Showing posts with label EastEnders. Show all posts
Showing posts with label EastEnders. Show all posts

Saturday, 18 July 2020

RODNEY P'S JAZZ FUNK + ONCE UPON A TIME IN IRAQ


This article was originally published in the Courier on 18th July 2020.

NEXT WEEK’S TV

RODNEY P’S JAZZ FUNK
Friday, BBC Two, 9pm


This lovingly-curated documentary captures the energy and excitement of Britain’s first home-grown black music culture. Hip hop legend Rodney P reveals how jazz funk began as a thriving underground club scene, before going on to shape the sound of early ‘80s British pop. It was created by the first generation of suburban and inner city black kids born in Britain, and although it was influenced by the heavy fusion innovations of American musicians such as Herbie Hancock, it allowed them to create their own distinct identity. That pioneering scene was also an early example of multiculturalism and gender equality, during an era when overt racism, sexism and homophobia were rife. A valuable, funky social document.

THE REAL EASTENDERS
Tuesday, Channel 4, 10pm


The Isle of Dogs was once the healthy heartland of London’s docklands community. A place where you’d find ‘proper’ working-class cockneys. Today it stands in the oppressive glistening shadow of Canary Wharf. The only boats you’ll find nearby are on the other, more affluent side of the river. Hak Baker, a local resident and musician, presents this insightful, tender ode to his neighbours. It’s not a sentimentalised account, razor-edged shards of sadness often poke through, but it never wrings its hands in a patronising way. The stars of the show are the kids Baker meets. They’re funny, smart, innocent, brilliant. Boris Johnson will never watch or understand this beautiful programme.

EASTENDERS: SECRETS FROM THE SQUARE
Available now on BBC iPlayer


While EastEnders prepares to resume production, super-fan Stacey Dooley visits the set to meet some of Albert Square’s more notable residents. The banter flows thick and fast when she sits down for a socially distanced chinwag with Danny Dyer and Kellie Bright, who play Mick and Linda Carter. Dyer and Bright come across well, they have natural chemistry. Dyer claims that he occasionally adds authentic cockney slang to his dialogue, while admitting that his career was in the doldrums when he got the part. Carter first appeared on the show in 1986, as an extra at Michelle and Lofty’s wedding, and reveals that she channels elements of Carmella Soprano into her performance. A harmless piece of cheap emergency filler.

MIRIAM MARGOLYES: ALMOST AUSTRALIAN
Friday, BBC Two, 9pm


Six years ago, Miriam Margolyes became an Australian citizen. “It was a day of supreme happiness,” she beams at the start of this typically honest and thoughtful travelogue. The self-described “78-year-old Jewish lesbian”, whose partner is Australian, embarks upon a 10 thousand kilometre voyage to find out whether the so-called Australian Dream still exists in 2020. Did it ever exist? Margolyes' findings are pretty bleak. She meets the first Aboriginal woman to be elected to the Victorian parliament, which only happened in 2017, and is shocked to discover that women over 55 now make up the fastest growing homeless population in Australia. She also uncovers the devastating effects of drought on farming communities, and encounters a young Afghan man who has been denied permanent residency.

LAST WEEK’S TV

IMAGINE… THIS HOUSE IS FULL OF MUSIC
Sunday 12th July, BBC One

Filmed during lockdown, this documentary visited the Kanneh-Mason family from Nottingham. Mum and dad looked on proudly as their seven children, all of them virtuoso classical musicians, performed various pieces. It existed for pure pleasure alone, a calming symphony of respite.

ONCE UPON A TIME IN IRAQ
Monday 13th July, BBC One


This riveting series is essayed through the eyes of the civilians, journalists and soldiers who lived through the 2003 invasion of Iraq and the years of chaos which followed. It’s an expertly woven, detailed patchwork of brutally frank talking head interviews; an essential document, scathing and humane. Notwithstanding the extravagantly whiskered Iraqi man who still regards Saddam as a martyr, the most troubling figure in episode one was a tequila-swigging American marine who was trained to view his mission as a glorified Rambo adventure. He looked broken, haunted. Meanwhile, a sharp-witted young man, who initially viewed the invading forces as emissaries of freedom, vividly encapsulated the utter insanity of the situation. When Saddam’s statue was toppled, he, like so many Iraqis, assumed the nightmare was finally over. As one war correspondent put it, with a rueful gallows smile, “What we didn’t realise was that the invasion wasn’t the war. The war was to come.”


Monday, 22 May 2017

TV Review: THREE GIRLS + A TIME TO LIVE + KAT AND ALFIE: REDWATER


This article was originally published in The Courier on 20 May 2017.


