Could Prince William and Kate Middleton steal the celebrity crown from David and Victoria? Of course not
David and Victoria Beckham, still king and queen of hearts. Photograph: Frezza Lafata/Rex Features/photomontage
At this pivotal time for our nation, there are certain questions I am asked more than any others in my formal capacity as Sometime Writer of a Page Designed To Be Taken Desperately Seriously. Perhaps the most common one: "Is Alex Reid still a celebrity?" (The short answer: it's complicated. We're going to have to deal with it in full next week.) Second only to that inquiry, however, is the question: "What does the royal wedding mean for the Beckhams?"
Not for them personally, you understand – thanks to some of David's typically empty public utterances, we know it's nice for them to be invited, but that Victoria's a bit concerned about how she'll look because she's pregnant. No, the question is what the royal wedding means for the Beckhams as a concept. Are they up or down on the great media barometer, that instrument that harnesses journalism's most abundant commodity – laziness – and uses it to rate whether or not someone is worth giving a few column inches of toss about? What are the implications for the celebrity community of which the Beckhams are emblematic? And are Prince William and Kate Middleton celebrities?
We shall deal with the latter first: of course they aren't. Only if their marriage starts going wrong, and Kate acquires Princess Di's world-class – galaxy-class – media skills, could they develop the type of plotlines that would elevate them into celebrities (and it would be an elevation). Otherwise, a fevered interest in them will remain the preserve of those people who lack the imagination to mind about celebrity Scientologists or a fracturing Middle East – people in whose company no one interesting would care to spend any time.
Now, as millions get caught up in the pageantry and pissups on the Big Day, you will very likely hear some declare that a new royal dawn has broken, and that something fundamental has changed – and they will very likely be the same people who, after Diana's death, wept in the streets, and on the whole behaved in a very Southern European manner and then got frightfully embarrassed about it afterwards.
Indeed, over the past few weeks you may have heard the loftily touted view that the royal marriage will result in celebrities having their triple-A ratings downgraded. Consider royal author and "constitutional expert" Hugo Vickers, who declared: "I think there's a very good opportunity for William and Catherine to replace people like the Beckhams as the focus of young Britain."
To which I'm afraid the only seemly response is: DO. ME. A. FAVOUR.
I have no idea whether Hugo, like those high court judges of yesteryear, has never heard of the Beatles, but he will certainly be familiar with Oscar Wilde – a man who truly understood celebrity. So I must ask Hugo to turn to Lost in Showbiz set text The Picture of Dorian Gray, specifically the moment at which Lord Henry declares of the eponymous antihero: "You are the type of what the age is searching for, and what it is afraid it has found."
This column has always felt that the test to determine if someone is – however fleetingly – a celebrity is to ask oneself whether one can imagine these words being spoken of them. "You are the type of what the age is searching for, and what it is afraid it has found." Now, can you possibly imagine anyone ever breathing such a thing at Prince William? Well of course you can't. It is, however, eminently possible to imagine it being whispered, spellbound, at David Beckham (perhaps by his enthralled dandy friend, Mr Tom Cruise, but it doesn't especially matter).
Hang on, some might say, only a few paragraphs ago you were making unfavourable reference to David's empty public utterances. But you see, none of that matters either. David Beckham can appear as empty as he likes – indeed, Dorian Gray as a character is marginally less developed than supporting members of Brentwood-based repertory company The Only Way Is Essex. That is precisely the point. As Lord Henry continues of Dorian: "I am so glad that you have never done anything, never carved a statue, or painted a picture, or produced anything outside of yourself! Life has been your art."
And so with our Beckhams, who have never done anything more meaningful than simply be the Beckhams (please don't bring up David's "heroics" in the Greece game; it is hysterically undignified to apotheosise qualifying matches). But they are proper celebrities, upon those whom Hugo calls "young Britain" are properly focused – and that's before we get on to big hitters like your Britneys, your Gagas, and others to whom the world belongs for a season.
