Scotsman TV preview of PEEP SHOW and BBC4's 'WHY POVERTY?' SEASON

This article was originally published in The Scotsman on Saturday 24th November.

http://www.scotsman.com/lifestyle/tv-and-radio

PEEP SHOW

Sunday, Channel 4, 10pm

WHY POVERTY? STORYVILLE: GIVE US THE MONEY

Sunday, BBC4, 9pm

WHY POVERTY? STORYVILLE: STEALING AFRICA

Monday, BBC4, 10pm

WHY POVERTY? STORYVILLE: PARK AVENUE - MONEY, POWER AND THE AMERICAN DREAM

Tuesday, BBC4, 10pm

Paul Whitelaw

Unless you're the sort of person who cracks up at the mere sight of Micky Flanagan, the clinically housebound and gypsies, Channel 4, 30 years young this year, is no longer synonymous with comedy of quality and distinction. Indeed, were it not for prolific scriptwriting duo Jesse Armstrong and Sam Bain, they couldn't honestly boast any good comedy at all.

So it's little wonder that PEEP SHOW, which begins its eighth series this week, is by far the channel's longest running sitcom. While it could never claim to be much of a ratings winner, this black farce about a pair of co-dependent thirty-something losers has attracted a loyal cult and consistent critical acclaim.

Winner of numerous awards, it is, alongside Armstrong and Bain's enjoyable student comedy Fresh Meat, Channel 4's only reliable source of mirth. And while it's to their credit that they've stuck with it for so long, you get the sense of them gratefully clinging on to it for dear life, in the eager hope of deflecting attention from their otherwise moribund cache.

So here it is, back again, in its new Sunday evening, post-Homeland slot, presumably in the further hope of picking up new viewers in need of a laugh after an hour of teeth-clenched suspense. Not that that strategy really worked in the case of recently departed sitcom Friday Night Dinner (it's got Friday in the title, for God's sake, it shouldn't be shown on a Sunday), but I suppose it's worth another punt.

For those of you new to the Peep Show universe, the premise couldn't be simpler. Portrayed respectively by comedy duo David Mitchell and Robert Webb, Mark and Jeremy are former student chums who, despite having practically nothing in common, have somehow found themselves sharing a flat well into adulthood.

In classic odd couple style, Mark is fastidious, square and neurotic, while Jeremy lives a feckless, irresponsible lifestyle fuelled by soft drugs and the erroneous belief that he will one day be recognised as a talented musician. They don't particularly like each other; indeed, their only fleeting joy in life comes from petty one-upmanship. But, like so many sitcom couplings before them, in a perverse way they need each other. Their strained mutual dependency is probably preferable to the terror of forming a normal relationship in a functioning society that neither feels comfortable in.

Distinctively filmed from each character's subjective point of view, and peppered with inner monologues which often provide the biggest laughs, Peep Show is a comedy of anxiety and discomfort. But unlike most post-The Office shows in that vein, it is at its heart a traditional British sitcom full of sharp, funny dialogue and deft comic performances.

So that's yer Peep Show.

As series eight begins, Mark is finally on the verge of kicking Jeremy out, in the hope of achieving the hitherto unimaginable feat of living conventionally with his girlfriend, Dobby. Typically, however, Jeremy is dragging his heels and Dobby seems more concerned with looking after her sick friend – and one of Mark's many nemeses – Gerrard. In a desperate attempt to oust Jeremy – and partly for his own amusement – Mark pays for him to take a potentially life-healing course of therapy, with inevitably ridiculous and far-reaching results.

As a Peep Show fan, I wouldn't rate this as one of the strongest episodes, but it certainly doesn't signify a drastic drop in quality. Indeed, episode three of this series, in which the team go paint-balling, is up among its best in a while. But its weirdly comforting having these spiteful, awful idiots back in one's life for a while. And if you're new to the show, it may well mark the start of a beautiful relationship.

