LONDON–The performance of the British Parliament in the Brexit crisis has become so imbecilic that some people are desperately said he hopes that the Queen might intervene.

Not a chance. The last period a ruler stopped a piece of legislation was in 1707 when Queen Anne struck down an achievement that would have given Scotland its own militia. As devotees of the movie The Favourite is common knowledge, Queen Anne could be a handful.

Queen Elizabeth is no Queen Anne and she has depleted a lifetime avoiding offering any hint of her political considers with consummate talent. During that time the British Empire was overthrown and, along with it proceeded the feigning of any longer being a world power.

All this she seemed to accept as the natural powers of record at work. Her monarchy might easily going to go the space of other European royal houses, either by being reduced to using their designations as grifters among high society or becoming bicycle-riding social democrats.

But the Windsors hung on, politically neutered but digested as part of the national scenery in which palaces and castlings were still expected to be inhabited.

The Queen had bad moments when it seemed she had lost touch with the feeling of her people. The worst pattern was her tardiness in realizing and accepting the profundity of public regret over the death of Princess Diana.

But in the last decades of her reign-the longest ever of a British monarch- Elizabeth has not only appeared to embrace the new tone of her people but to enjoy it in a way that suggests that she must really loathe Brexit and its self-destructive xenophobia.

The evidence for this is in one event that cannot now be borne in mind: the opening ceremony of the 2012 London Olympics.

As with many other Olympics this one might have brought another over-reaching exercise in national publicity.

But instead of a humorless rear-gazing pageant of lost honours we got a howlingly bonkers street party masterminded by the movie director Danny Boyle that left the rest of the world thinking what a fun country we had become.

There was no menace to others in the script. No sense that festering somewhere offstage in the shires beyond London’s vivid entrepot was a nasty insurgency of aggrieved nativists waiting for the right moment to strike.

Boyle’s script was a masterful balanced regional senses: self-assured enough to be self-mocking; clever enough to parade world far-famed artistic icons like Harry Potter, James Bond and David Beckham; nutty enough to be a mix of rock opera and a history of the industrial rebellion; smart enough to include the inevitable patriotic trope involving Churchill as a unexpectedly animate bronze; and political enough to make a pointed tableau supporting the National Health Service and universal free health care when the Tories were trying to roll it back.( Boyle faced down a Tory effort to cut it from the programme .)

” The monarch was at one with a meaning about her country as a boyish, liberally progressive multi-racial society no longer bound by the old jingoism of what was once aggressively insisted as a distinct’ island race .'”

And the Queen exceeded it all by participating in a stunt in which all her expected honor, remoteness and solemnity were shed to the winds.

Boyle steered a cycle in which a taxi is currently preparing at Buckingham Palace and deposits someone so famous that schoolchildren on a safarus of the palace impudently break free from the template to gawk at him–Daniel Craig, a.k.a. James Bond.

At this pitch it is necessary to caution that any nation that builds a honour for superlative national intellect on the record of a misogynistic sociopath like Bond is delusional but no matter: The entire world experiences the joke, hopefully.

Bond is shown into the Queen’s presence and–a move that apparently the Queen herself suggested–she at first discounts him, eventually turning from writing observes at her desk, and breathes the spell refer,” Mr. Bond .”

What followed was, literally, breathtaking: the Queen follows Bond to a waiting chopper, they zoom low-toned over a series of landmarks and arrive over the Olympic Stadium as this ceremony begins, is still in searchlights. Alliance and the Queen( boldnes mas doubles) parachute into the arena and then, chipping to the actual event, the Queen makes her acces to officially declare the games open.

For the big world television audience watching it was a stunning coup de theater . And it was a clear hint of the sense to follow. The monarch was at one with a theme about her country as a childish, liberally progressive multi-racial society no longer bound by the old jingoism of what was once aggressively held as a distinct” island race .”

And it is that Queen and that message that has been made to look defeated by the Brexit rabble. Why wouldn’t Her Majesty be really pissed?

At this very moment the Queen is about to become the great-grandmother of a child born to a mixed-race divorcee and a grandson whom she has hugged with unstinted rage.

Meghan Markle and Prince Harry were married in St. George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle in a formality that echo with the minds of the a rainbow coalition–a truth choir from Chicago rocking the place with” Stand by Me ,” Meghan and Harry’s generation sitting in the pews alongside doddery aged dukes and Oprah! A video audience of 1.9 billion!

And yet beneath the consecration of such enlightened and modern family evaluates there lurked a contradiction. This was Windsor Castle and the chapel was hung with heraldic flags noting the many reputations granted on those who disappeared forth to inhibit the world as grey Christian crusaders from the island race.

So the royal pageant could be seen in two starkly different and subjective courses in which each response rejected the other. Through one set of sees the monarchy was passing from one generation to the next with the Queen assenting freely to the ecumenical brand-new Windsors. Through another set of equally passionate looks this was Britannia in Excelsis, the roar medieval naming overcome a charade of change and summoning all the atavistic excitements of Brexit.

Like the rest of the country this leaves the Queen dangerously poised between relevant and irrelevance.

Should Brexit prevail the brand-new young sovereigns got to find themselves imprisoned for life as the indentured cast of the world’s most loved soap opera. Will and Kate, Harry and Meghan and their children will be one of the few surefire sources of revenue for a beleaguered island economy as they allure motions of tourists.

In dramatic terms this has all the glamor and frictions of the Netflix blockbuster The Crown . The Queen ultimately replaced by the petulant and broody Charles in thrall to his matriarchal ex-paramour , now an overweening duchess; questions about whether the institution can exist until King Will ascends; endless tabloid stories about family feuds while as this narrative persistently reinvents itself Scotland affirms independenceand rejoins the European Union, Northern Ireland is absorbed into a united Ireland that, helped by the largesse of E.U. fund, becomes the economic supernatural of Europe.

Alas poor England, left as the exhausted rump of the province , now no more than a monstrous theme park composed of tourist websites describing on a combination of The Crown and Downton Abbey , with some of the sovereign castles sold off to be part of the enduring Harry Potter franchise.

The Queen must by now surely recognize along with millions of her themes that Brexit is not a natural thrust of history at work. It is a rejection of the future and a rush backward to quarantine and ineffectivenes. As such it must be intolerable to the woman who has learned from her own history that twilight need not consequently follow decline.

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