The Elizabethan Age of pop culture, from Sex Pistols and "The Crown" to Paddington and beyond

Slapstick and its cousin, parody, each require a straight man to work. And few public figures or institutions match the queen and the royal family when it comes to rigidity. Indeed, that is the monarchy's brand.

 

Hence, as the world's most famous and consistently popular royal Elizabeth became one of the most popular characters in film and TV, especially when the aim was to stick a finger in the eyes of propriety. Elizabeth's requirement to appear unfailingly polite and absolutely unflappable made her a flawless comic foil; where snobby aristocrat figures are more common in entertainment than found pennies, she's a figure who is required to remain pleasant and patient regardless of whatever absurdity breaks out in her presence.

 

Of course, she rarely appeared as herself save for a few unique circumstances placing her in control of the punchlines. There was never a reason to ask her — not that she'd entertain the invitation anyway — since a couple of women made a career out of specializing in doubling for Elizabeth, the most famous being Jeannette Charles. The British actor stumbled into her status as the go-to double for Elizabeth, appearing as the queen in "National Lampoon's European Vacation," "Austin Powers in Goldmember" and other movies.

 

 

But that's the equivalent of the kid glove treatment compared to what Ma'am is subjected to in Sacha Baron Cohen's "Ali G: Indahouse," where his character does horrifying things to her hand with his mouth. Scott Thompson's impersonation of the queen in "Kids in the Hall" exemplifies the affectionate approach most comedians adopt, capitalizing on her unyielding decorum as he waltzes through monologues that portray her as being laughably disconnected from reality.

 

In direct opposition to The Beatles' cheeky ode was the Sex Pistols' defining 1977 anthem "God Save the Queen," the second single off their only album, "Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols."

 

Released at the same time as Elizabeth's Silver Jubilee, the single's lyrics contain little reverence for the queen or the monarchy. "God save the Queen/ 'Cause tourists are money," Johnny Lydon wails in the second verse, "And our figurehead/ Is not what she seems."

 

The song reached No. 1 in the UK in 1977 despite (or more like, because of) being banned by the BBC, and though the lyrics screamed out the working class' frustrations at the growing divide between the wealthy and poor — "No future, no future, no future for you!" blares its indictment of an outro, a repeat of the song's original title  — the band and song's primary intent was to shock the public. Until then, no popular song had dared to be so openly disrespectful of Elizabeth or the monarchy. But it would not be the last.

 

The Smiths' 1986 hit "The Queen Is Dead" lets its title shoulder most of the ire, styling Morrissey's disdain for the monarchy in sullen lyrics that close by repeating, "Life is very long when you're lonely."  The Stone Roses flip that concept with 1989's politely titled "Elizabeth, My Dear," with lyrics explicitly stating the singer's desire to topple the monarchy:

 

Tear me apart and boil my bones
I'll not rest 'til she's lost her throne
My aim is true, my message is clear
It's curtains for you, Elizabeth my dear

Not every pop star was or is anti-Windsor, proven by the outpouring of condolences from rock stars in Britain and the U.S. in light of the queen's death, which also resulted in the Mercury prize's award ceremony being delayed. (It was already underway on Thursday night when organizers halted the affair.) Songs released prior to the Sex Pistols' aural assault, and since, sprinkle doting references to Elizabeth in an assortment of lyrics. Even the late and legendary BB King pictures himself in conversation with Elizabeth, leaning out of Rolls Royce and admitting to him that "sometimes it's so hard to pull things together" in his song, "Better Not Look Down."

 

If the pop music world liked the queen, or at least respected the office, the feeling was somewhat mutual . . . at least when it comes to Wham! According to a memoir entry from  band's late ex-manager Bryan Morrison,the queen allegedly requested an audience with George Michael and Andrew Ridgeley in 1985 when the band was at the apex of its popularity.

 

Michael would later return the sentiment by showing a cartoon version of queen grooving alongside him in the video for his 2004 single "Shoot the Dog," one of many videos that imagine a secret after-hours version of Elizabeth that liked to get on down and party, same as the rest of us.

As popular as the Sex Pistols' anti-monarchist single was, Jamie Reid's cover design for "God Save the Queen" became synonymous for the punk rock revolution and teenage rebellion. You've seen it somewhere, and it probably wasn't on one of the record's sleeves.

 

Reid's collage features a black and white copy of a Cecil Beaton photograph with a band of paper torn away where Elizabeth lips and eyes should appear, replaced by cut-outs of letters in various fonts spelling out the song's title and the band's name.

