TV Review: THE SECRET HELPERS + THE FUNERAL MURDERS

This article was originally published in The Courier on 24th March 2018.

https://www.thecourier.co.uk/category/lifestyle/entertainment/tv-film/

THE SECRET HELPERS: Wednesday, BBC Two

THE FUNERAL MURDERS: Monday, BBC Two

When gazing in despair upon this hate-strewn boulder of ours, it’s easy to forget that good people still exist. THE SECRET HELPERS is a charitable reminder. Maybe humanity will prevail after all.

The premise behind this quietly heartening new series couldn’t be simpler. Brits dealing with difficult circumstances receive friendly advice from pragmatic strangers around the world. While monitoring them via camera, these earthbound guardian angels beam trouble-shooting words of wisdom into the brains of our protagonists through hidden earpieces.

Their loved ones are obviously aware that a documentary is being filmed, but they have no idea about the secret helpers. That adds an element of mild peril to an otherwise upbeat project; will they get found out while chatting, seemingly to no one, during an advice session?

They’re essentially being asked to live a lie for a week, albeit for benign reasons.

First up was Dan, who’d suffered a massive double stroke. Despite having recovered for the most part, he now experiences anxiety and chronic tiredness. He was on the verge of getting married, and worried that his symptoms would make mincemeat of his duties at the wedding.

Fortunately, his secret helpers got him through it. They included twinkly Sister Una from Ireland, a traditional South African healer, two retired New York cops and a health and lifestyle guru (and former Playboy model) from Norway.

Their simple yet non-patronising advice helped Dan with his speech, stress levels and diet. Watching him overcome his fears via the kindness of strangers was surprisingly touching. Sure, they're presumably getting paid for taking part, but only a dead-inside cynic would doubt their sincerity.

The helpers getting dressed up to watch Dan’s wedding from their corners the world was rather charming. For a few days this disparate group became emotionally invested in the lives of people they’ll probably never meet. That connection extends to the audience too. We’re all entwined by the same fears and empathetic impulses.

Our second Brit-in-need Brett was assisted by Dan's team plus a pair of female Italian chefs. He was worried that he wouldn’t be able to cope with premature new-born twins and a wife recovering from major surgery. Sister Una, a former nurse and midwife, was of particular help. The South African sage taught him a lullaby to send the twins to sleep. It was awfully sweet.

If mishandled, this show could easily come across as cloying and twee, but it’s put together with such a winning lack of cynicism it works a charm.

Let’s not get carried away, though. Human beings are also capable of heinous acts of violence and prejudice. In THE FUNERAL MURDERS, the estimable documentary film-maker Vanessa Engle presented a sobering account of the lethal attacks that took place during two Irish Republican funerals in March 1988.

By speaking to representatives from all sides – IRA, RUC etc. - Engle highlighted the immovable stalemate and conflicting narratives that characterised The Troubles. Republicans and Loyalists are so diametrically opposed, it’s simply staggering in hindsight that the ongoing peace process ever got off the ground at all.

Supported by harrowing archive footage of the attacks, Engle met people whose pain and attitudes haven’t softened in the intervening years. The only difference is that now they don’t live in a divided nation scorched with almost daily acts of political violence. While that progress should never be taken for granted, those deep divisions still prevail.

“Who will be believed?” mused one commentator, when asked about historical legacy. “Whoever shouts the loudest.”

With typical sensitivity and probing open-mindedness, Engle cut to the human heart of this complex, inflammatory issue. It was a sad, blunt, riveting film, steeped in lingering shock and senseless loss.

TV Review: HITCHCOCK'S SHOWER SCENE: 78/52 + SIR BRUCE: A CELEBRATION

This article was originally published in The Courier on 17th March 2018.

https://www.thecourier.co.uk/category/lifestyle/entertainment/tv-film/

HITCHCOCK’S SHOWER SCENE: 78/52: Saturday, BBC Two

SIR BRUCE: A CELEBRATION: Sunday, BBC One

Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho is arguably the first modern horror film. Released in 1960, it marked a paradigm shift from the Gothic monsters of the first golden age of horror to a more brutal and contemporary style informed by real-life serial killers: the Rosetta Stone of slasher movies.

