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REVIEW: The Royal wedding of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle
We forced Phumlani S Langa to watch the Royal Wedding and here's how he found it.
Right, let’s do this. I start my morning with a few episodes of the first season of Suits. I spark one to deal with the fact that characters Mike Ross and Rachel Zane (played by Meghan Markle) will be exiting the series – after all, a Duchess can’t act in her spare time. I switch the channel to SABC3 for the royal nuptials and what I hope will be a short ceremony.
It isn’t.
That colonial money must be very long, because this ish goes on for three hours, and the channel doesn’t air a single advert. The first hour is just various “people of significance” arriving, so I occupy myself playing spot the black people. God save Idris Elba – it must’ve been a case of safety in numbers as I see him standing with tennis legend Serena Williams.
Actor Tom Hardy looks like he’s trying to duck the cameras when the real king and queen of the UK, Victoria and David Beckham, arrive, looking sharper than a new set of kitchen knives, although somewhat bored. It must be tough when these comparatively broke people ask you to attend one of their parties. I resist thoughts of unpaid reparations as the royals eventually pull up in a series of vintage Rolls Royces. They certainly took their sweet time. I thought those cars were fast.
Former Suits colleague Gina Torres and Oprah Winfrey were dressed like those aunties at church – stylish, but almost as if they could go tend to the cooking at the reception. I was puzzled by Meghan’s side of the family being represented by her mother alone. Where are her uncles and the Cadillac hooptees on switches? Black families will always send back-up, but this time?
Watching all these famous people milling about, unscripted, doesn’t work for me. Neither does the dreary church organ solo. Why do they play those in churches? Could they not have called John Legend to freak a beat or something?
The viewer is taken back outside as James Corden arrives looking chuffed. Just after that, a platoon of soldiers, holding brass horns and dressed in that Nutcracker attire, waddle by very strangely. These, it turns out, would be the men behind the Queen’s entrance, which reminded me a bit of the Rocky movies.
The lovely Duchess of Sussex, who I’ve always liked, rocks up to the church in a different Rolls to the one she left the guest house in. She’s balling now, so why not? The streets are lined with people and, rumour has it, any homeless folks were well hidden from sight.
The ceremony is about to begin and I still haven’t seen Judy Dench, and where the hell is Madonna? This is just not cricket. Meghan is wearing a Givenchy boat neck dress with a veil that apparently represents the countries of the Commonwealth. Funny thing about some of the countries in the Commonwealth is that wealth isn’t very common there.
God save The Kingdom Choir and Bishop Michael Curry, who provided the proceedings with a much needed burst of lively spirit.
The bishop spoke with a charisma that was enjoyed by even the most rigid royals in attendance. Apparently the Queen has to be selective about what she chooses to smile about in public. Curry wasn’t fortunate to get one of those, but his sermon was allowed to go on for longer than allocated.
God save the Duchess for she put on an entertaining wedding. Even though her dad wasn’t there and what is the point of the monarchy, it was an intriguing watch.
The happy couple are planning to honeymoon in Namibia. Shame.