THREE GIRLS: Tuesday to Thursday, BBC One

A TIME TO LIVE: Wednesday, BBC Two

KAT AND ALFIE: REDWATER: Thursday, BBC One
  

Unflinching, furious, despairing, THREE GIRLS told the horrifying true story of the Rochdale child sex abuse ring. 

Over several years, a group of men, most of them British Pakistanis, groomed and raped vulnerable working-class schoolgirls. The local police failed to thoroughly investigate their crimes, allegedly due to fears of appearing racist.

This outstanding drama, shown over three consecutive nights, was a damning indictment of a systematic failure to protect abused children.

Based on extensive research, interviews and public accounts, it focused on three of the victims – their names changed for obvious reasons – as well as the whistleblowing NHS sexual health worker (Maxine Peake) and the sympathetic senior police officer (Lesley Sharp) who treated them with the respect they deserved.

Their ordeal didn’t end with the abuse; the trauma continued when they struggled to defend themselves in court.

Their abusers exploited the fact that working-class kids with chaotic lives tend to be ignored and mistrusted by the authorities. As Peake’s character angrily observed, these girls were repeatedly “raped, beaten, not believed.”

She embodied the sense of righteous compassion which coursed through writer Nicole Taylor’s sensitive screenplay. Her sterling work was bolstered by a superb cast, including three extraordinary young actresses who never appeared to be acting at all. The raw power of Three Girls was largely drawn from their entirely natural performances.


Peake and Sharp were typically great – their belief in this material was palpable – but special mention must go to Paul Kaye as the father of one of the victims. His quietly devastating performance proved just how far he’s come since his Dennis Pennis days.

Inevitably, this scandal played into the hands of Britain’s thriving bigot community. Taylor tackled that unfortunate side-effect while reminding us that the crown prosecutor who brought the case to trial was a British Pakistani.

The BBC should be applauded for devoting three hours of primetime to such uncomfortable territory. 

It’s a drama to be spoken of in the same vital breath as Cathy Come Home.

How would you cope if you were given a terminal diagnosis? Would you rail against the cruel injustice of it all, or would you choose to make the most of the limited time you had left?

These difficult questions formed the basis of A TIME TO LIVE, the latest film from one of TV’s finest documentarians, Sue Bourne.


 If you’re familiar with Bourne’s work - and you should be – then you’ll appreciate her talent for gently coaxing candid, eloquent testimonies from particularly vulnerable people. No one is ever exploited in a Bourne documentary, she earns their trust without manipulation.

This tender essay was characteristically honest and moving.

Being of sound, if jaded, mind, I assumed that EastEnders spin-off KAT AND ALFIE: REDWATER would be even less appetising than the dreary soap it sprang from.


Well, imagine my vaguely pleasant surprise when it turned out to be a stylish, intriguing drama wreathed in shades of Nordic Noir (the Danish director numbers Borgen among his credits).

We’re definitely not in Albert Square any more.

Written by Matthew Graham of Life on Mars repute (we won't mention Bonekickers), it follows the Moons as they relocate to a conspicuously lyrical Irish coastal village in pursuit of Kat’s long-lost son. A somewhat unsettling, edgy aura dominates; Ballykissangel with a hint of Royston Vasey.

It’s unexpectedly entertaining, and works because familiarity with EastEnders isn’t necessary. Despite the Moon connection, it exists in a different universe.

Jessie Wallace and Shane Richie are such likeable performers, they were always too good for EastEnders. This is the vehicle they deserve.

Saturday, 13 May 2017

TV Review: BABS + DOCTOR WHO + BUDDY HOLLY: RAVE ON

BABS: Sunday, BBC One

DOCTOR WHO: Saturday, BBC One

BUDDY HOLLY: RAVE ON: Friday, BBC Four
  
Why are we supposed to love Barbara Windsor again? She was always a popular member of the Carry On troupe, but at some point during the last 30 years we were suddenly expected to agree that she’s a redoubtable national treasure. Based on what exactly? 

An endearing comic performer in her youth, Windsor’s limitations as a dramatic actress were mercilessly exposed in EastEnders. Even in a soap renowned for its conspicuous lack of Thespian heavyweights, her stiff, shrill performance stood out as particularly poor.

She’s the living definition of a particular kind of British celebrity famed more for being “a survivor” than their actual body of work.

A BBC drama based on her life was inevitable. The only surprising thing about Tony Jordan’s BABS, a corn-stuffed hagiography which fully subscribed to her self-styled myth, was that it’s taken this long to be made.