This influential masterpiece is an indelible part of popular culture. There aren’t many films that warrant a feature-length documentary devoted to analysis of one scene, but there aren’t many scenes as memorable and exquisitely crafted as the subject of HITCHCOCK’S SHOWER SCENE: 78/52.

The title of this absorbing critique is derived from the 78 set-ups and 52 cuts that were required to create just over three minutes of screen-time.

This wordless assault of homicidal violence was directed by Hitchcock over the course of seven days. He knew that a scene such as this needed extra attention. It’s tempting to speculate that he knew he was creating cinema history.

Devoid of narration and fittingly photographed in vivid monochrome, this authoritative essay boasted contributions from an impressive roster of talking heads including Bret Easton Ellis, Peter Bogdanovich (yes, he did his trusty Hitch impression), Guillermo del Toro and Janet Leigh’s daughter Jamie Lee Curtis.

It also featured wonderful insight from former Playboy cover star and Leigh’s body double Marli Renfro, who revealed that she wasn’t completely nude during the shoot but that she did have to strip down to her underwear for Hitchcock and Leigh during her audition.

The experts did a thorough job of placing Psycho in historical and socio-political context, while examining its reflection of various recurring Hitchcock themes.

The film as a whole was subject to almost scene-by-scene analysis, with the lion’s share naturally being dominated by a forensic study of the shower scene itself. A masterclass in directing, editing and scoring – Bernard Hermann’s metallic string attack is familiar to people who haven’t even seen Psycho – it’s fully deserving of its legendary status.

Hitchcock, who appeared throughout via archive interview footage, always maintained that Psycho was intended as a dark, twisted comedy, and it does indeed work on that level if you have a similarly mordant sense of humour. But it also succeeds as a subversive and provocative work of art.

This superb documentary will, I suspect, become a key text in its legacy.

An all-singing, all tap-dancing tribute to a showbiz legend, SIR BRUCE: A CELEBRATION was a variety extravaganza that the great man would’ve approved of.

Hosted by Tess Daly from the London Palladium, it showered praise upon an all-round entertainer who made a difficult job look easy.

It reinforced just how loved he was by the public and his peers. The likes of Russ Abbot, Michael Grade, Declan Donnelley, Anton du Beke and former BBC Head of Light Entertainment Jim Moir choked back their emotions as they eulogised a genuinely nice man.

Highlights included Shirley Bassey, her lung power undimmed, singing one of his favourite songs, Almost Like Being in Love, a delighted Paul Merton recounting Brucie’s unforgettable stewardship of Have I Got News For You, and Ant/Dec paying tribute to his peerless camera technique – that sly/baffled sideways glance was one of the greatest weapons in his armoury – and winning way with the general public.

He carried it all off with such warmth and intimacy. The sheer skill with which he wrangled fast-moving blasts of light entertainment was unique. Platitudes be damned, we will never see his likes again.

SEVEN YEAR SWITCH + ONE BORN EVERY MINUTE

A version of this article was originally published in The Courier on 10th March 2018.

https://www.thecourier.co.uk/category/lifestyle/entertainment/tv-film/

SEVEN YEAR SWITCH: Tuesday, Channel 4

ONE BORN EVERY MINUTE: Wednesday, Channel 4

People are strange. Whenever they feel scared or desperate, their decision-making patterns can become erratic and bizarre. That’s an absolute Godsend for television producers, as it allows programmes such as SEVEN YEAR SWITCH to exist.

I suspect that for most couples on the verge of divorce, appearing in a modified version of Wife Swap would be pretty far down their list of priorities. For the couples participating in this new partner-switching series, it obviously felt like the best course of action.

On the one hand, Seven Year Switch feels symptomatic of the rampant narcissism that’s infected first world society since the advent of reality television and social media.

On the other hand, these genuinely troubled couples felt compelled to do whatever it takes to save their marriages. It’s just that, apparently, “whatever it takes” sometimes means having your private woes beamed into millions of homes throughout the country.

So how does it work? Over the course of the series, four couples for whom the dream has gone sour take part in our old friend the TV social experiment to find out once and for all if their marriages are worth fighting for.

The idea is that by living as husband and wife for a fortnight with someone they’ve only just met, they’ll either re-evaluate their marriage or conclude that it really is all over.

