http://www.scotsman.com/lifestyle/tv-and-radio
EVERYDAY
Thursday,
Channel 4, 9pm
THE
HOUR
Wednesday,
BBC2, 9pm
Paul
Whitelaw
Proving
the old adage that a stopped clock will be right at least twice a
day, Kevin Bishop – an otherwise perfunctory footnote in the
collected works of television comedy – once produced a memorable
sketch presumably titled 'Gritty BAFTA'. Specifically inspired by the
then inescapable hype surrounding Channel 4's heavyweight adaptation
of Red Riding, it took an amusingly blunt swipe at those
ostentatiously prestigious TV dramas seemingly designed to reduce
BAFTA voters to quivers of admiring jelly.
Striding
around an artfully photographed rain and blood-lashed North, Bishop
and his cohorts, playing intense TV character actors for whom the
craft is paramount, starred in a spoof trailer muttering nothing but
“Gritty BAFTA” in a variety of dramatic timbres. “Coming soon,
to Channel 4,” whispered the ersatz announcer with maximum faux
portent. Not the most sophisticated satirical attack, perhaps, but it
made its point cheekily and succinctly enough.
I
mention this, not to automatically discredit Michael Winterbottom's
latest opus, EVERYDAY,
nor, heaven forbid, to suggest some sneaking admiration for the work
of Kevin Bishop. But I can't deny that, if ever a C4 drama had
“Gritty BAFTA” stencilled through its core, it's this ponderous
slice of dour social realism.
Now,
I'm all for unflinching British dramas that hold up a mirror to the
harsh realities of society. But I'd rather they achieved that while
telling an engaging story stocked with three-dimensional characters.
Everyday resolutely fails on the second count.
One
of the most versatile British auteurs of recent times,
writer/director Winterbottom has given us such idiosyncratic comedies
as 24 Hour Party People and the powerful dramas Welcome to
Sarajevo and A Mighty Heart. He's a maverick talent in
the cross-wired vein of Ken Loach and Julien Temple. But his
willingness to experiment is occasionally a weakness, as evinced by
the dreadful 9 Songs – live footage of Franz Ferdinand
spliced with unsimulated sex scenes, what could possibly go wrong? -
and the meandering Everyday.
Filmed
sporadically over five years, it strives to examine the impact of the
British penal system on a prisoner and his wife, portrayed by John
Simm and Shirley Henderson. The action, such as it is, is divided
between home and prison, as Henderson struggles to raise their four
kids – portrayed by actual siblings – while awaiting her
husband's release.
Incarcerated
for an unspecified crime, he lives for their staggered visits.
Watching his kids grow up in fits and bursts, he hears about missed
Christmasses and birthdays, offers banal enquiries - “How's
school?”, “Have you been good?” - and, whenever they're out of
earshot, expresses to his wife his sexual frustration. And that's
about it.
Shot
in grainy pseudo-documentary style, it certainly captures the
loneliness, angst and monotony of such an existence. But
Winterbottom's dogged unwillingness to impose any dramatic
embellishments on his deliberately spare and repetitive saga results
in a film almost entirely composed of the boring bits we wouldn't
normally see. I appreciate what he's trying to do, but it's like
staring at a stranger's home movies.
Henderson
and Simm are fine actors, but they can't do much with such
thinly-sketched characters. As for the conceit of filming over five
years, the only vaguely noticeable result is that the seasons change
and the children age. But so what? Was that really worth the time and
effort?
Possibly
aware that his experiment wasn't working, Winterbottom attempts to
broaden the canvas with painterly landscapes (Henderson and co
conveniently live near picturesque fields and woodlands) that
contrast heavy-handedly with the claustrophobia of Simm's cell. And
Michael Nyman provides a pastoral score that tries in vain to make
the film feel more profound than it actually is.
Even
the most forgiving (gritty) BAFTA voter would struggle to stay awake
during this well-intentioned misfire.
Incidentally,
I'm aware that my opening analogy implies that Kevin Bishop has been
responsible for at least two funny sketches in his career, rather
than the paltry one. But I think you'll find that technically a
stopped clock is right only once a day, equivalent to the time that
it originally expired. Believe me, I'm tremendous fun at pub quizzes.
The
first series of Abi Morgan's '50s period thriller THE HOUR was
flawed, implausible and naggingly anachronistic, but as a piece of
winningly performed, suspenseful entertainment, it ticked along quite
effectively. But with its threads tied up in the final episode, it
felt like a self-contained piece unburdened by the need for a sequel.
So where can it go from here?
It's
1957 and, against the increasing tumult of the Cold War, our
crusading BBC news team face fresh competition from an ITV rival.
Hector is now a complacent star, Bel is undermined by her superiors,
and maverick journalist Freddie returns from his travels with an
unconvincing bohemian beard (that's not a euphemism). Meanwhile,
crime is on the rise in London, but the government are more concerned
with pumping money into the nuclear arms race.
Dominic
West, Romola Garai and Ben Whishaw are as solid as ever, and Peter
Capaldi is a welcome addition as the taciturn new Head of News. But
there's little in the first episode to suggest that another bout of
The Hour is entirely necessary.
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