Did anyone have the same reaction that I did this past January to President Bush’s State of the Union address?

I am not talking about what was in it — or what was omitted. I leave that to others. What struck me was the staged nature of the whole event, from the moment the president entered to the sort of thunderous applause you used to hear on the Johnny Carson show to his exit to more of the same. Even his most banal utterances elicited apparent enthusiasm from the assembled members of Congress and the invited audience.

The elected representatives of the American people, whether they were critics of this administration or not, bobbed up and down with an impressive alacrity and clapped their hands in unison as though they were all looking at the same cue card. It was a spectacle that reminded me of those bad old days of the Soviet Union when the members of the Supreme Soviet would rise as one to approve whatever was presented them by their leaders.

Of course we all know that in reality Congress does not meekly do what it is told by the administration. And that senators and representatives are a diverse bunch with their own sources of power, who do not passively submit to guidance from the executive branch. Why, then, do they lend themselves out as extras in the presidential show?

It is partly because today’s media, above all the visual ones, love the dramatic moment and the striking pose (but are not so good at picking up on nuance). Much the same thing has happened in parliaments like my own in Canada, where the daily question periods (during which members are allowed to grill government ministers) and debates on such weighty matters as the budget have degenerated into tedious events, with much shouting and posturing in search of the elusive sound bite for the evening news.

What foolhardy member of congress is going to sit in his or her seat when the president calls on the nation to unite behind some policy? Even if the policy is flawed, the danger of remaining seated once the call to patriotism has been made is too great. That clip can be played and replayed, and the message most viewers will take away is that Sen. Smith or Rep. Brown is an indifferent American. Far fewer people will read the articles explaining why Smith or Brown are registering their disapproval.

I also blame the tendency, again common in a variety of democratic governments, for elected leaders to take on the airs and graces of the monarchs they replaced — and for many of us in democracies to play along with that development. In the case of the State of the Union address, it is my impression, based on a completely unscientific sampling, that the applause is getting longer and more frequent as the content diminishes. When President Lyndon Johnson entered the House in 1964, the clapping, including one Texas yell, lasted for about a minute. In 2007 Bush’s entrance produced a longer ovation, and his speech was interrupted every few sentences by more applause.

Recent presidents — and one can understand the temptation — have done their share in turning the State of the Union address into an occasion for them to wrap themselves in the mantle of statesmanship and declaim like ancient Roman consuls. The message is pretty much always upbeat. Gerald Ford, who admitted in his 1975 address that “the state of the Union is not good,” still stands out as the exception. Even in 1968, when things were clearly turning sour in Vietnam, L.B.J. could only bring himself to say that the United States faced challenges. In 2007, President Bush talked about the success in the war on terror and the promise of victory to come in Iraq.

The State of the Union was not meant to be about boosterism and good public relations; it was a chance for the president to report to Congress on where matters stood and what he was up to. The Constitution calls for the president to “from time to time give to the Congress information of the state of the union, and recommend to their consideration such measures as he shall judge necessary and expedient.” From George Washington onward, presidents usually did this every year, but until the 20th century they simply sent Congress a written statement.

Woodrow Wilson, who admired the British parliamentary system, started the modern practice of delivering the address in person. In parliament, the annual Speech from the Throne gives the government a chance to outline its program for the coming year and the opposition to make reasoned comments and criticism, and for both sides to engage in substantive debates. That last part of the parliamentary tradition only reached the United States in an attenuated form. The minority party’s reply is not made in Congress but, usually these days, from a television studio.

While some of Wilson’s successors went back to the written address, most State of the Union addresses since Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s have been delivered in person. In 1947 Harry Truman gave the first televised one. By today’s standards the event was stilted and subdued, but in retrospect it was a harbinger of things to come. In 1965, with the power of television clearly apparent, President Johnson moved the address to the evening in order to catch as many viewers as possible. Ronald Reagan added the crowd-pleasing touch of special guests: from visiting dignitaries to, increasingly, American heroes from all walks of life. In 2007 George Bush invited, among others, the founder of a company that made educational toys for children.

To be fair, that earlier role of the State of the Union address as a serious attempt to deal with the issues facing the country has not entirely disappeared. Even President Bush’s last address contained, amid the hollow rhetoric, some hints about what his administration intended to undertake in the coming year.

Is that enough though to keep the tradition alive, or has the time come to end the show?