The production team have a budget that has to be pointlessly spent, so the participants are flown out to a luxurious Thai island. Overseeing the whole ordeal is a relationship therapist who decides who should be switched – not swapped, it’s a very important distinction – with whom.

The twist is that there are no rules about what kind of relationship they choose to have. When you think about it, that could mean anything. What’s more, the stunned guinea pigs aren’t even told they’ll be sharing a bed until they arrive at their villas. This doesn’t go down well with most of them.

As is reality television’s wont, it’s all very contrived and manipulative.

Episode one devoted itself to introducing the couples, outlining their various problems and seeing what happened when the switched pairings met for the first time.

The shared bed bombshell triggered a gust of polite awkwardness. Watching the couples deal with this issue was admittedly rather interesting. Despite my general misgivings about the project, by the end I actually found myself wanting to see how it all pans out. It would be dishonest to claim that essentially well-made programmes such as this don’t pander to our voyeuristic impulses.

Despite the presence of an old-fashioned chauvinist, there are no outright villains in Seven Year Switch. There will doubtless be some conflict in future episodes, but it’s not designed to be explosive in the Wife Swap vein.

Whether these couples actually gain anything from the experience, or live to regret it, remains to be seen.

Will you care either way? Of course not. It’s all pointless. We’ll be dead soon, it’s just a swollen heartbeat away. Gawping passively into the soiled litter tray of other people’s heartbreak is one way of getting through it all.

Still, life goes on. One of Channel 4’s cast-iron warhorses, observational documentary ONE BORN EVERY MINUTE returned for another series of touching antenatal drama.

In a Birmingham maternity ward, we met more nurses and couples on the cusp of bringing life into this dreadful world of knockabout pain.

The straightforward human interest formula never fails to gently lift the spirits, as we eavesdrop on nice ordinary people going through a life-changing experience while personable professionals ensure a smooth transition under often trying circumstances.

They’ll probably all end up on Seven Year Switch one day.

TV Review: THE ASSASSINATION OF GIANNI VERSACE: AMERICAN CRIME STORY + CIVILISATIONS

This article was originally published in The Courier on 3rd March 2018.

https://www.thecourier.co.uk/category/lifestyle/entertainment/tv-film/

THE ASSASSINATION OF GIANNI VERSACE: AMERICAN CRIME STORY: Wednesday, BBC Two

CIVILISATIONS: Thursday, BBC Two

We’re all aware that fashion designer Gianni Versace was murdered on his doorstep. These things tend to lodge in your mind. I daresay, however, that most of us know nothing about Versace’s murder beyond that one brutal fact.

That’s chiefly why THE ASSASSINATION OF GIANNI VERSACE: AMERICAN CRIME STORY is so effective: this addictive nine-part drama is utterly unpredictable and jaw-dropping.

The first season of American Crime Story was based on the O.J. Simpson trial, the details of which are, broadly speaking, well known. That’s presumably why it was presented as an absurd tragicomedy, rather than a revelatory factual drama.

Season two opts for a more sombre tone and a greater sense of depth. It veers off in various directions while still keeping hold of the main narrative. It’s a far more impressive, nuanced piece of work.

Based on the book Vulgar Favours: Andrew Cunanan, Gianni Versace, and the Largest Failed Manhunt in U.S. History by Maureen Orth, it begins with Versace’s 1997 murder before flashing back to various points during the preceding seven years. This allows the writers to flesh out the characters while teasing and building the central mystery: who was Andrew Cunanan and why did he kill Versace?

It turns out that Cunanan was a young man who once had a brief affair with Versace. He was also a pathological fantasist, an entitled nuisance and a serial killer. Glee star Darren Criss delivers a mesmerising performance as Cunanan; his volatile presence is truly unnerving.

Despite having a gay homicidal maniac at its centre, The Assassination Of Gianni Versace doesn’t feel exploitative or dubious. It sensitively explores the scourge of homophobia in America’s recent past, and every gay character apart from Cunanan is portrayed in a sympathetic light. Cunanan’s sexuality and psychopathy are never depicted as two sides of the same coin; a self-perceived failure, he was driven by intense jealousy of rich, talented artists.

It’s a stellar example of the way episodic television can explore a complex story in novelistic detail and from several angles. This bizarre saga, with all its shocking twists and grisly turns, unfolds like a violent fever dream. Yet it actually happened. 

