TV Review: CODE OF A KILLER + A SLOW TRAIN THROUGH AFRICA WITH GRIFF RHYS JONES + THUNDERBIRDS ARE GO!

This article was originally published in The Dundee Courier on 11th April 2015.

http://www.thecourier.co.uk/lifestyle

Code Of A Killer: Monday, STV

A Slow Train Through Africa with Griff Rhys Jones: Friday, STV

Thunderbirds Are Go!: Saturday, STV

Paul Whitelaw

You've got to hand it to ITV. Reducing a remarkable true story to the level of a particularly plodding episode of DCI Banks takes a special kind of incompetence, hence why I'm almost in awe of vexing two-parter Code Of A Killer.

The world-changing discovery of DNA fingerprinting and its first use in a criminal investigation is a fascinating subject ripe for dramatisation. Yet in the workmanlike hands of writer Michael Crompton, it hits every standard beat with thudding predictability.

Fine actors both, even John Simm and David Threlfall can't save it. Simm plays pioneering geneticist Alec Jeffreys. With his Open University beard and turtle neck, he's depicted, as scientists always are on screen, as brilliant yet scatty; a dishevelled genius whose dedication to his work caused him to neglect his long-suffering wife. Fortunately, she's also on hand to provide subtext-free support during times of need. Behind every great man stands a feminine plank of exposition.

Meanwhile, Threlfall is saddled with a thankless role and unflattering hair-do as Detective David Baker, the quietly dedicated copper who enlisted Jeffreys' help in catching a suspected serial killer. A detective unencumbered with gimmicky tics or baggage should be refreshing, but Baker is a downbeat cipher. I accept that in reality policemen such as Baker are ostensibly unremarkable professionals, but a better writer could've brought him more effectively to life.

Buoyed only by an engaged performance from Simm, Code Of A Killer could be dismissed as merely disappointing were it not for the troubling issue of its tragic real-life origins. Episode one confronted us with two harrowing scenes of parents being informed of their daughters' brutal fates. Reliving their trauma in such a half-hearted context felt awfully tasteless.

ITV landed on safer ground with A Slow Train Through Africa with Griff Rhys Jones, their latest addition to the cosy celebrity travelogue pandemic. With his familiar chinny grin and chuckling bonhomie, Griff marshalled this formulaic enterprise with the utmost professionalism. That technically counts as praise if you're easily pleased by gently informative, competently shot tapestries of avuncular 1980s comedians in foreign climes.

The only bum notes were his awkward handling of the, to say the least, sensitive legacy of French imperialist rule in Africa – admittedly this was hardly the forum for incisive political analysis – and his quasi-ironic complaints about being ripped off by local traders. Why, in Marrakesh alone he must've withdrawn a whopping £40 from the production budget. Our hearts bled, Griff.

Don't let nostalgia cloud your memory: the original Thunderbirds series was boring. Only a knee-jerk purist would object to ITV's CGI revival, Thunderbirds Are Go!, on principle. Taken on its own amiable terms, this handsomely animated update ramps up the best elements of the original without sacrificing their charm. It's fun and respectful without being hamstrung by the past, which is all we should really ask for.

Aside from Brains, Lady Penelope and Parker – the latter still voiced by octogenarian David Graham in h'all 'is posh cockernee glory - the International Rescue team are as blandly interchangeable as ever, but one doesn't look to Thunderbirds for rich characterisation. Though slightly too relentless at times, the gung-ho pace and innocent sense of adventure compensates for its 1-D protagonists.

It's unfortunate, then, that ITV in their wisdom have opted to show the rest of the series at 8am on Saturday mornings. The fools, they could've had a weekend teatime hit on their hands.

TV Review: TOMMY COOPER: NOT LIKE THAT, LIKE THIS

This article was originally published in The Courier on Saturday 26th August 2014.

http://www.thecourier.co.uk/lifestyle

Tommy Cooper: Not Like That, Like This: Monday, STV

Paul Whitelaw

In the unlikely event that I should ever appear on Mastermind, I suspect my specialist subject would be 'TV Biopics About Dead Comedians'. That's hardly the most impressive claim, but you work with what you have.

BBC Four has famously mined this seam for all it's worth in the last few years, more often than not with dubious results. For every incisive drama about the likes of Kenny Everett and Kenneth Williams – famous, funny Kens have been served well - they've produced half a dozen hackneyed biopics seemingly hell-bent on reducing the subject in question to the laziest set of tears-of-a-clown clichés. I've seen 'em all, and admired very few.

So I wasn't expecting much from Tommy Cooper: Not Like That, Like This. He may be one of our most beloved comics, but the grisly details of his personal life – alcoholism, infidelity, domestic violence – suggested that this would be just another tawdry wallow in showbiz misery. How wrong I was. What I hadn't banked on – and this was foolish in retrospect – was that this prestigious production was written by Simon Nye, a seasoned comedy writer whose respect for the Gods of his craft couldn't be more obvious.

Unlike most dramas of its kind, this one actually went out of its way to remind us that the tragic Pagliacci in question was a very funny person. The re-staging of classic comedy routines almost always fall painfully flat in biopics, but in the careful hands of Nye and David Threfall – who delivered an uncanny performance as Cooper, rubbery latex face and all – they really came alive. It was an affectionate tribute to the craft and toil of mirth-making itself; very few dramas in my experience have explored the idea of comedy as a serious business with such scrutiny and understanding.

Cooper came across as an artist who knew exactly what he was doing at all times. Like all performers, he could be anxious, self-involved and demanding. But you have to admire the amount of effort he devoted to looking like an inept, befuddled fool on stage. The irony, of course, is that in private he was a mess. 

All of the care and attention he lavished on his studiously ramshackle act was absent from his dealings with the women in his life. But Nye and Threfall, both of whom have clearly studied Cooper in some detail, understood that behind his maddening frailties, this was ultimately a lovable man. He was obsessed with comedy, but ill-suited to reality.

The way he treated his wife and mistress – both portrayed with dignity by, respectively, Amanda Redman and Helen McCrory – was unforgivable. Without going into graphic detail, Nye didn't shy away from the fact that Cooper could be physically abusive when drunk. But he never came across as a monster. Rather, he was a lost and rather hopeless alcoholic who craved adoration on his own unreasonable terms. 

I didn't think any less of Cooper after watching this sensitive, witty, nuanced drama. On the contrary, I came away from it with a renewed respect for his genius, and a sort of weary, hesitant sympathy for him as a tortured human being.

Everyone involved should be applauded for creating that rare beast: an angst-ridden biopic about a comedian that succeeded in celebrating his art while seeking to understand his personal demons. Without question, it was one of the best dramas of it's kind I've ever seen.