TV Review: DOCTOR WHO + BRITAIN'S GREAT GAY BUILDINGS + POP, PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

DOCTOR WHO: Saturday, BBC One

BRITAIN’S GREAT GAY BUILDINGS: Saturday, Channel 4

POP, PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Saturday, More4

Blimey. 

That, analysis fans, was my considered critical response immediately after watching this year’s magnificent penultimate episode of DOCTOR WHO.

Outgoing showrunner Steven Moffat kept the best ‘til almost last for fellow retiree Peter Capaldi, as the Twelfth Doctor, Bill and Nardole – the best TARDIS team since the show returned in 2005 – struggled against the combined might of the Cybermen and two incarnations of arch nemesis The Master/Missy.

Set on a vast colony ship containing multiple worlds, most of the action took place within the classically creepy Doctor Who confines of a sepulchral hospital ward. Doom-laden nods to the future mingled with chilling echoes of the past, as Moffat reintroduced the original cloth-faced incarnation of the Cybermen, last seen in William Hartnell’s final adventure, The Tenth Planet, in 1966.

Despite their later, sleeker upgrades, these strikingly low-tech zombies always best encapsulated the disturbing body horror essence of the Cybermen, and Moffat pushed that angle as far as he could in a pre-watershed slot. No matter how old you are, those nightmarish scenes of partially converted, agony-wracked humans begging for death in a monotone voice will linger for a very long time.

The dynamic cliffhanger was even more shocking. As The Master (John Simm) dramatically joined forces with his gender-swapped successor Missy (Michelle Gomez), poor, tragic Bill emerged from the shadows as the first fully-converted Cyberman.

When I interviewed Moffat recently, he only half-jokingly claimed that adrenalized Doctor Who finales demand so much emotional upheaval and so many shocking twists, they have to be written standing up. He must’ve been hanging from the lampshades when he penned this.  

Hats off, too, to director Rachel Talalay for milking every last drop of gripping tension, unsettling atmosphere and cruel wit from Moffat’s claustrophobic yarn.

It’s to the credit of all concerned that even the heavily publicised return of John Simm somehow provided another thrilling twist. Call it mass delusion if you will, but I know I wasn’t alone in failing to recognise him under that heavy disguise until just before the end.

This entire series, one of the strongest in years, has been the exit Moffat and Capaldi both deserve. Incumbent showrunner Chris “Broadchurch” Chibnall and whoever he casts as the next Doctor have enormous shoes to fill.

In amongst all that riveting sturm and drang, the Doctor gave Bill a gently chiding lecture about fluid Time Lord attitudes towards sexuality.

“We’re the most civilised civilisation in the universe,” he exclaimed, “we’re billions of years beyond your petty human obsession with gender and its associated stereotypes.”

As well as being a crafty, fan-baiting hint that the next Doctor could be female, that little speech would’ve been unthinkable back in 1967 when homosexuality was legalised in Britain. We’re getting there, Doctor, albeit gradually.

The 50^th anniversary of this pivotal moment in history is being marked by a season of programmes on Channel 4.

Despite its whimsical title, BRITAIN’S GREAT GAY BUILDINGS was an essentially serious and occasionally revealing celebration of some key historical sites, including London’s Heaven nightclub, cult drag mecca the Vauxhall Tavern and codebreaking nerve centre Bletchley Park, where the shamefully vilified war hero Alan Turing helped to save millions of lives.

The important role musicians have played in bringing gay culture into the mainstream was given a brisk overview in POP, PRIDE AND PREJUDICE. This fascinating subject requires more depth than a well-meaning yet fairly superficial clip show can ever hope to provide.

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: THE MISSING and INTRUDERS

A version of this article was originally published in The Courier on 1st November 2014.

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

The Missing: Tuesday, BBC One

Intruders: Monday, BBC Two

Paul Whitelaw

There is something uniquely visceral about stories involving vanished loved ones. The thought of losing someone through unexplained circumstances is a terror we can all relate to. So much so, it doesn't bear thinking about.

Thank heavens, then, for fictional drama! Like an unflattering mirror, it reflects those fears from a safe, if queasy, distance. Two new shows explored this area last week, albeit in markedly different styles.

Promising eight-part thriller The Missing stars the excellent James Nesbitt on suitably fraught and haunted form as the father of an abducted child. Five year-old Oliver was snatched during a happy family holiday to France in 2006. While standing in a crowded pub showing World Cup coverage, Tony (Nesbitt) suddenly noticed that Oliver was missing. There one moment, gone the next.

This impressively handled sequence tracked Tony's rising panic as he frantically searched their holiday resort. Every parent's nightmare writ large.

From there we switched between 2006 and the present day, where Tony, burdened with guilt, has become a heavy-drinking loner obsessively trawling the town where Oliver was last seen. His refusal to let go had torn his marriage apart, forcing his ex into the arms of the (rather creepy) British police liaison officer responsible for Oliver's case.

This plot point struck a rather jarring note, as did the highly convenient twist of tracing Oliver's movements through a second-hand shop with meticulously thorough records of sale. What's more – and call me a heartless monster if you will – the cliff-hanger discovery of Oliver's drawing of jug-eared daddy on a basement wall was, I'm afraid, borderline comical.

There's nothing funny about the subject matter, of course, but the execution was slightly overcooked at times. With such a sensitive issue at its core, sibling writers Harry and Jack Williams – who up until now have a background in mediocre comedy - need to tread very carefully.