The Versace family disagree, they’ve dismissed it as a work of fiction, but I suspect that’s because they resent the very existence of an unauthorised forage behind their fiercely protected brand image.

However, I do sympathise with their opposition to an extent. While the series depicts the Versaces (Donatella is winningly portrayed by the great Penelope Cruz) and his lover (a sensitive turn from pop star Ricky Martin) sympathetically, how must they feel being confronted with graphic images of their beloved Gianni (lookalike Edgar Ramirez) with gaping bullet wounds through his cheeks? Was it really necessary to linger on that?

I also feel for all the families of Cunanan’s victims, who’d be advised to stay away. 

Nevertheless, a few lapses in taste aside, this is a thoughtful and intelligent dramatisation of a thoroughly fascinating case.

Commissioned at the behest of the BBC’s Director General Tony Hall, CIVILISATIONS is a belated sequel to Kenneth Clark’s landmark 1969 series Civilisation.

A nine-part essay on the history of African, Asian, American and European art, it’s clearly an attempt to grandly reaffirm the BBC’s core Reithian values: to inform, educate and entertain.

Thankfully, this beautifully directed, globe-trotting piece succeeds without coming across as self-important. Hosted in shifts by Mary Beard, David Olusoga and Simon Schama, it began with the sage yet cuddly Schama exploring the origins of human creativity. Despite its sweeping ambitions, Schama’s essay was typically focused and accessible. It was also rather moving.

The human impulse to create works of art stretches back through the millennia. That’s a humbling and comforting thought.

As Schama said in his impassioned introduction after showing horrific footage of ISIS destroying ancient works of art: “We can spend a lot of time debating what civilisation is or isn’t, but when its opposite shows up in all its brutality and cruelty and intolerance and lust for destruction, we know what civilisation is.”

TV Review: TROY: FALL OF A CITY + HOLD THE SUNSET + MUM

This article was originally published in The Courier on 24th February 2018.

https://www.thecourier.co.uk/category/lifestyle/entertainment/tv-film/

TROY: FALL OF A CITY: Saturday, BBC One

HOLD THE SUNSET: Sunday, BBC One

MUM: Tuesday, BBC Two

For the love of Zeus, has the BBC lost its mind? It’s ploughed a heaving galleon of cash into the supposed Saturday night blockbuster TROY: FALL OF A CITY, a ham-fisted endurance test steered by one-dimensional characters and an incompetent grasp of narrative.

The Iliad is one of the greatest stories ever told, an epic poem packed with drama, action and romance, but you won’t find any of that in this dreary retelling by David ‘The Night Manager’ Farr. His turgid script sucks every droplet of juice from the saga.

It’s the polar opposite of Britannia, Sky’s current drama about the Roman conquest of Britain, which tackles ancient history with an entertaining swirl of energy and wit. Farr’s po-faced dud moves at a snail’s pace. It’s a bellicose bore, overwrought and undercooked.

The love affair between Paris and Helen has all the erotically-charged zeal of a wet bus. The leads have no chemistry. Paris wanders around like a bewildered Dave Lee Travis, glowering through his beard by torchlight. An emu turned up at one point, before an orgy scene, and looked suitably ashamed. Forgive him, please, as prominent roles for emus are thin on the ground. He has to eat.

I actually became angry while watching this failed attempt to emulate the success of Game Of Thrones. All that money wasted on a badly written drama of interminable proportions. Revolutions have been founded on less.

Still, never mind. Here’s another gentle sitcom set in affluent middle-class suburbia.

HOLD THE SUNSET is chiefly notable for being the first sitcom John Cleese has starred in since Fawlty Towers ended in 1979.

His character, a genial retiree with a twinkly line in dry sarcasm, couldn’t be further removed from Basil, so he needn’t worry about comparisons. It does follow his almost mathematical approach to farce in that it starts slowly and gradually escalates, but the tone is wry rather than manic. It is, most assuredly, not trying to be a grey pound Fawlty Towers.

Python associate Charles McKeown has devised a fairly amusing set of scripts about an older couple – Cleese co-stars with Alison Steadman – dealing with dysfunctional middle-aged children. Jason Watkins adds a tragicomic note of cheerful anxiety as a man going through a mid-life crisis. The stellar cast also includes Rosie Cavaliero and Joanna Scanlan.

