Terence Blacker: The Queen's role of a lifetime is a class act

It seems unlikely that the royal households at Balmoral, Sandringham and Windsor Castle will have stayed up on Monday night to find out how The Queen - the film, that is - fared at the Golden Globe awards in LA. There may have been one or two discreet whoops and high-fives in the ranks of Her Majesty's distinctly camp retinue, but royal life will doubtless have continued at its regular, sedate pace. The Queen does not do showbiz.

But perhaps she should. It was rather astute of Helen Mirren, when receiving her best actress award, to pay tribute to the woman who created the original central character at the heart of the royal soap opera. "In 1952, a woman called Elizabeth Windsor at the age of 25 walked into literally the role of lifetime," said Dame Helen. "I honestly feel that this award belongs to her because I think you fell in love with her, not me." The job of an actress had merely been "to make her as truthful to herself as possible".

It is normally rather dangerous, this careless confusion of the real world with a fictional one but, in the case of the royal family, it is justified. The Queen has indeed been playing a public, social role to such perfection over the past century that her real identity has all but disappeared. The last thing she has been, in fact, is truthful to herself; she has been true to the part that she was required to play.

Since that required the obliteration of personality in order to play the public's favourite fantasy, it is, in a ghastly sort of way, an achievement. From the day of her coronation onwards, Elizabeth Windsor has been as flawlessly queen-like as her nation had hoped. In 1952, England expected its monarch to be a toff, neither dangerously bright nor embarrassingly thick, who could open things, launch boats and read speeches without doing or saying anything unpredictable. And that is how she has continued to be.

It sounds easy enough but, as the rest of her family have proved, being an acceptable English institution can be a tough business. While attempting to adopt social roles, the Queen's husband, sons, daughters and in-laws have twitched and flapped about like living moths pinned to a board. Over time, it has become clear that playing the part of someone dull and dignified, particularly at a time when the public is desperate for the thrills and spills of celebrity life, takes a force of dreariness that is beyond most normal people.

Stability at a time of flux can be appealing. While the rest of the world has been blubbing and raging, the royal face has remained as impassive as the image on a postage stamp. At moments when some sort of institutionalised expression of regret has been required, the Queen has merely had to read a press hand-out about her "annus horribilis" for the nation to marvel at her stoicism and dignity.

But there is another view of this kind of public duty. It defines precisely how not to live your life - by being governed by background, trapped by class, incapable of expressing personal feeling, unprepared for all but the most trivial of changes.

Elizabeth Windsor may have inspired an award-winning film but the royal fantasy that continues to be enacted in the real world is harmful. There is a direct connection between the lack of national confidence that makes Britain a restless, uneasy place in which to live and the woman playing the role of a lifetime as its monarch.

How stupid do they think we all are?

Now that randiness, exhibitionism and the incipient insanity of those in the public eye have become old hat in the world of reality TV, the sinister people behind Big Brother have hit on another formula to tease the jaded palates of their viewers.

The latest celebrity-based version of the show has set up a situation that was bound to bring out the snobbery and racism of some of their contestants. A beautiful and unworldly Indian actress called Shilpa Shetty, left, was put in the TV house with some inadequate white C-list types, the thickest of whom was allowed to bring in her unpleasant mother, far left, and boyfriend.

The result, sure enough, has been profoundly nasty television, with race-based bullying and pathetic playground nastiness. Those at Channel 4 have piously expressed their shock and disapproval. They must think we are as stupid as some of their celebrity guests.

* The plan to bring the happy sound of children singing to primary schools across the country will have puzzled quite a few parents. The past 10 years have shown that, when it comes to spending cuts, it is invariably the performing arts which go first. This week, for example, Suffolk Council have announced a plan to cut its annual budget for the performing arts by a whopping 73 per cent, from £450,000 to £119,000, almost certainly spelling the end of local youth orchestras, tuition and music therapy.

Whenever things get a little rough, the Labour Party makes a nice little musical gesture. In 1999, David Blunkett announced that every child at primary school would have the chance to play an instrument. Another initiative would do away with charging for musical tuition by 2010. Nothing came of either.

What with Alan Johnson announcing a National Songbook - Kylie, Perfect Day, Angels etc - this plan bears the distinct whiff of a gooey, headline-grabbing initiative straight out of Armando Iannucci's The Thick of It.

terblacker@aol.com