I find the traditional 'British' funeral very remote and ritualised in an alien and alienating way.
Like others, my experience was of grounding and comfort in bringing death closer to home. While the body was absent, waiting for a PM, the death felt unreal, and I was in a strange limbo. I didn't really feel in myself until I saw him.
The coffin was simply made, by one of his friends, and decorated by local children. He lay with a nice cloth and flowers and a few significant items. The coffin sat in a domestic space which has been cleared, and people quietly let themselves in and out of to sit vigil.
I spent the wee hours with him, a time when one or other of us was often awake, quietly reading or painting or running a bath, trying not to wake the other. I had some strong sweet black coffee, some poetry, some professional reading he was also interested in. It was a time to be, to think, to feel, to meditate and pray, to cry, to laugh as I caught him up on some happenings he'd missed. We had some words about him leaving me. It was very domestic. It gave me time to absorb that he was gone and to say goodbye to his body.
There was a very unique stillness in the room, like catching the moment between breaths, or as if the waves suddenly paused.
I think it would depend very much on the relationship and the context, but with that person, in that place, at that time, it was right for me.