You can’t argue with that talent, but you can take issue with the fact that Hold The Sunset is decidedly average. It’s neither bad nor great. It just meanders in the middle-ground, and suffers in comparison to MUM, another sitcom that unfolds in real time within one suburban setting.

Deeper and funnier than Hold The Sunset, Mum proves that it’s possible to create a non-bland comedy in which almost every character is a nice person. Even the titular mum’s snooty sister-in-law elicits sympathy, as she’s clearly so unhappy.

The brilliant Lesley Manville plays the recently widowed Cathy, who patiently endures an inadvertent assault of condescension from her amiably oblivious adult son and his sweet but dim girlfriend. Peter Mullan, his kindly face crinkled with pathos, plays Cathy’s old friend and would-be romantic partner. Manville and Mullan can say so much without words. That’s what Mum is about: a polite failure to communicate deep-seated feelings.

It’s a lovable little gem full of subtle character beats. Spending time with these people is a delight. If you haven’t already done so, I urge you to make its acquaintance.

TV Review: COLLATERAL + TRAUMA

This article was originally published in The Courier on 17th February 2018.

https://www.thecourier.co.uk/category/lifestyle/entertainment/tv-film/

COLLATERAL: Monday, BBC Two

TRAUMA: Monday to Wednesday, STV

It’s typical. You wait ages for one homicide-themed drama starring John Simm, then two come along at once. Now that we’ve got that obvious zinger out of the way, let’s turn our attentions to the four – count ‘em - hours of Simm we were treated to last week.

Fans of this always watchable actor were spoiled for choice on Monday when he cropped up in both COLLATERAL and TRAUMA, written respectively by veteran playwright David Hare and Mike Bartlett of Doctor Foster renown.

Simm isn’t the star of Collateral, he’s part of an impressive ensemble including Carey Mulligan, Billie Piper and Nicola Walker. This is heavyweight territory.

Mulligan plays an inexplicably smug detective investigating the mysterious murder of a pizza delivery man. Piper was the last person to see him alive before he was shot on her doorstep. She’s also the ex-wife of a Labour MP (Simm). Walker, meanwhile, plays a gay vicar whose troubled migrant partner saw the murder take place.

The key question of course is: why would someone randomly assassinate a pizza delivery man? Well, they wouldn’t would they? The crime was premediated and carried out by a slick professional military officer. But why? The murdered man was an innocent Syrian refugee. The obvious conclusion is that he wasn’t the intended victim. And off we go.

Driven by Hare’s eminently sincere thoughts on illegal immigration and the way we treat vulnerable asylum seekers, Collateral is a sombre state-of-the-nation address disguised as a thriller. It’s sometimes rather earnest and clunky. You’d think that after all these years, Hare would’ve learned how to deliver exposition more smoothly.

By and large, however, his cast paper over the cracks. Piper, an underrated actor, is particularly compelling as a cynical character wreathed in ambiguity.

Where it goes from here is anyone’s guess, but episode one established a fair amount of intrigue. Its slow-burning momentum and overt political subtext are quite effective, but I have a nagging feeling that Hare’s lofty ambitions are in excess of his reach. We’ll see.

While one can’t argue with the calibre of Collateral’s cast, you should never trust the judgement of talented actors when it comes to choosing material. God only knows why John Simm and Adrian Lester hitched their collective star power to TRAUMA, a melodramatic maelstrom of utter tosh which never convinced for a moment.

Simm played the father of a teenage boy who was stabbed and killed for no discernible reason. Lester played the surgeon who couldn’t save the boy’s life. Simm somehow managed to barge into the operating theatre at the moment of his son’s death, and immediately blamed Dr Lester for failing to do everything he could.

He became obsessed with proving that Lester wasn’t fit for purpose. His stalking campaign even stretched to finding work in the hospital’s coffee shop. That was the point where I gave up on the possibility of Trauma being based in any kind of plausible reality. It was laughable.

Simm did his best, but his relentlessly angry, unbalanced character came across as a strident mouthpiece rather than a three-dimensional human being. His vendetta never rang true. I had similar misgivings about the equally contrived and unlikely Doctor Foster, which suggests that Bartlett isn’t a writer unduly troubled by notions of dramatic authenticity.