An earth-quaking shift in tone now as we enter BBC4's new Why Poverty? season, consisting of several Storyville documentaries in which the BBC, together with over 70 broadcasters around the world, probe into the shameful issue of global poverty.

Bono and Bob Geldof, who despite their best efforts have so far failed to make poverty history as promised, are the subject of GIVE US THE MONEY, which examines their epic campaign to bring aid to Africa. Commendably even-handed, it features several dissenting voices who argue that, despite their undoubted sincerity, these messianic musicians have actually achieved more harm than good, although Bono and Bob themselves – both on self-deprecating and, yes, likeable form throughout – unsurprisingly beg to differ. It's a thought-provoking rumination on the moral complexities of charity and the cult of celebrity.

Preview copies of STEALING AFRICA were unavailable at the time of writing, but it promises to uncover the tax avoidance schemes employed by western multinationals operating in poverty-stricken Zambia. It sounds like the kind of thing to make you despair of the human race.

Similar selfishness abounds in PARK AVENUE: MONEY, POWER AND THE AMERICAN DREAM, a despairing film contrasting the game-rigged comfort of New York's wealthiest residents with the hopeless poverty of the South Bronx neighbourhoods which lie just ten minutes away. Capitalism, eh? It's a million laughs.

Scotsman TV preview: EVERYDAY and THE HOUR.

This article was originally published in The Scotsman on 10th November 2012.

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.

TV PREVIEW: Horror Europa with Mark Gatiss, The American Road Trip: Obama's Story, Family Guys? What Sitcoms Say About America Now

This article was originally published in The Scotsman on 27th October 2012.

http://www.scotsman.com/lifestyle/tv-and-radio

HORROR EUROPA WITH MARK GATISS

Tuesday, BBC4, 9pm

THE AMERICAN ROAD TRIP: OBAMA'S STORY

Sunday, Channel 4, 7pm

FAMILY GUYS? WHAT SITCOMS SAY ABOUT AMERICA NOW

Saturday, BBC2, 10pm

Paul Whitelaw

Halloween is almost upon us, which can only mean one thing: Mark Gatiss, on BBC4, looming from the shadows in the manner of a suave undertaker to tell us all about his favourite horror films.

A luxurious 90 minute special devoted to cult cinema classics, HORROR EUROPA WITH MARK GATISS follows in the wake of his well-received series from 2010, A History of Horror, in which he took a potted journey through the broadly familiar landmarks of the American and British branches of the genre. Bathed in clotted streams of crimson blood, his latest essay pays tribute to a “distinctive, diverse horror tradition” which both influenced and absorbed developments in cinema beyond continental Europe.

Encompassing every relevant 'ism' from German expressionism and Belgian surrealism, to sombre post-war realism and nightmare ruminations on fascism, it presents a sort of alternate history of horror cinema, or at least one that will doubtless prove unfamiliar to non-aficionados.

But therein lies the frustrating, albeit probably unavoidable, rub with Gatiss' horror documentaries: partly intended as an introductory overview, they do tend to spoil the twists and denouements of the very films he's encouraging us to seek out. His knowledge and enthusiasm are commendable, but this uneasy compromise between introduction and broad analysis does confuse the issue of who these programmes are aimed at exactly.

Nevertheless, it's still an enjoyable, witty and handsomely shot tribute to flamboyant horror titans such as Mario Bava and Dario Argento, and the expressionist pioneers of early German cinema. One of Gatiss' more interesting points is that the latter group were, in the wake of Germany's catastrophic defeat in World War One, intent on restoring their nation's pride by establishing cinema as a respectable art form. It's perhaps surprising that they chose to do so within a genre so often dismissed – at least by high-falutin' critics – as cheap and disposable.

Gatiss further explores the after-effects of war via the bitter, guilt-ridden pseudo-realism of French classics such as Les Diaboliques, and argues that the many grotesque characters played by the great silent actor Condrad Veidt essentially functioned as allegorical representations of German post-war trauma.

