I don’t know about you, but I need a breather. After so many weeks of anguish over Israel and Palestine, of growing suspicions (which I don’t share, but let’s leave it at that today) that Russia will win the war in Ukraine, of contemplating the astonishing story of the fantastic Javier Milei, after all of that and more, it was with relief and some joy that i read on thursday of the impending demise of the world’s most repulsive celebrity couple.
I mean Harry and Meghan, a subject of fascination for almost the same amount of planetary inhabitants as the destruction of Gaza, the agony of Zelenski or whether the madman will save or charge Argentina. The comedy (yes, enough of the tragedy) began four years ago when the grandson of the then Queen Elizabeth II and his brand new actress wife decided to leave the Perfida Albió, and its treacherous journalists and perfidious monarchy in search of peace and “privacy” on the West Coast of North America.
Few islanders regretted fleeing, but they were received – initially – in her majesty’s former colonies with pity and admiration, as if they had been exiled from an atrocious dictatorial regime. From the 18-bathroom Californian mansion they moved into, they cried, and cried, and didn’t stop crying. “We are victims of the greed, the coldness, the rancor, the racism of our illustrious and rich and evil relatives”, they repeated time and time again in front of the television cameras, in the podcasts, in their confessional books.
And it worked. They lined up. A $100 million contract with Netflix, another $20 million with Spotify. Harry’s autobiography, written by a loyal courtier named Omid Scobie, was a worldwide bestseller. They were made with the celebrities of Hollywood and beyond, with George and Amal Clooney, Oprah Winfrey, Kevin Costner, Elton John, Idris Elba, the Beckhams. Everyone was smiling with them in the photos, but everyone knew that deep down, Harry and Meghan were suffering, and they shared their pain. And they didn’t see anything contradictory that they spoke ill of the institution of the monarchy but at the same time insisted that they be called “the Dukes of Sussex”, and their two children “prince” and “princess”. On the contrary, the aristocracy sells well in the powerful American republic, and selling well is what American celebrities value most and know how to do best.
Only now that Harry and Meghan have gone into decline, they lose their magic. Instead of being the object of veneration, they are the object of ridicule. One fine day America woke up to find the duke and duchess naked.
It all started to go downhill a few months ago when the TV sitcom South Park poked fun at them (“the silly prince and his silly wife”) in a twenty-minute satire titled “the world tour of privacy “. Distraught, Harry sought refuge in his homeland. He flew to England to participate in the coronation of his father, Charles III, and to his surprise, but no one else’s, he was condemned to the back seats, in the Siberia of royal protocol.
He returned to the 18-bathroom mansion, where Meghan broke the devastating news that their contracts had been canceled by first Netflix and then Spotify. This week we found out exactly why. The only publication that Harry and Meghan read, The Hollywood Reporter, has condemned them to the celebrity C-list with a devastating sentence: “In 2020, the royal duo fled a life of ceremonial public service for profit of his celebrity status in the United States. But after a lousy Netflix documentary, a lousy biography and an inert podcast, Harry and Meghan’s brand inflated into a blissful bubble that was crying out to be burst.” A Spotify executive has joined the fray. He denounced them as “a couple of fucking swindlers”.
The calamities have been happening one after the other. An opinion poll in the United States indicated that the most popular celebrity in the United States was … Prince William, the heir to the English throne, the older brother with whom Harry has not spoken for a long time. Then the oleaginous Omid Scobie, eager to squeeze every last drop of money out of his closeness to Harry and Meghan, wrote a book in which he named the two royals who were allegedly the racists who the couple had alluded to in a television interview three years ago.
The accusation is based on the fact that, when Meghan was pregnant, these two characters had speculated about the skin color of the future child. Scobie identified them as King Charles and the future Queen Catherine, William’s wife, Meghan’s number one object of hatred. The problem is that everyone thinks Meghan and Harry encouraged Scobie to mention Charles and Catherine. The other problem is that, even if it were true that they had this conversation, the idea that both are guilty of racism has not gone away.
Meghan identifies as “black”, although few would say so at first glance, or without first seeing her mother, who clearly is. Harry is whiter than flour. Which, as in the case of any pair of parents-to-be with different physical features, some relatives wondered how the baby would turn out. What killed the controversy was the intervention of Chris Rock, the best-known black comedian in the United States. “This is not racist,” he said. “Even black people want to know what shade of coffee their babies will be.”
The latest disaster in sight, almost as serious as the possibility of Harry having to beg the Pope for money, is that Clooney, Costner and company are said to no longer want to be photographed with the ducal duo. A Hollywood production company explained to The Times of London that the British market is important for American actors, and that there is nothing better than the presence of Guillem and Caterina at the premieres of their films. “That’s why no one wants to be seen in public as a friend of Harry or Meghan.”
Done. The farce is over, good news for the world, a good lesson, a sign that the levels of stupidity are dropping a little. Now if only the Trump farce could be stopped too… but no, sorry. Let’s leave that for another day.