Set next to those malfunctioning, mega-watted personages, I'm afraid there is precisely nothing to intrigue us yet in a balding air-sea rescue drone and a neo-Sloane in sensible LK Bennett heels. Harsh? Certainly. But that, my darlings, is showbiz – and long may it reign over us.
Not for them personally, you understand – thanks to some of David's typically empty public utterances, we know it's nice for them to be invited, but that Victoria's a bit concerned about how she'll look because she's pregnant. No, the question is what the royal wedding means for the Beckhams as a concept. Are they up or down on the great media barometer, that instrument that harnesses journalism's most abundant commodity – laziness – and uses it to rate whether or not someone is worth giving a few column inches of toss about? What are the implications for the celebrity community of which the Beckhams are emblematic? And are Prince William and Kate Middleton celebrities?
We shall deal with the latter first: of course they aren't. Only if their marriage starts going wrong, and Kate acquires Princess Di's world-class – galaxy-class – media skills, could they develop the type of plotlines that would elevate them into celebrities (and it would be an elevation). Otherwise, a fevered interest in them will remain the preserve of those people who lack the imagination to mind about celebrity Scientologists or a fracturing Middle East – people in whose company no one interesting would care to spend any time.
Now, as millions get caught up in the pageantry and pissups on the Big Day, you will very likely hear some declare that a new royal dawn has broken, and that something fundamental has changed – and they will very likely be the same people who, after Diana's death, wept in the streets, and on the whole behaved in a very Southern European manner and then got frightfully embarrassed about it afterwards.
Indeed, over the past few weeks you may have heard the loftily touted view that the royal marriage will result in celebrities having their triple-A ratings downgraded. Consider royal author and "constitutional expert" Hugo Vickers, who declared: "I think there's a very good opportunity for William and Catherine to replace people like the Beckhams as the focus of young Britain."
To which I'm afraid the only seemly response is: DO. ME. A. FAVOUR.
I have no idea whether Hugo, like those high court judges of yesteryear, has never heard of the Beatles, but he will certainly be familiar with Oscar Wilde – a man who truly understood celebrity. So I must ask Hugo to turn to Lost in Showbiz set text The Picture of Dorian Gray, specifically the moment at which Lord Henry declares of the eponymous antihero: "You are the type of what the age is searching for, and what it is afraid it has found."
This column has always felt that the test to determine if someone is – however fleetingly – a celebrity is to ask oneself whether one can imagine these words being spoken of them. "You are the type of what the age is searching for, and what it is afraid it has found." Now, can you possibly imagine anyone ever breathing such a thing at Prince William? Well of course you can't. It is, however, eminently possible to imagine it being whispered, spellbound, at David Beckham (perhaps by his enthralled dandy friend, Mr Tom Cruise, but it doesn't especially matter).
Hang on, some might say, only a few paragraphs ago you were making unfavourable reference to David's empty public utterances. But you see, none of that matters either. David Beckham can appear as empty as he likes – indeed, Dorian Gray as a character is marginally less developed than supporting members of Brentwood-based repertory company The Only Way Is Essex. That is precisely the point. As Lord Henry continues of Dorian: "I am so glad that you have never done anything, never carved a statue, or painted a picture, or produced anything outside of yourself! Life has been your art."
And so with our Beckhams, who have never done anything more meaningful than simply be the Beckhams (please don't bring up David's "heroics" in the Greece game; it is hysterically undignified to apotheosise qualifying matches). But they are proper celebrities, upon those whom Hugo calls "young Britain" are properly focused – and that's before we get on to big hitters like your Britneys, your Gagas, and others to whom the world belongs for a season.
Set next to those malfunctioning, mega-watted personages, I'm afraid there is precisely nothing to intrigue us yet in a balding air-sea rescue drone and a neo-Sloane in sensible LK Bennett heels. Harsh? Certainly. But that, my darlings, is showbiz – and long may it reign over us.
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