 

Alternate versions of the image exist, the most famous being one where Reid replaced the irises and pupils of Elizabeth's eyes with swastikas and gave her a nose piercing with a safety pin.

 

The latter version sells merch for a reason, is what we're saying, which is why it appears on any surface one can think of. Originally it was considered disrespectful and rude. Now it's a chic design detail that convey kitsch or a mild ironic edge to those buying it.

 

Only Andy Warhol's colorful brash portrait from his 1985 "Reigning Queens" series comes close to being as commercially recognizable, which is fitting. Warhol's work reflected a lifelong obsession with fame, excess and hierarchical division, traits connected to the Windsors. In both cases, the implied grace in the queen's "impenetrable mask," to quote the Tate, makes the image classic, not the other way around.

 

 

This is so much the case in terms of the queen's association with the phrase "Keep Calm and Carry On" that is doesn't matter that the phrase pre-dates her reign, originating as a morale-boosting slogan that the British government circulated on posters starting in 1939. When the slogan was resurrected in the swell of Anglomania surrounding Prince William's wedding to Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge, all vestiges of wartime resolve were replaced by rosy tones and grace, making it suitable adornment for teapots, trays and wall hangings.

 

The queen rarely revealed her emotions, owing to the inscrutability and dignity required of her station. But she was a human with the same aches as the rest of us, something she reminded the public, when she gave a speech admitting to the emotional difficulty living through 1992, the year she famously described as the family's "annus horribilis." Three of her four children's marriages crumbled that year, which was topped off by a fire tearing through Windsor Castle.

 

Aside from that rare instance of speaking her pain aloud, Elizabeth hid her troubles, along with that of Britain, behind that facade keeping calm and carrying on. For Peter Morgan and other writers endeavoring to tenderly close the distance between the glacial royal and the vulnerable human, this presented an opportunity to write a personality for the queen based on what we, or they, either hope or assume about her behavior when the eyes of the world aren't on her.

 

Morgan manifests this through three actors in "The Crown," with Claire Foy playing Elizabeth as the young queen, Olivia Colman taking over in the third season to portray her in middle age and Imelda Staunton taking over the role for the series' final two seasons. Before "The Crown," however, Dame Helen Mirren established what would become the streaming series' core tension in "The Queen," set in the wake of Diana's death. By giving us a version of Elizabeth struggling to balance the longstanding expectation to stifle her emotions with her public's demand to share in their sorrow, Mirren plays out what is presumably the punishing emotional duality of the royals' existence: being a symbol to millions while existing as a full person.

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If we think we know something about what it is to be Queen Elizabeth II, it's probably due to these works, even though her personality has been dramatized by many more works, whether with the maternal softness "Downton Abbey" star Penelope Wilton lent her in the live-action version of "The BFG" or the matriarchal spikiness Stella Gonet assigned to her in 2021's "Spencer." Every emotional note these actors and writers played through their portrayals is guesswork, for the most part. To those who adore Elizabeth, however, they contribute to a fuller picture of who they hope she is, or want her to be.

No artist or artwork can match the real thing, which is why Elizabeth's scripted entrance to the opening ceremonies 2012 Summer Olympics in London, escorted by Daniel Craig in James Bond mode, went viral. The queen is rumored to have insisted on a speaking role; it amounted to greeting 007 with the classic, "Good evening, Mr. Bond," and that was enough. From there, director Danny Boyle takes the queen and the MI6's most famous agent to a helicopter, flying them to London Stadium, where they appeared to parachute to the ground together. (A double stepped in for that stunt.)

 

Ten years later, and a few months before she died, the queen shared tea with Paddington Bear, confessing to him that she kept a marmalade sandwich in her purse for emergencies. And as drummers pounded out the signature riff to Queen's "We Will Rock You," Elizabeth and everyone's favorite teddy tap keep time by tapping their teaspoons against their cups.

 

All the footage of impersonators and actors who have rendered their versions of her over the year may not leave as much of an impression as these short stunts, bits that prove the queen had a sense of humor about the way the world sees her and a desire to have some say in the matter. She also took her father's Christmas radio addresses to the newer medium of television, making her appearance a yuletide tradition across the globe. In many remembrances, journalists have credited Elizabeth for modernizing the monarchy, eliciting scoffs from audience members aware of how intensely monitored, shaped and manipulated the monarchy's image is.

 

The social media era only sharpens the cynicism directed toward the royal family and Elizabeth herself, evident in the typhoon of grave dancing that whirled up shortly after her death was announced. And it's easy to surmise that the queen ignored that as much as she was reputed to have ignored most of the ways she was depicted, whether irreverently or respectfully.