Showing posts with label Grantchester. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Grantchester. Show all posts

Sunday, 29 August 2021

STEPHEN + 9/11: INSIDE THE PRESIDENT'S WAR ROOM + BACK TO LIFE

This article was originally published in The Courier on 28th August 2021.

NEXT WEEK’S TV

Stephen – Monday, STV, 9pm

On 22nd April 1993, teenager Stephen Lawrence was murdered during a racially motivated attack. That heinous crime remained officially unsolved until 2012, when two members of a white gang were found guilty. 

Written by Frank Cottrell-Boyce and his son Joe, this absorbing, angry, compassionate three-part drama is a damning indictment of the corrupt, incompetent and institutionally racist Metropolitan Police. It also honours the determination of DCI Clive Driscoll (a solid turn from Steve Coogan), an unassuming man of integrity who realised that a terrible injustice had taken place. 

Driscoll led a unit largely devoted to investigating the police themselves, but his risk paid off. The story begins in 2006, when the Lawrence family were still being denied answers.

Ghosts – Monday, BBC One, 8:30pm

The arrival of corporeal Alison’s long-lost half-sister could potentially place her co-ownership of Button House in jeopardy, so she puts the Captain on the covert case. Meanwhile, Lady Fanny is acting giddily out of character. Could she be in love? 

Ghosts is currently the best British sitcom. Warm, funny and occasionally quite touching, it’s written and performed by a talented troupe of comics with an innate understanding of how to appeal to a family audience. 

They could easily tailor their skills towards a post-watershed slot if they wanted to, but where’s the fun in that? The restrictions they’ve placed upon themselves enhance the comedy. Ghosts is possessed of the utmost wit and charm.

Surviving 9/11 – Monday, BBC Two, 9pm

There are two feature-length BBC documentaries this week commemorating the 20th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks. 

The first is a meditative study of grief and trauma. It features moving eye-witness accounts from some of the survivors, one of whom, Vanessa Lawrence, now lives and works as a painter in Ayrshire. Lawrence was the artist in residence at the Twin Towers in 2001; her studio was on the 91st floor of the North tower. 

We also hear from an Englishman, Matt Campbell, whose brother Geoff was killed that day. Campbell has never trusted the official report, although he’s aware that his investment in 9/11 conspiracy theories could be a subconscious method of channelling his pain.

9/11: Inside the President’s War Room – Tuesday, BBC One, 8:30pm

When the second hijacked plane hit the South tower at 9:03am on 9/11, President George W. Bush was sitting in front of a classroom full of young children. We’ve all seen the footage of him gradually trying to process the news. This gripping moment-by-moment account of 9/11 is told from the perspective of Bush and colleagues such as Condoleeza Rice. 

By allowing them to explain their response to 9/11, the film tacitly asks us to make our own judgements. Bush, like Blair, comes across as someone preoccupied with justifying his tarnished legacy. 

“I’m not much of a navel-gazer,” he smirks. “I guess you could say I’m a man of action… let’s just say I’m comfortable with the decisions I made.”

Back to Life – Tuesday, BBC One, 10:35pm

This dry-witted comedy-drama should, by rights, be as popular as Fleabag (it’s produced by the same team). Daisy Haggard, who writes the show alongside Laura Solon, stars as Miri, a woman struggling to readjust to life after spending eighteen years in prison for murdering one of her best friends. 

Miri is a most unlikely murderer, but that’s the point. She’s likeable, sympathetic, someone deserving of a second chance. 

As series two begins, she’s still trapped at home with her dysfunctional parents. But she’s got a new job stacking shelves in a supermarket, and her sweetly tentative romance with Billy (Adeel Akhtar from Four Lions) is still trundling along. Then the mother of her victim arrives in town…

Our Lives: Lambing Life – Wednesday, BBC One, 7:30pm

Chloe is a 24-year-old sheep farmer from the Peak District. This documentary follows her during lambing season, which for obvious reasons is a particularly busy time of the sheep-farming year. 

Chloe is a delightful person. We witness her literally breathing life into recently birthed lambs, as well as various other specialist skills she hopes to pass on to the next generation of her family. She also writes poetry on the side and runs an alternative therapy business. 

Our Lives is a lovely series; it deserves a warm smattering of applause for shedding light upon the everyday activities of people from all walks of life. Positive by design, it’s a reassuring portrait of humankind.

Grantchester – Friday, STV, 9pm

Series six of this ecclesiastical sleuth caper kicks off with a hot priest case set in a holiday camp. For the uninitiated, Grantchester is set in the late 1950s, so we’re talking full-on Hi-de-Hi! vibes here. 

In time-honoured style, the regular cast all go on holiday together. But their fun doesn’t last: death stalks them where e’er they go. 

