Saturday 23 March 2019

TV Column: THE YORKSHIRE RIPPER FILES


This column was originally published in The Courier on 23rd March 2019.


NEXT WEEK’S TV


THE YORKSHIRE RIPPER FILES: A VERY BRITISH CRIME STORY
Tuesday to Thursday, BBC Four, 9pm

When serial killer Peter Sutcliffe was finally caught in 1981, he had murdered 13 women and attacked at least eight more. His arrest was the result of Britain’s biggest ever manhunt. During that six-year investigation Sutcliffe was interviewed by the police on nine occasions, but was allowed to walk away each time. In this grimly absorbing three-part documentary, filmmaker Liza Williams meets survivors of Sutcliffe’s attacks, as well as relatives of other victims. She also interviews police officers, pathologists and journalists who covered this horrific case in an attempt to answer a disturbing question: did bigoted societal attitudes towards women, particularly within the male-dominated police force, allow Sutcliffe to continue killing long after he could have been caught?

MARS UNCOVERED: ANCIENT GOD OF WAR
Monday, BBC Four, 9pm

Historian Bettany Hughes examines the relationship between warfare and worship in this thought-provoking documentary. The notion of Holy War has endured throughout the centuries, basically all because of the titular warmongering deity. Hughes follows Mars in his many incarnations across a bloody battlefield of crusades, massacres and world wars. “Is Mars immortal because war is always going to be an essential part of our lives?” she asks. She also explains that, for the Romans, “he was a vital force in their drive to win and exploit an Empire.” However, they stole him from the Greeks, whose own God of war, Aries, was “distrusted and reviled.” That saga would be Python-esque if it didn’t have such catastrophic far-reaching consequences.

THE ROAD TO BREXIT
Tuesday, BBC Two, 10pm


Matt Berry reunites with his Toast of London co-writer Arthur Mathews for this almost mystifyingly unfunny spoof documentary. Mathews also co-created Father Ted, so he should know his way around a good whimsical joke. It appears his powers have deserted him. Berry plays political scholar Michael Squeamish – the same rich and fruity character he always plays, but with a different name. He takes us on a journey through the history of Britain’s relationship with Europe via the familiar comic device of placing archive footage out of context while adding fake captions and dubbed audio. That approach can sometimes work wonders – e.g. the work of comedian Rhys Thomas – but Berry and Mathews’ efforts are fatally hackneyed and thin.

THE BEATLES: MADE ON MERSEYSIDE
Friday, BBC Four, 9pm

Do we really need another documentary about the most scrupulously analysed pop group of all time? Certainly not on the evidence of this harmless yet inessential trawl through their well-worn origin story. It does contain a smattering of unfamiliar nuggets – if the Beatles hadn’t taken off, Paul would’ve become a window dresser – but for the most part it plays out like an instructional video for people who’ve inexplicably never heard any of this stuff before. Nevertheless, it occasionally benefits from the inclusion of an array of greying talking heads who actually knew the group before they were famous (the luckless Pete Best among them). It also features contributions from esteemed music journalist Jon Savage and an inevitable Paul Gambaccini.

LAST WEEK’S TV


MOTHERFATHERSON
Wednesday 20th, BBC Two

Hollywood legend Richard Gere earned every penny of his paycheque in the latest episode of this enjoyably overwrought melodrama. He spent half of it wandering around sunny Mexico City while the main storyline unfolded elsewhere. Sweet gig. The most interesting aspect of MotherFatherSon by far is the relationship between Kathryn and her severely brain-damaged son. Helen McCrory and Billy Howle pour themselves into their respective roles. It’s such a muddled, overreaching drama, Howards’ Way chairing a Leveson Inquiry comprised of The Godfather, All the President’s Men and The Wolf of Wall Street, but I can’t quite tear myself away.

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