Netflix deals come and go. The British monarchy is forever. Probably.
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Five years ago, Patrick Freyne wrote a piece in The Irish Times whose lede could be submitted to a Museum of Great and Fantastic Ledes. It truly summed up the hagiographic coverage of British royalty and how odd it must look to those who had got rid of the yoke of colonial rule: “Having a monarchy next door is a little like having a neighbour who’s really into clowns and has daubed their house with clown murals, displays clown dolls in each window and has an insatiable desire to hear about and discuss clown-related news stories. More specifically, for the Irish, it’s like having a neighbour who’s really into clowns and, also, your grandfather was murdered by a clown.”
The piece was written after Harry and Meghan’s first tête-à-tête with Oprah Winfrey, when the Sussexes moved to the US after bidding adieu to the British royals, perhaps confident, given their ever-rising stardom, that they were now a bigger deal than the British royal family. The Spare no longer needed to fête the Heir or pay obeisance to his father. Or so the Sussexes thought.
Even Feyne thought the same, arguing in his piece: “Harry and Meghan are ultimately going to win. Despite the tabloid frenzy, this was never the story of an ungrateful pauper being elevated by the monarchy. This was about the potential union of two great houses, the Windsors and Californian Celebrity. Only one of those things has a future, and it’s the one with the Netflix deal.”
The problem with proclamations is that nothing ever happens the way we want, something the Sussexes learned during their American sojourn as they prepare to return to the UK.
