In the summer of 2021, a headline circulated: Javier Olivares, the mind behind The Ministry of Time, planned to adapt Pilar Eyre’s Yo, Rey into a television series. The project would center on the intimate life of Juan Carlos I, spanning three seasons with 10 to 12 episodes each, guided by seasoned producers. Yet, well over a year after the announcement, the project remains at a standstill. “In Spain it’s easier to discuss a 15th century queen than a 21st century king,” Olivares remarked during a roundtable at Serialized Fest, noting the delicate balance between addressing a public figure and preserving professional discretion when discussing a king who still draws attention from many angles.
Why is a Spanish-style crown of The Crown so hard to bring to life? Olivares avoids detailing the author’s position or exposing anyone to a charged portrayal. He notes an ongoing tug-of-war with perceptions around the portrayal of a monarch who remains a living symbol for many. Recently released documentary series have already scrutinized the royal history and its circle, including Save the King (HBO Max) and The Bourbons: A Royal Family (Atresplayer Premium). Still, Olivares argues that documentary storytelling operates under different rules than fiction, and the emotional resonance of a scripted arc can invite reactions that the documentary format does not invite. He also points out that other producers have their own projects exploring the same terrain.
Olivares contends that fiction carries a potency that documentaries do not: metaphors, layers, and the way audiences react to what they see and project onto the narrative. He suggests that a TV series can communicate with emotion, sometimes more vividly than a documentary ever could. As an example, he cites Crown, which the author believes captures Elizabeth II more effectively through storytelling than many non-fiction efforts. By contrast, a series featuring a recently departed monarch and his personal life could spark conversations that are more charged than a straightforward biography would permit.
“People don’t ask questions”
Eyre offers a different perspective: making fiction about an honorary figure has a clear aim—exploring the purpose of monarchy itself—and that exploration can feel risky because it touches a system. He argues that approaching a living institution through fiction invites scrutiny that can be unwelcome in today’s climate. The project to turn Eyre’s novel Yo, Rey into a series received broad platform interest, but legal counsel ultimately declined to proceed. Olivares had prepared a detailed, multi-page brief explaining why the adaptation should be considered non-reportable, emphasizing that the novel’s content did not carry legal risk, even if others feared controversy. The decision appeared to be a strategic one rather than a legal obstacle, suggesting a caution in navigating a sensitive topic.
The screenwriter attributes the pause in production to the mechanics of the television industry. Projects are read by agents at networks and streaming services who sift through hundreds of pitches, choosing a handful to pursue. A rejection rarely comes with a single note; often, the call back never arrives. Olivares describes a landscape where opportunities vanish not because of a hard refusal, but because the timing, slate priorities, and audience forecasts don’t align. This industry reality can feel like a quiet bottleneck—there but not quite ready to move forward.
There are no shadowy hands steering everything, Olivares contends, but the process can feel constraining when brands and platforms are hesitant to commit. Self-censorship can emerge in response to the mood of the market, and creatives may temper ambitious ideas to shield audiences from potential controversy. In the current climate, with exceptions, content about the monarchy is often steered toward safer territory. That caution, Olivares implies, isn’t unique to any one project; it reflects a broader pattern across Spanish television. He suggests that a series about Felipe González or José María Aznar faces similar headwinds, not because the stories are unworthy, but because the subject matter sits at a charged intersection of history and public memory.