Suspension of disbelief is one thing, but expecting us to go along with a total absence of logic is quite another.

This was ostensibly a drama about the unimaginable trauma of losing a child, but the sensitive subject matter was fatally cheapened by Bartlett’s lack of subtlety.

ITV would no doubt argue that stripping Trauma over three consecutive nights was an attempt to create so-called event television, but I suspect it was more a case of getting it out of the way as swiftly and painlessly as possible.

TV Review: REQUIEM + ALL TOGETHER NOW

This article was first published in The Courier on 3rd February 2018.

https://www.thecourier.co.uk/category/lifestyle/entertainment/tv-film/

REQUIEM: Friday, BBC One

ALL TOGETHER NOW: Saturday, BBC One

A fairly enjoyable slice of hokum, six-part drama REQUIEM blends psychological horror with a dose of the supernatural.

Or does it? The ghostly trappings are possibly a red herring. Either way, it’s quite intriguing and boasts a patina of self-awareness that nudges it beyond bog-standard haunted house territory.

Lydia Wilson stars as Matilda, a young woman who falls down a rabbit hole of secrets when her mother inexplicably kills herself. On the day of her death, Matilda’s mother (Hello, Floyd fans!) was apparently visited by a hoarse spectre. Did this scrofulous wraith encourage her to slit her throat in front of Matilda?

24 hours earlier, an old country squire from a Welsh village also received an unearthly visitation. His response was to smash every mirror in his mansion and jump off the roof.

These startling events were connected, of course. Matilda visited her late mother’s house and discovered a box containing press cuttings relating to the 1995 disappearance of a young girl named Carys from that same Welsh village.

Why was she so interested in this case? Mildly intrigued, Matilda and her mate – who provides an adequately droll running commentary during their amateur Scooby-Doo investigation – travelled to Wales to find out more.

There they met some standard issue suspicious locals and a bland Australian who by sheer coincidence – or was it supernatural guidance? – was moving into the mansion he’d inherited from his recently deceased uncle/that aforementioned gravel-bound squire. Naturally, Matilda and her pal moved in too.

This spooky pile of bricks plays host to that hardy perennial, a mysteriously locked room that the protagonist is instantly drawn to. What’s more, the door is affixed with a number 9, which must surely be a nod to Pemberton and Shearsmith’s wonderful anthology series (I’ll ignore the fact that private residences don’t tend to contain numbered rooms).

The possibly inadvertent meta references continued when Matilda discovered an actual black mirror – Wilson appeared in the very first episode of Charlie Brooker’s techno-fearing Twilight Zone. Gazing into this matte disc suddenly brought her nagging sense of déjà vu into dizzying focus. Not only had she been here before, she thinks she actually is Carys.

That might explain why Matilda is such a blank character. She’s suffering an identity crisis. Yes, that must be it. How else to explain her almost breezy demeanour following a harrowing event that would traumatise most people?

This mechanical maze could easily descend into outright nonsense without a firm guiding hand. It’s already balancing precariously on that knife’s edge, but episode one did manage to establish the central mystery quite effectively.

It’s stuffed to the shivering gills with affectionate references to the likes of Rosemary’s Baby, The Haunting, The Exorcist and – with its gurgling, guttural, pipes-banging audio effects – the classic ‘70s BBC production of Nigel Kneale’s The Stone Tape and notorious early ‘90s cause celebre Ghostwatch. Chiefly for those reasons, I’m cautiously on its side.

It’s a question we’ve all asked ourselves: what would happen if you mixed Celebrity Squares and The Voice into one great shrieking casserole of Saturday night folderol?

The answer at last is ALL TOGETHER NOW, a pointless talent show in which a bunch of singing hopefuls perform in front of 100 judges seated in a large Connect Four/Guess Who? grid. If they enjoy the performance then they stand up and sing along. The bigger the chorus of support, the closer the contestants get to the grand £50,000 prize.

It really is that simple.

Despite the presence of a studio audience, this aching headlock of forced gaiety has a curiously airless atmosphere. Whatever energy it may have possessed has been heavily edited and neutered. There’s no tension or sparkle. It’s a shiny blast of nothing.

Chirpy comic Rob Beckett does a passable job of hosting, but Geri Halliwell is lumbered with a redundant supporting role. No good will come of this.