Not that European horror filmmakers were always ignited by such lofty aspirations. Gatiss is in his lip-smacking element when discussing the lurid exploitation flicks that emerged from the Italian horror boom of the '60s. These stylish, quasi-psychedelic fantasias resemble nothing so much as a contemporaneous Hammer chiller shot through the prism of a deranged mind. Your Lovefilm list may be heaving with this stuff by programme's end.

Arch of eyebrow and tailored of suit, Gatiss is an engaging guide to a rich, varied, eye-catching subject of which – lest there be any doubt – he's clearly hugely passionate about. Any programme that devotes time and respect to fantastically titled curios such as Who Can Kill a Child? and The Living Dead at the Manchester Morgue is more than deserving of your rapt attention.

Four more years? That's the question at the heart of THE AMERICAN ROAD TRIP: OBAMA'S STORY, in which, ahead of next week's closely fought US election, Channel 4's Washington Correspondent Matt Frei travels through the swing states of the Midwest and the South to canvas the opinions of ordinary voters.

With many Americans feeling that their country is in terminal decline, Obama's chances of winning a second term are hardly set in stone. Frei meets middle-class (or what we would term working-class) people on the edge of destitution, who, despite Obama's promises of sweeping upward change, have come to realise that the American dream is a hopeless myth. “We were sold a line,” sighs one man, “and the line is a noose.”

And yet despite this widespread disappointment, it's fortunate for Obama that his Republican opponent, millionaire Mormon gaffe-trumpet Mitt Romney, currently looks about as electable as a rabid mongoose (he says, fingers crossed). No wonder the nutzoid Tea Party movement, who Frei drops in on, are so terrified and confused.

Unfortunately, despite the potentially interesting subject matter, Frei's report is superficial and unrevealing. He wastes time mocking a Mormon elder for the sacred underpants worn by those of faith, and, in one bizarrely irrelevant sequence, argues with his Sat-Nav while driving through Kentucky. I blame the heat.

Nevertheless, a portrait does emerge of America as a divided, messed up nation. But is that entirely accurate? In FAMILY GUYS? WHAT SITCOMS SAY ABOUT AMERICA NOW, historian Tim Stanley argues that TV comedies provide a more accurate illustration of American society than the ragingly polarised bickering of mainstream political debate.

Using as examples the likes of Modern Family, with its gay fathers and interracial marriage, and The Middle, about a recession-hit middle-class family, he shows how sitcoms throughout the ages have reflected and consolidated shifting attitudes. But even in these supposedly more tolerant times, subjects such as abortion and religion are still considered dangerously divisive.

Featuring insightful contributions from leading writers, directors, executives and critics, it's an interesting programme that proves, if any more proof were needed, that comedy remains one of the world's most valuable, risky and challenging art forms.  

Book review: MICK JAGGER by Philip Norman

This article was originally published in The Scotsman on 20th October 2012.

http://www.scotsman.com/lifestyle/books/features/book-review-mick-jagger-by-philip-norman-1-2589474

MICK JAGGER

Philip Norman

HarperCollins, £20

Paul Whitelaw

When Michael Philip Jagger, corporate head of the Rolling Stones empire, was asked to deliver his autobiography in the early '80s, the ghost-written results were deemed so irredeemably dull that the publishers were forced to cancel the £1 million advance and scrap the entire project. His exasperated editor quipped that it should've been titled The Diary of a Nobody.

Contrast that with the colourful – if not always reliable – content of fellow Stone Keith Richards' best selling memoir, Life, from 2010, which, in between hair-raising anecdotes and scholarly ruminations on open-G tuning, functioned as a kind of frustrated public letter to his estranged old friend. The Stones are celebrating their 50^th anniversary this year, with another mega-tour rumoured to follow in 2013, but Richards claims he hasn't set foot in Jagger's dressing room in over 20 years.

