What is the purpose of the monarchy? Review – David Dimbleby’s demolition of the Royal Family is very entertaining | television

SWhen you sit down in front of David Dimbleby’s new three-part film, looking at this confronting title, you wonder why the question it raises isn’t discussed more often. Dimbleby himself tracked down the series because he worried loudly that during his time as a BBC employee he had been part of an organization that did not challenge the monarchy strongly enough. But retirement means the shackles he wore as the company’s chief political presenter have been loosened.

The opening episode breaks down into the main question – parts two and three are more like “Is the monarchy a giant Ponzi scheme?” and “Is the Monarchy Personally Persecuted?”, respectively – with its theme being the extent of power the monarchy has and how it exercises it.

Most of the time is spent trying to ascertain whether King Charles influenced government policy by defending his own beliefs. He certainly has the ear of politicians: the Prime Minister makes a weekly trip to Buckingham Palace for a personal chat, while no one interviewed here denied that letters from the King – a prolific letter writer – are routinely placed at the top of the relevant minister’s pile.

David Cameron has said that he appreciated going to see Queen Elizabeth every week when he was Prime Minister, because it was an opportunity to articulate his ideas by rehearsing them in front of a well-informed listener who could be relied upon not to babble to the media. It was therapeutic. But is the king’s access to senior politicians democratic?

And here is where the inherent absurdity of the monarchy spoils any serious analysis of it. Dimbleby emphasizes this point with several interviewees: Why should the King’s views be affected, when no one voted for him? But this is an institution that celebrates the inauguration of a new president by recreating an ancient ceremony in which they wear a jeweled velvet hat. No one pretends it makes sense. Identifying internal contradictions may feel like chasing in a narrow circle.

Still, it’s fun, especially in the hands of the new combative Dimbleby. He brilliantly drives a carriage and horses through a ridiculous piece of sophistry from Dominic Grieve, who during his time as prosecutor refused a freedom of information request from the Guardian to publish Charles’ letters. Charles was entitled to defend certain positions, and his letters inevitably revealed his personal opinions, but if you wanted the benefit of his experience brought into government, it had to be done confidentially, Grieve says, because of his need to maintain public neutrality. When Dimbleby points out that this is pure hypocrisy – Charles has the right not to be neutral, but he also has the right to maintain the appearance of neutrality? – The confused Sadness weakly denies this.

Dimbleby proves that Charles had long tried to change policy: when Grieve and his government lost their 10-year court battle to keep the letters secret, the contents revealed lobbying on issues from beef farming to unreliable military helicopters. The amount of influence Charles has cannot be zero. But it is unlikely that major policy changes will often be made upon receipt of the memorandum.

Evidence of the limits of royal power piles up further when Dimbleby deals with the 2019 extension of Parliament. He notes that this invokes the one important power the monarch is supposed to have: preventing the leader from acting unconstitutionally. But all contributors agree that in reality, the Queen was unable to stop Boris Johnson from closing the house when he insisted on doing so. Jeremy Corbyn points out that resistance to Johnson’s plans could have been described as driven by opposition MPs; The Queen was siding with Labor against the Conservatives, which was not going to happen.

The third stage of the investigation concerns “soft power”, i.e. the action the head of state can do to influence how the UK is seen abroad. Dimbleby singles out Queen Elizabeth’s visits to Ireland, where she makes gestures such as speaking Irish and shaking hands with Martin McGuinness, as examples of royal duties helping to achieve results that politicians could not achieve. But he also notes that the monarch is once again doing what elected leaders tell them: from Harold Wilson obliging the Queen to receive a state visit from Romanian dictator Nicolae Ceausescu in 1978 when a trade deal was on the table, to Keir Starmer extending Donald Trump an invitation to visit the palace this year, the monarch is a tool of government.

It’s a very faint curse so far, but Dimbleby slowly moves his knife. A monarchy that is fundamentally powerless is not much better than one that undemocratically brandishes too much power. Next week we’ll learn how much leniency costs us, and why. As shown here: Not much.