foreshadow these developments: 

Look, Simon and Wilhelm are having a conversation (read: they’re getting close to each other). During this conversation, Wilhelm is (rather adorably) nervous, but also determined to get to know Simon. It’s Wilhelm who’s taking the initiative here (just as we will see later on when they actually get intimate with each other). Simon likes it. He’s smiling. But he also doesn’t seem to understand some core facts about Wilhelm’s life (read: Wilhelm not being allowed to say anything on matters that are political in nature foreshadows the fact that he will be forced to make a statement of denial; after all what’s more political than the future head of state’s love life when it could, in fact, blow up the constitution of the country, but Simon doesn’t really get that yet.) Nobody in that dining hall is paying attention to their conversation (this too is true for their later encounters). Nobody except for August (ugh!). Nobody would have noticed anything if August hadn’t drawn attention to them (this is true for the video situation, as well).

August watches them from his side of the table; he sees them (just like he will see them later on through the window). It’s precisely because August calls out to Wilhelm that the whole dining hall suddenly becomes aware of their conversation and all the heads suddenly turn in their direction (directly foreshadowing the fact that August will draw public attention to them when he leaks the video). And then August proceeds to pretty much push Wilhelm in Nils’ seat (read: it’s because of that leaked video, a video released by August, that Wilhelm suddenly finds himself in the role of a closeted man who’s getting dangerously close to being married off to some aristocratic girl). Simon is left to sit alone and stew (this foreshadows the fact that Simon will be left to his own devices after the leak of the video and Wilhelm’s statement of denial).

The whole dining hall scene in episode one foreshadows the development of Wihelm and Simon’s relationship, the leaked video, their breakup and the awful position Wilhelm finds himself in later on: metaphorically, Nils’ place.

This is not surprising: We’re analyzing what’s essentially a pilot episode of a TV show here, and pilot episodes often feature scene after scene that show some superficial plot points, but actually exist as metaphorical devices to foreshadow future developments on the show. This is true for the Erik-Wilhelm ‘switch’ on the sofa at the castle, it’s true for the ‘suitcase’ fight scene between August and Wilhelm (as we have already discussed), it’s most likely true for the Headmistress-Wilhelm ‘switch’, as well, and it’s certainly true for this dining hall scene, at the end of which an unhappy, yet acquiescent Wilhelm is drawn out of his conversation with Simon and forced to sit down in Nils’ seat.

This scene arguably also gives us a little insight into a very dark corner of August’s brain (I know…are there any corners of August’s brain that are not dark? Let’s just agree that some of them are darker than others.)

We know that August will regret leaking the video later on, his feelings being a mix of actual guilt and fear of retribution by the Royal Court. But what this dining hall scene actually suggests subtextually is that August will also be a tiny bit proud of himself for leaking the video: He forces Wilhelm to sit in Nils’ seat, puts an arm around his shoulders and tells him proudly how he just had to rescue him from his ‘situation’ there. He even says that Wilhelm is sitting with the ‘grown-ups’ now.

Since this scene directly foreshadows future events, this subtextually suggests that despite all the wailing and teeth-gnashing, somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind, August will be telling himself, “Well, maybe Wilhelm should actually thank me for leaking the video. After all, I saved him from his situation with that sosse guy. And now he can get properly married like a real man, be an actual adult man and not a kid who’s just playing around with other boys.”

This is in direct contradiction to what August will say out loud about his deed: He will keep apologizing; he will even tell Wilhelm at some point that what he’s done is unforgivable. But the subtext here seems to suggest that at least some very nasty part of August’s already pretty rotten brain is defiant, doesn’t want to apologize and keeps whispering that maybe he did the right thing to protect the Crown and protect Wilhelm. “Look, I even put him in Nils’ place. Now everything will go right in Wilhelm’s life.”

It’s pretty disgusting, but unconscious or half-conscious thoughts of the darkest parts of our brains tend to be.

Now, what about the blocking of that scene? And what about the cinematography? 

So, that’s the curious part about the dining hall scene actually: That whole scene is filmed very, very conventionally. No heads get cropped out of the frame; there are no wrongly executed switches that look like the blocking wasn’t rehearsed, and there’s no crossing of the 180° line. The scene is shot normally. Nobody turns their back to the camera for too long. In other words, nothing about this scene is unusual or weird. No rules are broken, neither on the blocking nor on the framing or editing side of things.

This might seem a bit strange at first, seeing as we’re clearly dealing with three such scenes, one in quick succession after the other, in one episode, and according to the rule of three, we would expect things to go really wild the third time around – until we realize that maybe all of this is intentional.

Maybe Wilhelm taking Nils’ place (literally and metaphorically in the narrative) is shown in a very conventional way because that’s what it is: The conventional way for a monarch to behave, for anyone to behave who is upper-class and rather conservative, as a matter of fact. It’s filmed in a very conservative style because that’s what it is: Wilhelm is shown to be forced to conform to conventions.