So what happened? How is it possible that a legendary figure such as Jagger, who's lived a life liberally festooned with dramatic incident, could think of nothing interesting to say about himself? And how did it get to the stage where he barely communicates with the man with whom he wrote some of the world's greatest rock songs?

Philip Norman's hefty, even-handed biography seeks to dig behind the studied public façade and bore into the heavily guarded heart of this paradoxical icon. That he succeeds in presenting a rounded portrait of such a slippery character is doubly remarkable given Jagger's predictable refusal to have anything to do with the book.

And yet, despite this glaring Jagger-shaped hole, Norman may well have written the only biography of a living entertainer to actually benefit from the absence of its subject. After all, the author argues, when have you ever read a remotely revealing interview with Mick Jagger? From the moment he strutted onto the world's stage in the mid-'60s, his public pronouncements have always been couched in feigned indifference and, in later years, a maddening insistence that he's forgotten the finer details of his past.

A highly intelligent, shrewd professional, this is clearly a convenient avoidance technique honed over the years to reveal as little of himself as possible. Famously, Jagger is a song-writer who, despite penning countless lyrics, has provided barely a hint of autobiography in his work.

This diplomatic narcissist obviously cares deeply about how he's perceived, but his unwavering commitment – to borrow ex-paramour Marianne Faithfull's choice phrase – to The Tyranny of Cool prohibits him from ever suggesting otherwise in public.

Norman repeatedly returns to the Tyranny of Cool motif throughout the story, as a persuasive way of deciphering Jagger's often self-defeating and callous behaviour. Despite pushing 70, this still limber force of nature is arguably the most vainglorious exponent of the perpetual adolescence enjoyed by pampered rock stars.

Although Norman rightly celebrates Jagger's immense talent and historical impact, a portrait emerges of a selfish, charming, controlling man who's had his every whim, whether fiscal or carnal, indulged almost without question throughout his long career. And yet despite his keen sense of self-awareness, Jagger doesn't seem to realise that his endless series of affairs with women less than half his age has transformed a one-time cultural powerhouse into an increasingly pathetic parody of himself. That, I suppose, is what happens when the word you've heard least in your life is “no”.

Norman has assembled an addictive narrative mired in sex and, to a lesser extent, drugs (Jagger was always too sensible to overindulge), but thankfully he isn't interested in salacious gossip.

An esteemed biographer of, among others, The Beatles, John Lennon, and the Stones themselves (an updated edition of his exhaustive 1984 biography is published this month), his reputation for thorough research is compounded on virtually every page. Norman is the sort of detail-hungry biographer who'll delightedly note that an Abbott and Costello comedy prophetically titled Money For Jam was playing at the local cinema in Dartford when the notoriously stingy Jagger was born.

Having gone back over interviews conducted for his previous Stones tome, he's also gathered fresh, record-straightening yet dignified contributions from the likes of Jagger's former lovers Chrissie Shrimpton and Marsha Hunt (who gave birth to his first child, which he briefly tried to disown), and Maggie Abbot, his one-time film agent, who grants fascinating insight into the numerous film offers that came his way during his thwarted bid for Hollywood stardom. It's tantalising to imagine what directors such as Hal Ashby, Steven Spielberg, John Boorman and Franco Zeffirelli could've done with Jagger's unique charisma.

Despite his penchant for detail, Norman could never be accused of being a dry, academic biographer. Adopting a wry tone befitting his habitually self-mocking subject, he rarely passes up an opportunity for an ironic aside. Indeed, at times he'd be best advised to avoid a tempting pun or gag, as they often irritate rather than amuse. Perverting the title of the Stones' first US album to Europe's Newest Shitmakers? Describing ageing groupies as “gurgling matrons”? Really, Philip? And he does tend to repeat himself as the book goes on. Oh for the hand of a stricter editor.

Nevertheless, having breathed new life into familiar material, he's written what must surely be regarded as the definitive account of Jagger's remarkable life. Its very existence will, of course, vex and embarrass Sir Mick himself, who would clearly prefer it if people only wrote about him in the manner of a glowing press release. But you can be sure that, whenever the subject inevitably arises during future interviews, he'll casually dismiss it as an irrelevance. The Tyranny of Cool will never be vanquished.

