Queen of all soaps

The royal scriptwriters have hit on the theme of redemption, and it is proving a ratings winner

If there is one story that drives soap opera, it's redemption. Increasingly it is a theme that drives that other national saga, the Windsors, too. I have no idea whether this is a conscious decision, but as the producer of another of the nation's favourite soaps - EastEnders - it appears to me that the royal script-editors are putting the redemption theme at the heart of their PR strategy. If it is deliberate, they are using a powerful narrative technique that connects with people at a deep emotional level.

The stories we tell in soaps are based on old fairy tales with a moral subtext, and that is true of the cast of royals too. Whatever the reality, the media has accorded them symbolic roles - the matriarch and the patriarch, the rogue son and the Cinderella princess. Just as Princess Diana's life is remembered in mythic fashion (where the reality was probably a good deal more complex), so the other royals have been thrust into roles created for them, partly by the media but also by centuries of story-telling - stories which we have an innate need to believe in ourselves.

In the late 80s and early 90s, when the royal family seemed to be imploding, the Windsor soap became compulsive viewing. Every day there was another tabloid headline, another lewd phone call. As the royal comet appeared to be crashing to earth, culminating in the annus horribilis, it played out like a classic fall from grace. In soap operas there is always a disaster that threatens the dynasty before the rebuilding begins.

In royal terms, therefore, the "narrative closure" of the golden jubilee couldn't have happened at a better time, personifying as it does triumph over adversity, the most popular story of all. (It's a common myth that EastEnders is popular when it's depressing - it's actually more popular when characters overcome their depression and set about their everyday task of depressing others instead.)

Just as in EastEnders we tend to use big events such as birthdays and weddings to symbolise reconciliation and forgiveness, likewise the jubilee offers a similar narrative function. The recent deaths of the Queen Mother and Princess Margaret give the jubilee a symbolic and narrative role it might otherwise have lacked. The destruction of a dynasty followed by death followed by rebirth is an almost perfect narrative arc; the more hideous and painful the journey, the greater the sense of joy at its happy end. And, as with other soaps, it is at such moments that the royal family generates its biggest ratings.

This incessant need to impose a soap narrative on royal events (and our need to believe in it) has huge dangers for the individuals concerned. If anyone should be worried at the moment it should be Prince Harry: the exposé of his experiments with cannabis suggests the classic beginnings of a "good son/bad son" story. Whatever the reality of the royal brothers' situation, it won't be too hard to script a nightmare scenario for the second-born son. William is the first-born, so he is going to be king. Harry is left with nothing, so he becomes the dissolute one.

Camilla Parker Bowles fares better. From a script-editing perspective, her story has been handled extremely well; all that remains as we enter the third act is to write the happy ending. A wedding would provide a perfect sense of closure, but what's important is not so much the ceremony itself, but the narrative arc that leads up to it. Above all, weddings need to be earned, and it is here that Camilla's story may prove to be most successful. Rule one of soap structure dictates that central characters have to make sacrifices and overcome obstacles to prove they are worthy of eternal happiness. What's more - and this is an interesting twist that may be peculiar to soap - they should be seen to overcome these tests without complaint. (Characters who feel sorry for themselves almost never win the public's affection.) As the royals never comment on their own personal travails, they lend themselves perfectly to these pre-anointed parts - and Camilla has played it most perfectly of all.

Prince Edward and Sophie currently occupy pride of place in the pantheon of soap "baddies". Will they be redeemed? The early signs are good. By casting off their black cloaks (TV producer and PR guru respectively) and acceding to a sense of duty, they have already placed their first foot on the ladder of redemption. In classical narratives, the birth of a child would represent a symbol of renewal, and it may be through that route that Edward and Sophie eventually win back the affections of the British public.

But perhaps the strongest parallel between TV soaps and the royal drama lies in the theme of matriarchy. There has been a strong female character at the heart of the royal story for 50 years. In British soaps it goes back a little less than that, but it is now hard to imagine either institution without a strong mother figure. An iconic strong woman - from Ena Sharples, via Meg Richardson to Peggy Mitchell - is at the centre of every soap. The combination of power and compassion is a potent mix: the mother as head of the household, all-seeing and omnipotent, yet loving, nurturing and forgiving, seduces audiences repeatedly.

I hope neither will take offence if in EastEnders' Pauline Fowler I see strong similarities with the Queen. Both exhibit a rich mix of suffering and duty. Pauline's offspring have caused her nothing but trials and tribulations; her husband has been wayward. But Pauline has steadfastly carried on; every morning she puts on her blue overall and goes to the launderette. She endures, stoically and heroically, whatever life may throw at her, just as her mother did before her. This sense of lineage is vitally important, too. Pauline has been in the show since its start and was handed the role of matriarch on Lou Beale's death. This atavistic sensibility is a vital part of both soap and royal mythology. That sense of permanence, of moral values that survive changing fashions, is central to both institutions' appeal. Whether it's true is to an extent irrelevant. The fact that so many people desire it to be true is what's important.

The longer we live our lives under a matriarchal structure, the harder it is for us to imagine life under a king. That it is possible to imagine Charles on the throne at all, however, is a huge step forward from even a few years ago. As always seems to be the case, Charles's rehabilitation arose from tragedy. Cast in the role of lone parent, he stoically dedicated himself to becoming a "good father". Charles's treatment of Harry in the aftermath of the drugs stories was widely perceived as brilliant. The episode showed the power of soap-like narratives to alter the public perceptions of the royal "characters".

The question now is how Britons will respond to a king. Although his sons are growing up, the role of the father may be the way in which Charles can best connect with the public. The fact that Charles cried at his grandmother's funeral is now seen as a strength. Did he actually cry? In narrative terms we seemed desperate to believe it; for it makes his humanisation, his journey from devil to angel - his redemption - complete. It's a happy ending of sorts: a man who has transgressed finding his soul.

John Yorke is executive producer of EastEnders. A version of this essay appears in Monarchies: What Are Kings and Queens For? published by Demos on May 28. To order copies call 020 8986 5488 or visit www.demos.co.uk

Today's best video

Today in pictures