CONNECT: The production included "Ladies of the Bedchamber", the "Garter king" and a scene-stealing character known, alarmingly, as "Black Rod". It seemed as if panto was about to be coupled with porn. The appearance of such suspiciously exotic extras as the "Master of the Horse", "Gold Stick-in-Waiting" and a few dozen oul' lads in black tights or knee-length silk socks was practically confirming, writes Eddie Holt.
The production included "Ladies of the Bedchamber", the "Garter king" and a scene-stealing character known, alarmingly, as "Black Rod". It seemed as if panto was about to be coupled with porn. The appearance of such suspiciously exotic extras as the "Master of the Horse", "Gold Stick-in-Waiting" and a few dozen oul' lads in black tights or knee-length silk socks was practically confirming.
There were crowns (a big one and a little one), maces and a cap carried on a stick. Two maces were left poking out the windows of a horse-drawn carriage. This display, apparently, was to deter any members of the common herd from approaching the cast. However, as so few members of the herd watched the production, maces to threaten the masses looked superfluous and presumptuous.
Still, the threat of violence and a cast with porno titles was unusual on daytime television. Rod (apparently there are "White Rods" too but they haven't got the same cachet, have they?) walked up to a door but had it rudely slammed in his face.
Undeterred, he gave the door three hard knocks with . . . well, with his rod (which may have been a mace). It was opened and he entered. Go, Rod! Once inside, Rod didn't hang about limply. He had lines to deliver: "Mr Speaker," he said, "the queen commands this honourable house attends her majesty immediately in the house of peers." With that, scores of elected people began to traipse out to the "command" of an unelected one. The entire shindig was in the name of democracy, of course.
When all the elected people had traipsed after Rod, they reached a room where their commanding queen (of England) was wearing the big crown - it has more than 3,000 diamonds - and sitting on a throne. Grown men had walked backwards to guide her into position - as with an aircraft - even though it became clear from her subsequent reading that she could see perfectly well for herself. More democracy, presumably.
Another unelected character, the Lord Chancellor - on a signal from a young man with a very long but anorexically thin rod - gave the queen a purse with her speech in it. He bowed and knelt, more or less prostrating himself and scraping the ground in front of her as he did so. He might have been having a heart attack but no, he too was doing his bit for democracy.
From her throne, the queen then read the speech which had been in the purse. Eighteen times she referred to "my government", the personalised appropriation of a body of elected people rather at odds with the trumpeted democratic theme of the production. It was never "the" government or "our" government - always "my government" but nobody passed any remarks.
In fact, when the scene shifted back to the TV studio, David Dimbleby immediately began talking about "her parliament".
There's going to be "a hefty amount of work for her parliament" he said, before adding, in Harry Potter vein, how much he "likes everyone carrying a wand or a staff or a stick". Whizzo, no doubt. David Dimbleby has a reputation as a serious broadcaster.
Anyway, after further scenes including a script with lines like "Speaker has arrived, hats off strangers" (don't ask!) and such characters as pages, marquises, gentlemen at arms in white plumes, doorkeepers and train bearers, it was back to horse opera with the "household cavalry". They escorted the queen, as presumably, "household" cavalries do, home to Buckingham Palace.
Sure, the state opening of Britain's parliament is easily parodied. All those people in fancy dress, with bizarre titles and a pathetic script make pantomime out of the performance. Some punters love it, of course, others sigh and snigger in quiet toleration and yet others despair at the sycophancy, obsequiousness and arrant presumption of it all.
Almost a half century ago - back in 1953 - the coronation of the current queen became the first major television event in Britain. In the first half of that year, leading up to the coronation at the end of May, 526,000 people bought or rented TV sets. Certainly, the event held great significance for the majority of British people. In fact, when the coronation was shown on American TV, many of them were incensed to learn that coverage was interrupted by a chimpanzee named Fred Muggs breaking in with commercial plugs. US commerce, of course, then as now, was never going to be upset by a British coronation.
But whatever allure the notion of "royalty" held for people 50 years ago is now untenable. Is there anyone alive and of sound mind who sees nothing idiotic in the practice of a servant holding a specimen bottle into which the able-bodied, 50-something Charles Windsor should urinate? Surely somebody is taking the pee? It does, of course, give a new twist to the "royal wee" but, really?
Looking at the frankly silly procession last Wednesday to open Britain's parliament, even the pomp looked sleazy. Once it had been merely preposterous but now - and disregarding the daft titles in the production - it really did appear pornographic.
The brazenness of the privilege on display - its sheer effrontery - guaranteed that.
The "commanding" (even the showbiz crowd have got rid of the Royal "Command" Performance), the repeated and unvaried "my government", the walking backwards, bowing, scraping, throne, tights, train-bearing, staffs, sticks, sceptres, rods and the rest of the overcooked codology seem, in the 21st century, indefensible even as tradition and ritual ceremony.
Sure, ritual and tradition have their places in national life. They can solemnise events and preserve continuity. But when these institutionalise condescension towards the representatives of the people, the pomp looks perverse and insulting. It certainly did this week. Disneyworld would probably do it better and they'd clean up the characters' names too.