Jordan is a former head writer on EastEnders and a close friend of Windsor’s. He’s therefore spectacularly ill-suited to the task of writing an honest, unbiased version of her story. Windsor’s involvement in the project – she even made a cameo appearance – confirmed that this was nothing more than a glossy PR exercise.

So here it was, the authorised, boring saga of the little cockney sparra who loved and lost, but made it through the rain. A full house for biopic bingo fans, it was more sentimental than a pie-eyed pearly queen.

Windsor has suffered heartbreak and setbacks. We all have. Her story probably pales in comparison to anything you could offer from your own family history. Fame doesn’t make you automatically fascinating.

Samantha Spiro, an old hand at playing Dame Babs on stage and screen, did her best with the awkwardly theatrical device of flashing back through Windsor’s life via conversations with ghosts from her past, her absent father in particular. Jaime Winstone, as the younger Windsor, didn’t disgrace herself either.

Zoe Wannamaker was far more interesting in her subtly eye-catching supporting role as unorthodox theatre director Joan Littlewood. She made me wish I was watching a biopic about her instead.

The renewed fortunes of DOCTOR WHO continued with yet another fine episode, this one written by award-winning playwright Mike Bartlett of Dr Foster renown and guest-starring David Suchet as a sinister, yet ultimately tragic, landlord.

An effectively creepy “haunted house” yarn involving alien woodlice, an ingeniously realised wood-hewn zombie and – most impressively of all – a supporting cast of generic Young Adults whose deaths I didn’t long for, it confirmed the wisdom of outgoing show-runner Steven Moffat’s return to a more traditional form of storytelling.

Just four weeks in, and already it’s the best, most consistently entertaining series since Matt Smith’s debut.

It doesn’t matter that everyone has probably twigged who’s inside the Doctor’s vault, as the more or less inevitable reveal is clearly less important than the impact it’ll have on the Twelfth Doctor’s imminent demise.

As much as I’ll miss the wonderful Capaldi – and his likeable new companion, Bill, if she is indeed leaving as reported – I can’t wait to see what’s in store over the next eight weeks. Doctor Who has rekindled its mojo.

Do yourself a favour and watch BUDDY HOLLY: RAVE ON via iPlayer. It’s a particularly charming BBC Four music documentary featuring enthusiastic analysis of this short-lived innovator’s unique approach to rock and roll. It’s why you pay your licence fee.

Face facts, Ed Sheeran, no one will curate a tribute like this about you in 50 years time.

Thursday, 30 May 2013

The Best and Worst of Christmas TV

This article was originally published in The Scotsman on 24th December 2012.

http://www.scotsman.com/lifestyle/tv-and-radio/yule-either-love-or-hate-it-christmas-tv-guide-1-2705383

It's Christmas time, and there's no need to be afraid. Not my words, but the words of Messrs Geldof and “Ure”, who evidently didn't have the Celebrity Juice Christmas special in mind when they spoke so rashly back in 1984. No, they were thinking about famine in Africa. And Celebrity Juice wouldn't be invented – or rather, torn from the bowels of Hell - for another 24 years. But the point still stands.

I love Christmas. I also love TV. You don't have to be Einstein or Daphne from Eggheads to arrive at the implied conclusion of that statement. But Christmas TV is often about as much fun as an armed tax audit. Then again, it can often be wonderful. Would you like me to scratch my brains to present a few examples of both? Oh, all right then. Seeing as it's Christmas.

BLACKADDER'S CHRISTMAS CAROL

The key things to remember when making Christmas specials are A) Please don't make one if your show is appalling at the best of times, B) For our Lord Baby Jesus' sake, don't forget to set it at Christmas, and C) When in doubt, give Dickens a shout.

Chaz's immortal A Christmas Carol has weathered so many adaptations and wacky permutations, you'd think it'd be as knackered as Marley's ghost by now. But unless it's placed into the hands of a maniac, I honestly think you can't go wrong with a lively variation on the story of Scrooge. Just ask Bill Murray, Doctor Who and The Muppets. And spare a kindly thought for Richard Curtis and Ben Elton, who in 1988 hit upon the inspired idea of subverting A Christmas Carol and their notoriously foul-hearted Blackadder character.

The conceit is simple yet delightful: unlike every other member of his lineage, Victorian moustache proprietor Ebenezer Blackadder is the kindliest man in the world. So naturally, everyone he meets takes advantage of him. In an attempt to enliven Ebenezer's lonely existence, Robbie Coltrane's Spirit of Christmas tries to remind him of how wonderful he is by showing him the wretchedness of his relatives throughout history. Inevitably, however, Ebenezer gradually comes to admire their wit and cunning, and ultimately reverts to egregious type.