As always, this episode fulfils its duties without any fuss. Grantchester belongs to British television’s very long line of cosy, undemanding murder mysteries: it doesn’t seek to challenge or provoke, it exists purely as a piece of slick escapism. And sometimes, occasionally, that’s all you require.

LAST WEEK’S TV

When Ruby Wax Met… - Sunday 22nd August , BBC Two

Years before Louis Theroux met Savile et al, Ruby Wax practically invented the celebrity-based documentary interview genre. This fascinating retrospective celebrates her pioneering, irreverent style. 

It also functions as a time capsule, casting us back to an era before reality television and social media, when unscripted access to the filthy rich and famous was a fairly rare event. Wax reflects upon her interviews with commendable honesty. A qualified expert in mental health, she critiques her own performance while granting sharp insight into the psychology of her interviewees. 

Episode one was bookended by difficult encounters with a pair of rampant narcissists: Donald Trump and O.J. Simpson. It reminded me that, behind the brash comedy shtick, Wax was a gifted interviewer.

Scotland the Rave – Tuesday 24th August, BBC Scotland

In the early 2000s, Graeme Armstrong was expelled from school. His life became defined by alcohol, drugs and violence. And then he discovered “Scotland’s rave religion”. 

Now a successful author, Armstrong hosted this enjoyable documentary about a scene that was sneered at by rave purists, but which clearly meant a lot to those who were part of it. He met up with some fellow ex-ravers, who spoke as one about the cathartic camaraderie of dancing all night while – and Armstrong didn’t shy away from this; how could he? – taking drugs. But, without moralising in any way whatsoever, he also warned of the dangers of that lifestyle. 

He struck just the right balance between nostalgic celebration and hard-won, unpretentious wisdom.

Saturday, 11 October 2014

TV Review: GRANTCHESTER

This article was originally published in The Dundee Courier on Saturday 11th October 2014.


Grantchester: Monday, STV

Paul Whitelaw

If I may make so bold a generalisation, then for anyone starved of thrills since the demise of Tom Bosley's ecclesiastical crime thriller Father Dowling Investigates – Murder She Wrote in a dog collar, no less – the arrival of Grantchester must've felt like manna from murder mystery Heaven.

Set in 1953 in the titular Cambridgeshire village, and written by James 'Son of Archbishop' Runcie, it follows a frustrated young vicar who gains a new lease of life when he becomes an amateur sleuth.

Operating a million country miles from his disturbing performance as Happy Valley's chief psychopath, the versatile James Norton plays Sidney Chambers as a handsome and progressive clergyman who, lest anyone doubt his modern credentials, enjoys whisky, jazz, cigarettes – note that all-important comma - and frolicking in lakes with frightfully nice young ladies.

This workaday existence is changed forever when the grieving mistress of a suicide case approaches him to cry murder. A depressed alcoholic lawyer, he'd told this poor woman that, once he'd left his wife, they would “live as we have never lived!” I mean, I ask you, are those the words of a suicidal man?

Gripped by this compelling evidence, Chambers' eyes widened. As the mistress explained, helpfully setting up the premise, who better to investigate a mystery than a pillar of the community who can go anywhere and ask any question? A romantic dreamer desperate for excitement, Chambers plunged into the case with schoolboy-ish enthusiasm, much to the short-tempered chagrin of lovable Police Inspector Geordie Keating.

Yes, it's come to this for the personable Robson Green, he's finally playing a character called Geordie. Has the man no self-respect? Would Ray Winstone accept the role of a character called Cockney Ardman in a six-part ITV crime drama? Yes, he almost definitely would if the money was right, but you take my point.

Anyway. Gimmick-led detective dramas are as old as Marconi's folly itself. There's nothing wrong with the concept, just how it's delivered. Grantchester is delivered professionally, smoothly, like a tray of Baileys to an elderly group of lunching ladies. It also provides dialogue, plotting and exposition as subtly as an anvil through a vestry window.

The shadow of the war hangs over this sleepy little village like a vast, heavy-handed subtext. The dead man's wife was a sad-eyed German given to quasi-poetic soliloquies. Chambers is a veteran himself, as was every other whisky-driven male character. That makes sense dramatically, historically, humanely. There's something to be explored there. More concerned with scenery and mood, Grantchester reduces it to a man staring solemnly over a cornfield.

Oh, I dare say we'll soon be treated to a scene in which someone challenges Chambers on why God allows such suffering. That'll pass for depth before the case at hand is solved.

This tolerable slice of sub-Agatha Christie is a pot-boiler, a page-turner, just another blood-stained slice of genteel comfort viewing, forever destined to gather dust on ITV3 in the afternoons and maybe, if it's lucky, be given away free with The Daily Mail. It's polished in the sense that dutifully tended silverware is polished, as robustly inoffensive as oatcakes, bell ringers and the face of Martin Jarvis. It's a big old tassled pouffe of nothing, but at least it rests your heels for an hour of a dark Monday evening.

I can't praise fainter than that.