Mick Jagger by Philip Norman is published 4^th October (HarperCollins, £20)

Scotsman TV preview: Getting On, BBC4 Big Science, Hebburn

This article was originally published in The Scotsman on Saturday 13th October 2012.

http://www.scotsman.com/lifestyle/tv-and-radio

GETTING ON

Wednesday, BBC4, 10pm

BIG SCIENCE

BBC4, days and times vary

HEBBURN

Thursday, BBC2, 10pm

Paul Whitelaw

Dismantled by a government possessed of all the selflessness and empathy of a Cyberman attending an annual “Let's Kill the Humans” convention, the NHS currently finds itself in the most parlous position of its lifetime. And while no conceivable trace of good could ever arise from this dismal situation, it does add an extra layer of depth to careworn sitcom GETTING ON. So that's something. I suppose.

Now in its third series, this unvarnished gem – written by and starring Vicki Pepperdine, Joanna Scanlan, and former psychiatric nurse Jo Brand – has always presented a humane and despairing portrait of the beleaguered NHS. But now more than ever it feels like a helpless eulogy for an institution trudging towards its final days.

If that all sounds like unreasonably depressing fodder for a comedy, it should be explained – for those who haven't already succumbed to its charms – that Getting On never goes in search of broad, easy laughs. Instead its subtle humour arises naturally from realistic situations and well-rounded characters. It's funny in a desperate, often painful way.

Set in an understaffed geriatric ward, it lives up to its double-edged title by showing ordinary, flawed human beings muddling through under trying circumstances (i.e. life). Overshadowed by the ever-present spectre of death – laugh it up, folks! - it pays heartfelt yet crucially unsentimental tribute to the thankless lot of NHS nurses.

Jo Brand as knackered nurse Kim is the heart of Getting On. Although shrouded in lingering traces of Brand's cynical comic persona, Kim is kinder and more cognisant of the needs of her elderly patients than any other character in the show. She's that rare thing: someone from a modern British sitcom that you'd actually like to know in real life.

The same can't be said for Pepperdine as effortlessly condescending consultant Dr Moore, who's more concerned with ticking boxes and boosting her profile. Permanently teetering on a frayed tightrope of passive-aggression and stunning obliviousness, she's a weirdly vulnerable monster, and Pepperdine plays her impeccably.

Scanlan, who's already asserted her deft comic touch as Terri in The Thick Of It, also impresses as capable but lazy ward sister Den, who tends to form a shaky united front with Kim. In the latest episode she receives unwelcome news from her ex-partner and male matron, Hilary – a beautifully understated performance from hulking comic Ricky Grover – while struggling with a hypochondriac patient.

I'd describe Getting On as bittersweet, if that word hadn't been hijacked to describe bland ITV comedy-dramas starring Martin Clunes as a lonely divorcee. Instead I'll describe it as a raw, honest study of institutional and mortal decay, but funny.

Directed by, among others, Scanlan's The Thick Of It co-star Peter Capaldi, it's deliberately grey and unflatteringly lit, all the better to underscore its harsh, satirical message. In the unlikely event of Jeremy Hunt sitting down to watch it, I doubt that he'd care about that message at all. This, ultimately, is all you need to know.

Swapping its nurses uniform for a lab coat, BBC4 launches its BIG SCIENCE season this week, featuring a host of classy documentaries devoted to, well, you can probably guess.

It begins with Order and Disorder (Tuesday, 9pm), in which Professor Jim Al-Khalili explains how the human race came to harness and manipulate energy. In The Final Frontier? A Horizon Guide to the Universe (Wednesday, 9pm), Dallas Campbell raids the Horizon archive to chart the scientific breakthroughs that have transformed our understanding of the universe. Meanwhile, in Tails You Win – The Science of Chance (Thursday, 9pm), David Spiegelhalter, the – implausible yet impressive job title alert – Professor for the Public Understanding of Risk at Cambridge University, examines factors of risk and probability to argue that, instead of avoiding chance, we should embrace it.