Then at the height of their powers, Curtis and Elton were astute enough to realise that the best comedy Christmas specials give the viewers something a little bit different and, well, special.

It's all too easy to assume that everyone at home will be too sozzled and indulgent to notice or care about a drop in quality. Just setting the action at Christmas and chucking in a few tired cracker gags won't do. And that's why Blackadder's Christmas Carol is easily as funny as any of the more celebrated episodes – it was made by people who, in those days at least, always put quality first. It feels like a real Christmas treat, while losing none of the sharp wit that made the regular series the classic that it is.

You can enjoy it for the first or umpteenth time on Christmas Day on BBC2 at 8pm.

MRS BROWN'S BOYS

In a way, this defiantly old-fashioned adult panto is TV's brightest emblem of the true spirit of Christmas, seeing as the only reasoned response to watching it is a solemnly uttered “Jesus Christ.”

The argument in favour is that it appeals to an audience who've been ignored for too long, namely those overlooked millions who shriek with mirth at the very idea of a man in drag saying rude words and brandishing a vibrator. I can't argue with its popularity, but I can argue that it's a crass, depressing, lazy shriek of badly written garbage.

The only thing that could do more damage to our beloved comedy tradition of cross-dressing is if George Osborne personally demolished a trail of orphanages while dressed as Carmen Miranda.

Anyway, the BBC, in an extraordinary act of cruelty, have foisted not one but TWO Mrs Brown Christmas specials on us this year (Christmas Eve and Boxing Day, BBC1). And wouldn't you know it, they're atrocious.

I'll give Mrs Brown's limelight-hogging alter ego Brendan O'Carroll one grudging point for at least trying to make them as Christmassy as possible. So, Mrs B writes a nativity play in which she stars as the Virgin Mary. There's a bit of slapstick business with a Christmas tree, which is practically de rigueur. It's not at all funny, of course, but it's there.

Otherwise it's dismal business as usual, with every piss-weak gag painfully signposted from miles away, before the whole thing degenerates into a horribly cynical puddle of forced, fake, unearned pathos. The Christmas Eve episode actually ends with Mrs B eulogising her dead dad to the sentimental strains of a music box. And this following 25 minutes of crude slapstick and fecks-a-plenty during which she's portrayed as a thoroughly unsympathetic ratbag. It doesn't make a lick of sense, this show: they'd be better off calling it Mrs Brown's Schizoid Circus of Doom.

Fundamentally, I'd like to see Brendan O'Carroll introduce the Christmas institution of announcing your retirement from comedy.

OUTNUMBERED

The family sitcom is, of course, perfectly suited to a Yuletide makeover. Shows such as C4's Friday Night Dinner, which is set almost entirely within the confines of a single family home, practically demand that at least one episode be set at Christmas.

The inaugural special from Friday Night Dinner (Christmas Eve, 10:30pm) is pretty successful, in that it's consistently amusing – it too involves a bit of comic business with a Christmas tree – and revolves around an awkward extended family gathering where everything goes pudding-shaped. This is practically a staple of Christmas-themed sitcom episodes, used in everything from The Royle Family (back on Christmas Day) to Peep Show and Outnumbered.

Sadly, our sole visit to the Brockman household this year (Christmas Eve, 9:35pm) suggests that the inevitable has finally happened: the young actors who play Ben and Karen are now too mature and self-aware for the comedy to work. Ben is alarmingly deep-voiced and large, and Karen – one of Outnumbered's most vital components – has hardly any screen time at all. 

When she does appear, she comes across as petulant and aloof, rather than the deadpan sprite of yore. If you remove the maddening charm of Ben and Karen from the equation, then Outnumbered doesn't have much of a reason to exist. I suspect the fifth series next year will be the last.

Speaking of disappointing Christmases...

EASTENDERS

That Walford is at its most miserable at Christmas has become such a cliché, the most subversive thing they could do now is present a festive episode where everyone has a thoroughly lovely time and nothing bad or dramatic happens at all. Why, they could even fill it with loads of those hilarious comedy set-pieces the show is renowned for.

Every year the writers try to outdo the gloom and catastrophe of years gone by. The ultimate EastEnders Christmas would probably involve the residents of Walford being wiped out in a nuclear attack, except for lone survivor Phil Mitchell, who'd spend the entire episode wandering around the square in a charred paper hat screaming “WHY?!” while swigging from a bottle of contaminated vodka. Closing shot: Phil gently sob-singing God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen to himself while rocking back and forward on his haunches in the remains of the Queen Vic. The closing credits play out over eerie, howling silence. BBC announcer: “And now on BBC One, time for some Christmas cheer with Miranda!”

Is that what you want? Because that's what you'll get one day.