Look at it in this way: If the Headmistress-Wilhelm ‘switch’ indeed foreshadows the fact that Wilhelm will take charge at that school, maybe even get the Headmistress fired and replaced (or at the very least get her on his side and still take control of the narrative), then that’s an absolutely unprecedented event. It’s hugely disruptive. It massively undermines the system. No wonder it was filmed in such an unconventional way, showcasing rule break after rule break in its cinematography and blocking. It foreshadows something unusual, and so it’s made to look unusual.

The Erik-Wilhelm ‘switch’ is blocked and filmed in a conspicuously unusual way, too, because it metaphorically foreshadows a very unexpected and surprising development, as well: The second son of a royal family becoming Crown Prince is unusual. It’s what’s going to shake up the whole story.

But Wilhelm being pushed in Nils’ seat, i.e. Wilhelm being forced deep into the closet, playing the role of a happy heterosexual man who’s trying to find a nice girl to marry, while being secretly miserable, is not unusual at all. It’s what usually happens in these types of situations for these kinds of people. The event this foreshadows is sadly normal, which is why all the artistic choices (from how the scene is blocked to what the camera actually does there) supports that message: This is conventional; everything is happening according to convention.

I think what the comparison of these three scenes (all from episode one!) shows us is that a lot of thought goes into the artistic side of things on this show: The technical execution of the filming process is almost as important as the (both literal and metaphorical) content of these scenes, and one side actually supports and reinforces the other. Film is an art form, and just as with a painting, it’s never just about the subject that’s being depicted; the question of how that’s achieved is very important, as well.

Now, this would have been a perfect thought to end this article on, and make sure it doesn’t get too long this time around if…well, if there weren’t two other interesting ‘switches’ on this show that I just have to mention. And what’s so interesting about these ‘switches’ is that they don’t actually happen. 

We will see in the next installment of this little analysis series that sometimes things that don’t happen are just as important as things that do. Words that aren’t spoken are as important as words that are. Music that’s not played is as vital as music that can be heard. Objects that are not shown can have as much significance as objects that we can see. Well, and often blocking that doesn’t happen is as meaningful as blocking that does.

What two ‘switches’ that aren’t actually ‘switches’ do I mean?

In episode four of season one, August and Wilhelm urinate outside ‘The Palace’ during the drug party and open up to each other about their respective family trauma. I’m sure nobody who has watched this show has missed the fact that Wilhelm suggests they switch places and that August only half-jokingly replies, “Why not?!” 

Wilhelm is struggling with his new role (and his grief obviously), and the look on August’s face in that scene suggests that his reply is only half facetious. As viewers, we’re all instantly aware that he would actually quite like to take Wilhelm’s place.

What’s most interesting about that scene, though, is that we never actually see them physically switch places out there in the dark. It would have been quite easy to choreograph a nicely blocked scene, in which Wilhelm and August would scream their lungs out and then (after staggering around for a bit) end up on opposite sides of the frame, with August in the spot Wilhelm would have just vacated. But notably that’s not what happens in that scene. The camera keeps cutting back and forth between August and Wilhelm to the very end of the scene, and they never switch. A switch is talked about, but never executed for us to see on screen.

This is, I think, among the strongest visual evidence that August will never become King in the ‘Young Royals’ universe. The possibility of him being crowned King is discussed for a while (in season two), but ultimately it will never happen.

Well, and here’s the other ‘switch’ that really isn’t one: In episode three of season two, we get the infamous rowing competition (that is essentially all just a gigantic metaphor for a love triangle, remember?). During the rowing competition, Simon messes up an actual switch on the rowing machine, resulting in their team losing the competition. The messed-up switch is a metaphor for Simon’s (ostensible) ‘switch’ from Wilhelm to Marcus (we’ve discussed this). That’s why we get such brilliant shots of Wilhelm’s devastated face in the locker room while Vincent keeps yelling at Simon that it’s all his fault, that he messed up the switch and is the whole reason they lost.

The switch on the rowing machine is a metaphor for Simon’s metaphorical ‘switch’ from Wilhelm to Marcus.

But you know what’s most brilliant about the whole ‘switch’ situation here? We never actually see Wilhelm and Marcus switch places in that scene!

Wilhelm can be seen by the door as Marcus kisses Simon. Then Wilhelm slinks away. Next scene: Wilhelm and Simon are already in the locker room with the others. Where’s Marcus? He said he needed to get back to school, but who cares! We don’t need him in the ensuing scenes anymore. 

And at no point, do Marcus and Wilhelm execute a ‘switch’ at the gym or anywhere else. We don’t see Marcus in the exact spot that Wilhelm just vacated by the door. We don’t see them walk around each other in a wide circle and then end up in each other’s places. None of that happens. A ‘switch’ is talked (and yelled) about a great deal, but no switch physically happens on screen when it comes to the blocking of those scenes.

On screen, things that don’t happen are sometimes as important as the things that do!

Simon might have ‘messed up a switch’ on the rowing machine, and if we go by Wilhelm’s devastated face, he clearly seems to think Simon switched him out for Marcus, but the whole point of those scenes is that Simon’s heart never ‘switched’ from Wilhelm to Marcus. It can’t. Simon’s heart is stuck on Wilhelm. The ‘switch’ never happened and never will.

~fin~

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