Finally, HEBBURN is a fairly warm-hearted new sitcom written by stand-up comic Jason Cook. Set in the unremarkable town of Hebburn, South Tyneside, where Cook grew up, it revolves around a close-knit working-class family headed by Vic Reeves (here billed under his real name, Jim Moir) and Gina McKee. He's affable and blokey, she's overbearingly well-meaning in the way that sitcom mums almost always are.

Rounding out the brood are comedian Chris Ramsey – who looks like Stan Laurel moonlighting as a member of One Direction – as the prodigal son awkwardly introducing his girlfriend (Fresh Meat's Kimberley Nixon) to the family for the first time. But unbeknownst to them, the pair secretly got married in Vegas. Oh no! Apparently.

There's also a daffy gran prone to inappropriate outbursts, and a tart-with-a-heart sister. So no, it won't win any awards for originality (if indeed such awards existed). And that's Hebburn's problem: although it's packed with gags, they're mostly rather obvious and unremarkable. Cook – who also appears in a supporting role – can't resist all the usual cheap tracksuits and fake-tan jibes, and even throws a cheesy pub singer in for good measure. Tinged with pathos and black comedy, it's amiable enough, and nicely performed – especially by McKee, reminding us that she's capable of delivering much more than the frosty types she's usually cast as. But it isn't remotely distinctive or original.

Scotsman TV preview - Best Possible Taste: The Kenny Everett Story, Hunted, Boardwalk Empire.

This article was first published in The Scotsman on 29th September 2012.

http://www.scotsman.com/lifestyle/tv-and-radio

BEST POSSIBLE TASTE: THE KENNY EVERETT STORY

Wednesday, BBC4, 9pm

HUNTED

Thursday, BBC1, 9pm

BOARDWALK EMPIRE

Today, Sky Atlantic, 9pm

Paul Whitelaw

It's often sensible to exercise a certain amount of caution around the BBC's cottage industry of biopics about much-loved entertainers. More often than not, they tend to treat the remarkable talent of their subjects as an irrelevant sideshow, preferring instead to wallow in the murky shallows of their supposedly hellish private lives. Prurient, voyeuristic and occasionally mean-spirited, they're usually about as sensitive as a cannonball to the groin.

So it's with some relief that I recommend BEST POSSIBLE TASTE: THE KENNY EVERETT STORY, a warm, witty and respectful tribute to the ground-breaking DJ and comedian that, while never shying away from the more troubled aspects of his character, actually goes out of its way to celebrate his genius.

Closer in spirit to the delightful Eric & Ernie and Tony Roche's winningly irreverent Holy Flying Circus – Ev's comic alter-egos, from Sid Snot to Cupid Stunt, act as a Greek chorus throughout - it's clearly a labour of love from screenwriter Tim Whitnall, whose ability to write about comedians with affectionate insight was previously established by his award-winning stage-play Morecambe.

With Ev's ex-wife and soul-mate Lee and his key collaborator Barry Cryer both acting as consultants, Whitnall's film abounds with a sense of anecdotal charm and detail that so many of these biopics lack. Sure, it begins with our hero recovering from a suicide attempt, and pivots around his struggle to come to terms with his homosexuality, but it never treats him crassly. Instead he's portrayed as an inveterate rebel with a self-destructive streak, whose total mastery of his craft clashed with his private anxieties. That's artists for you.

Framed as an unorthodox love story between Ev and Lee, it's a touching portrait of a sensitive, brilliant, loveable, maddening man trying to find his place in the world, before tragically passing away years before his time. Newcomer Oliver Lansley is simply outstanding in the lead role, inhabiting Ev's various personae – including his softly-spoken actual self – with uncanny accuracy and depth. If this magnificent performance isn't awarded with a BAFTA next year, then I'll shake my fist at the sun in anger. That'll show them.

