This article was originally published in The Courier on Saturday 7th June 2015.
The
Syndicate: Tuesday, BBC One
Vicious:
Monday, STV
Paul
Whitelaw
What would you do if you won millions
on the lottery? Like most good ideas, the premise behind
writer/director Kay Mellor's The Syndicate is so simple, it's
a wonder no one has thought of it before.
So far she's exploted two hit series
from this universal fantasy, each starring a different cast of
characters. Theoretically, it's a flexible, fecund format. But I'm
not convinced that series three will continue her winning streak (I
swear that's the only laboured lottery-themed metaphor in this
review).
My problem lies not with the
storyline – the staff at a stately home suddenly becoming richer
than their employers is a strong idea – but with Mellor's treatment
of certain characters. She can usually be relied upon to write about
“ordinary” people without condescension, but I'm troubled by the
presence of Lenny Henry as Godfrey the gardener, a kind of fantasy
“idiot savant” in the Rain Man mould.
Are we to take it that Godfrey is
placed somewhere on the autistic spectrum, hence why he's an
obsessive mathematical theorist prone to sudden fits of rage? Well, I
ask you, isn't that a dubious stereotype? It doesn't help that Henry
plays him with a permanent expression of wounded surprise, as if
befuddled by his character. Who can blame him?
I'm not sure what Mellor is playing
at here, especially during those uncomfortable scenes where Godfrey
basically lusts after Amy, the pretty teenage maid. Now, I trust
Mellor to prove me wrong, but so far she's come perilously close to
portraying Amy as a sexually precocious brat just asking for trouble.
Sure enough, she was apparently abducted at the end of episode one,
possibly by her aggressive ex.
Bizarrely, this instinctively felt
like the kind of knee-jerk moral judgement you'd find in a cheap
slasher film: flaunt your sexuality, and you're mincemeat. And
please, Mellor, spare us a hackneyed storyline involving poor,
innocent Godfrey being falsely accused of abducting Amy. You're
better than that.
Misgivings aside, I did enjoy certain
aspects of the episode. Winningly, the upstairs-downstairs setting
suggests a cynical, contemporary subversion of Downton Abbey.
Mellor even made the comparison explicit, when the ailing Lord of
the manor complained about a visiting American contingent: “They
only come because they imagine they're in an episode of bloody
Downton Abbey!”
And who plays his charmingly ruffled
Lordship? Why, none other than stately period drama stalwart Anthony
Andrews. His presence is another neatly self-referential touch; I
hope the rest of the series builds upon its flashes of promise.
Is it too late to hope the same of
Vicious? This defiantly camp, old-fashioned sitcom divides
opinion, but for all its faults I enjoyed series one. All it needed
was some fine tuning.
But even with the best will in the
world – and lord knows I want Vicious to be better than it
is – last week's return was a disappointment. Ian McKellan and
Derek Jacobi are still an impeccably timed hoot as a fondly caustic
gay couple, but without their sterling efforts Vicious would
sink like a stone.
In a semi-amusing attempt to
undermine criticism, this week it cheekily drew attention to the
creaky contrivances of its own plot. But that kind of post-modernism
only works with strong gags to support it.
Shameless, flawed and slick, Vicious
makes not a jot of sense, and that's to its credit. But I wish it
was funnier, if only to piss off those who foolishly believe that
mirthless, single-camera sitcoms have usurped this classic form.
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