Unlike Truman, however, Harry has been very aware of the cameras, the press interest, and the story line as it’s played out. I understand why Harry feels a kinship with the 1998 Peter Weir psycho-comedy’s protagonist, the Jim Carrey character whose belated discovery that his entire world has been faked, filmed, and broadcast to the public upends his life and tanks his sanity. But there’s a big difference between being a sponge and being prohibited from learning independence.” (Once, at Eton, on a theater trip.) Sponge, the papers called me. “I’d been forced into this surreal state,” Harry writes, “this unending Truman Show in which I almost never carried money, never owned a car, never carried a house key, never once ordered anything online, never received a single box from Amazon, almost never traveled on the Underground. A recurring motif of the book’s second section is the solace he finds in rewatching Friends as he does his laundry. Elsewhere, he shows familiarity with an array of American cartoons, from Family Guy to Johnny Bravo. But as the memoir reaches its emotional height-Harry contemplates life on his own in California with Meghan Markle-he draws a similarity between his life and another ’90s pop-culture favorite. If Prince Harry manages to leave just one surprising impression of royal life in his memoir, Spare, it’s that he seemingly had tons of time to watch movies and TV.
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