Ex-Coronation Street actress Katherine Kelly provides excellent support as the strong-willed Lee, and there are even a few colourful cameos from Freddie Mercury, Michael Winner and Dickie Attenborough (the latter essayed by Simon Callow in Full-Callow mode).

While many of these biopics often look as though they were made for the price of a packet of Swan Vestas, director James Strong does wonders with his resources here, producing a beautiful, inventive piece that its late subject may well have approved of. Alas, the budget cuts at BBC4 suggest that this will be their last drama for quite some time. But at least they've gone out on a high.

From the sublime to the irredeemably awful. Created, presumably on a napkin, by US dramatist Frank Spotnitz (The X Files), HUNTED is a new eight-part thriller co-produced by Kudos, home of Spooks, and US cable titans HBO. Normally the sort of hackneyed, risible garbage that HBO wouldn't touch with an executive bargepole, it's held together with every heaving cliché in the book, as Melissa George – a fine actress, who deserves better – goes through the motions as a beautiful yet emotionally remote private intelligence agent who infiltrates the family of a corrupt millionaire.

Peppered with outbursts of nasty violence, Hunted is absolute hokum, but not in a good way. Like 24 without the sense of comic-book fun, it takes itself incredibly seriously, with various migraine-intense characters interacting in that terse, furtive, flippant way that fictional spies always do. All that's required of George is that she pout and kick the occasional ass, while suffering the indignity of pretending to be haunted by traumatic childhood flashbacks that resemble nothing more than the Papa Lazarou coda from the League of Gentlemen Christmas Special.

Piles of cash have clearly been wasted on this one-dimensional drivel. Watching it feels like an affront to common decency.

Fortunately, HBO remind us what they're good at with the return of BOARDWALK EMPIRE. Now in its third season, the roaring '20s prohibition drama continues without one of its hitherto key characters, Jimmy Darmody, whose murder at the climax of season two was, while inevitable, shockingly carried out by his surrogate father Nucky Thompson (the great Steve Buscemi).

The abiding theme this year, then, is the transformation of Nucky from being “half a gangster” to a full-blown lord of misrule. It's a bold development, and one that could backfire if handled badly. Although blatantly corrupt and responsible for orchestrating acts of violence from afar, Nucky was always an essentially likeable anti-hero. But it's impossible to sympathise with him now, which may be a problem as the series progresses.

Nevertheless, it returns with a strong opening episode introducing a dangerous new antagonist, Gyp Rosetti, a ludicrously thin-skinned gangster set to cause future headaches for the permanently harassed Nucky. Rosetti may be a rather broad and familiar character, but he's still an entertaining addition to one of the most compelling TV dramas of the day. It sure is swell to have it back. 

Scotsman TV Preview: Downton Abbey, Parade's End, Strictly Come Dancing

This article was originally published in The Scotsman on 15 September 2012.

http://www.scotsman.com/lifestyle/tv-and-radio

DOWNTON ABBEY

Sunday, STV, 9pm

PARADE'S END

Friday, BBC2, 9pm

STRICTLY COME DANCING

Today, BBC1, 6:30pm

Paul Whitelaw

A lavish harlequinade of withering gazes, arched eyebrows and stoic suffering: yes, DOWNTON ABBEY is back, and thankfully it seems to have calmed down following last year's hyperactive series, which at times felt more like a series of disjointed trailers for an upcoming episode interspersed with blaring commercial breaks every five minutes. The latter are still an unwelcome intrusion, but it's good to have it back on form.

In case you'd forgotten where we were, the first few scenes are helpfully devoted to nothing but clunky exposition, leading up to the return of Lady Sybil and her fierce republican husband (cue awkward discussions of “the Irish problem” over dinner), the much publicised arrival of Shirley Maclaine as Lady Grantham's mother (cue laboured bouts of American modernism vs English traditionalism), and the wedding of Lady Mary and Matthew (cue the expected drama on the eve of their nuptials). And most dramatically of all, Lord Grantham is shocked to learn that he may run the risk of losing dear old Downton altogether.

