Theatre of the absurd
As the Diana hype grows ever more fevered, it gets easier to ignore, writes Cristina Odone
DIANA lives. Sixteen years have passed since a car crash claimed her life, but still the conspiracy theories and sightings, not to mention the communications from beyond the grave, continue to keep the princess alive in the mind of her fans.
The latest twist, by way of an alleged “army source”, would have us believe that the military was involved in murdering Diana, Princess of Wales. It is about as plausible as the claim by the actress Naomi Watts that she “received permission” from the dead princess to portray her in a forthcoming biopic.
The SAS, ghosts, and Hollywood: even beyond the grave, Diana is still blockbuster material. But instead of indulging our fantasies about a beauty hounded by beasts, shouldn’t we finally allow the People’s Princess to rest in peace?
I suspect the reason we can’t let her go is because we feel, somehow, that we let her down. This is especially true for those women who came of age with her.
Unlike the Duchess of Cambridge, so normal and grounded that she makes the rest of us feel like dysfunctional freaks, Diana ticked every box of imperfect womanhood: insecure, needy, jealous, selfcritical, self-harming. That she could be glamorous and warm-hearted, too, made for a glorious contradiction — and it was this that thrilled.
Women of her generation identified with troubled Diana, she of the disturbed relationship with food and the unhappy adulterous marriage. These problems were as familiar to a twentysomething in the ’80s as a thirtysomething singleton’s broodiness in the ’90s.
The princess struck a chord in her difficulties but also in her triumphs. When she overcame her shyness, bulimia and bitterness, we thought we could, too.
Rooting for Diana was not only an act of female solidarity; she instinctively seemed to turn to us to cheer her on. Perhaps we felt that way because she had no one else. Her mother was a largely absent figure, her siblings older with families of their own. She could not rely on a formidable Carole Middleton to protect her interests and support her decisions, or a younger sister, like Pippa, as her best friend.
Her loneliness imposed on an all-toowilling public the role of guardian. But we failed our ward. The truth is no one could protect her from a disastrous marriage, unsuitable suitors, celebrity, the paparazzi, or herself.
It’s different, happily, for her eldest son. The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge’s first informal photos with their new baby were taken by a family member. Both the Windsors and the Middletons are investing every effort in ensuring this royal birth is a celebration of the future rather than a chance to mourn the past.
It’s also the case that parenthood can heal childhood traumas such as a mother’s premature death, or parental strife. I suspect, and fervently hope, that this will be true for Prince William. He will be captivated by his little boy; but he may also find in the rush of paternal love the ultimate consolation for his own loss as a teenager.
If so, this is no bad thing — though thousands of flame-keepers may think it blasphemous.
The intervening years have blurred Diana’s image. Crackpot conspiracies and clumsy biopics help loosen the bond even her most ardent fans felt with her. Investing a great deal of sentiment in the genuine article was one thing, but these facsimiles prompt ridicule rather than tenderness.
Maybe this latest batch of plots — the soldier’s story, the movie starring Watts under the princess’s apparent psychic guidance — is to be welcomed, after all: they will finally succeed in laying the ghost to rest. — © The Daily Telegraph