It’s hard to view The Kid Who Would Be King without jumping to an immediate assumption that Joe Cornish’s take on the Arthurian legend is a highly specific allegory for Brexit. Cornish himself hasn’t entirely refuted this in interviews, generally conceding that it’s hard to divorce the film from the societal context it’s being released into, but one can see why it would be reductive to view the film in this manner. After all, the film’s genesis dates back to the early 1980s, when a 12-year-old Cornish had an idea to update the King Arthur story, transplanting the world of John Boorman’s Excalibur to a British suburb that would be the transatlantic equivalent of Elliott’s family home in E.T.

The Kid Who Would Be King stays true to this original childlike idea, with Cornish’s screenplay — set in the present day — featuring only a small handful of references that would have felt alien when he originally conceived the story; a Harry Potter or Game of Thrones reference here, a gag about Mario Kart there. And yet, the family adventure movie feels like a deliberate political allegory whether the director intended it to be or not. The introductory recap of King Arthur’s legend is the first of numerous moments that underline how he united a nation divided in two, and there’s a radio news report a few minutes later about how “divided” the world has become due to the rise of authoritarianism and populist movements worldwide. Cornish even focuses on newspaper headlines, which highlight a fractured British parliament instantly recognisable to anybody who has been keeping up with the news for the last three years.

The film never specifies anything political by name. Given the screenplay’s surprising lack of contemporary pop culture references, this can largely be attributed to Cornish trying to obtain a timeless quality that will leave the story easy to grasp for future generations of viewers. The extent to whether the commentary on Britain’s divided nature of Brexit is intentional continues to be up for debate — and if viewed solely as a political commentary, the familiar childlike moral that working together is the only thing that will heal divisions isn’t particularly unique.

Instead, the reason any Brexit metaphor is to be found within Cornish’s sophomore directorial effort is intriguing because it continues a theme established by his directorial debut: the willingness to take depressing British headlines and transform them into works of Spielbergian escapism. Attack the Block, released in 2011, is set within a milieu familiar to anybody who had so much glanced at a tabloid newspaper during the late 2000s; an inner city neighbourhood in the midst of the knife crime epidemic. Headlines would often refer to a “Broken Britain” or a “Blade Britain” during this era, with attempts by centre ground politicians to ease the tensions often derided by a national media that leaned to the right. David Cameron, then leader of the Conservative opposition against Tony Blair’s Labour Government, was mercilessly mocked in the press for a speech where he demanded more compassionate policies to reduce youth crime, with the phrase “hug a hoodie” attributed to the future prime minister. It didn’t matter that he never uttered those words, as in the midst of what the tabloids were deeming an epidemic, such a ridiculous platitude stood in sharp contrast to what was being reported.