Despite the fact that you can always hear the gears shifting in Julian Fellowes' writing, I can't deny that, at his best, he's a fine purveyor of world-class soap opera. It's corn on a grand scale, but it's expertly tuned and entertaining corn at that.

The cerebral yin to Downton's full-bosomed yang, PARADE'S END, which concludes this week, is almost stubbornly anti-populist in its appeal. Indeed, this handsome Edwardian period drama mirrors precisely the compelling, frustrating, enigmatic allure of its central character, Christopher Tietjans, who for the past five weeks has made an esoteric virtue of keeping his entire world at arm's length.

Immaculately portrayed by Benedict Cumberbatch – his oval jaw set in stone, although increasingly prone to wobbles as the story progressed – Christopher's damned loyalty to his strict, self-flagellating moral code takes a further battering in the final episode, which mostly finds him mired in the insanity of the Western Front trenches.

Created by Ford Madox Ford for a series of highly-regarded early 20^th century novels, “the last decent man in England” is certainly more complex than any character found in Downton, and highlights, not only the fundamental difference between the two programmes, but also the inherent, possibly deliberate flaw of Tom Stoppard's otherwise impressive adaptation: Downton Abbey wants to loved, and will jab all your buttons to ensure that it is, whereas Parade's End has no interest in giving you an easy, comfortable, emotional ride.

And that's why, although I enjoyed it, I never felt particularly moved by this sprawling epic. I admired its stellar performances, its dry, eccentric wit and Susanna White's assured direction, but I never really got under the skin of the central love triangle between Christopher, his entertainingly maddening wife Sylvia (Rebecca Hall, a haughty swan, superb throughout) and moist-eyed, lovestruck plot device Valentine (Adelaide Clemens, doing her best with an underwritten role).

I suspect that Stoppard was more interested in the material for its reams of layered character study and socio-politcal satire, than as an unconventional romantic drama. It's certainly obvious that Madox Ford's novels, which many deemed unfilmable, don't lend themselves easily to adaptation, and Stoppard should be commended for transforming them into five hours of captivating, if at times inscrutable, TV drama.

And I'm glad that the BBC has taken a leaf from co-producers HBO's book and produced something that demands concentration and actively repels the casual viewer. It's encouraging that we have a landscape where populist period fare such as Downton can comfortably coexist with the relatively challenging and idiosyncratic likes of Parade's End. And while it wasn't an unqualified success – the stasis of Christopher and Sylvia's relationship, for instance, led to repetitive reinstatements of their central dynamic every week – it was undeniably smart, startling and ambitious. And we need more of that, always.

Also, special mention should go to Stephen Graham, who, despite being lumbered with a ridiculous stick-on beard that made him look like a Blackadder Dickens, pulled off a faultless Edinburgh accent while proving himself yet again as one of TV's most versatile actors. And speaking of Blackadder, the penultimate episode, with the great Roger Allam coming to the fore to essentially portray a blimpish General Melchett substitute, was one of the most effective and darkly humorous “war is hell” statements I've seen on TV in quite some time.

Finally, STRICTLY COME DANCING returns tonight for another ratings-grabbing series of flotsam and fluff.

Personally, I've never been a fan. It's not something I object to – it's utterly harmless – but it's just one of those cultural happenings that unfolds every year in my peripheral vision, like football and chart music and the latest globule of scandalous idiocy that habitually dribbles from the mouth of some celebrity I couldn't care less about. Not even the once-in-a-lifetime spectacle of Russell Grant being fired from a cannon could rouse my interest last year, which means that I'm either suffering from a clinical case of ennui, or that the mere idea of the roly-poly astrologer hurtling through the air in a shower of glitter is entertainment enough for me. Either way, it's back, and there if you want it.