Fortunately, The Missing is carefully handled for the most part. Niggling missteps aside, it's an engrossing mystery with a powerful emotional kick. While it remains to be seen if they can sustain this story over eight hours, for now it contains enough dark hints and unanswered questions to maintain a hefty sense of intrigue.

Incidentally, aside from its self-evident basis in the Madeleine McCann case, The Missing may be partly inspired by a little-seen yet painfully affecting independent film from 2004 called Keane, featuring a tour de force performance from Damian Lewis. For connoisseurs of bleak art, it comes highly recommended.

Tentatively, I'll make a similar claim for Intruders. Not for the faint-hearted, it's a grisly conspiracy thriller rooted in horror and sci-fi in which John Simm – passable US accent and all – plays a former cop on the hunt for his missing wife.

That's the simplified synopsis. What Intruders is really about is anyone's guess at this stage, although the concept of reincarnation is obviously key to its mystery.

Written by X Files alumnus Glen Morgan and directed by Eduardo 'The Blair Witch Project' Sanchez, its chilly, disquieting atmosphere is occasionally punctured by blunt bursts of violence. I knew I was watching an unconventional drama when at one point it looked as though we were about to see a child being murdered in cold blood. NB: we weren't.

A hint of dark humour undermines Intruders' more portentous leanings, and the central conceit of a shadowy underground organisation visiting homes and murdering the inhabitants is fundamentally chilling. Let's just hope it doesn't descend into abject bloody nonsense, as these things often tend to.

TV Review: PREY

This article was originally published in The Courier on 3rd May 2014.

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

Prey: Monday, STV

Paul Whitelaw

John Simm has spent most of his acting career bruised, battered and thoroughly harrowed. Prey was no exception. Basically a brutal British remake of The Fugitive, this propulsive thriller finds Simm in the browbeaten role of Marcus Farrow, a Manchester copper wrongly accused of murdering his ex-wife and son.

Pursued by a female colleague whose own personal issues – she appears to be stalking an ex – may be distorting her judgement, he spent most of episode one in an understandable state of distress.

The jittery opening sequence was a pocket master-class in ensnaring our attention: waking up in the back of a crashed police van with a ballpoint pen sticking out of his chest (a nice, grisly detail), Farrow sprang into action and rescued the survivors from the oil-soaked vehicle. Straight away it was clear that, despite his prison fatigues, this was an inherently decent, resourceful man. But once he was free, he spied his chance and fled the scene. Unfortunately, he fled straight into the path of a passing vehicle. Did that stop him in his tracks? Not a chance. He just picked himself up and hobbled over the horizon. Cue credits.

It was – absolutely no pun intended – an arresting introduction, and typical of writer Chris Lunt's commitment to maintaining intensity at all cost. As the action flashed back to three days earlier, when Farrow was a free man, the pace never slackened.

Relentlessly overcast dramas can often be unwittingly funny - there's a thin line between intense seriousness and inadvertent comedy – but Prey was saved by intelligent writing, taut direction and understated performances from a stellar cast of reliable character actors. It wasn't even hampered by the fact that three of the principals, namely Rosie Cavaliero, Benedict Wong and Adrian Edmondson, are generally better known for comedy.

It did, however, confirm that Craig Parkinson is forever destined to play dodgy characters. As soon as he cropped up as Farrow's best friend, anyone familiar with TV drama must've narrowed their eyes in suspicion. Sure enough, it transpired that his character is somehow involved in the plot to destroy Farrow. Of course he is.

His presence also highlighted unavoidable similarities with Line of Duty, in which he also starred. It was entirely coincidental, but Lunt must've kicked himself when he watched that: you wait ages for one addictive conspiracy thriller involving an upturned prison van and an incarcerated police officer, and two come along at once.

Nevertheless, Prey worked effectively on its own terms. It may cover well-trodden territory – it's an Hitchcockian 'wrong man' thriller in modern apparel – but it's utterly committed to the cause.

The supporting cast are excellent, but this is Simm's show all the way. Three scenes in particular were testament to his acting prowess. The first, where he angrily confronted his ex-wife about her new partner, was painfully convincing. The second, in which he was informed of the death of his son, was almost unbearable. As the camera clung mercilessly to his grief-stricken face, his pitiful, muttered “oh” was more devastating than any amount of fireworks. And his untrammelled fury when he was first accused of murdering his family was a powerful example of an actor dredging raw emotion from the depths of their soul.

Suffice to say, it's not the sort of thing one normally expects from ITV at 9pm. Thank goodness for that.

TV PREVIEW: Doctor Who, The Voice UK, The Village, Life's Too Short

This article was originally published in The Scotsman on Saturday 30th March 2013.

http://www.scotsman.com/lifestyle/tv-and-radio/tv-preview-doctor-who-the-voice-uk-the-village-life-s-too-short-1-2866239

DOCTOR WHO

Today, BBC1, 6:15pm

THE VOICE UK

Today, BBC1, 7pm

THE VILLAGE

Sunday, BBC1, 9pm

LIFE'S TOO SHORT

Today, BBC2, 10pm

Paul Whitelaw

The problem with previewing new episodes of DOCTOR WHO is that, because it thrives on shock and surprise, you're left with little to say beyond a few gentle hints. To go into any more detail would be like telling a child what it's getting for Christmas. Which I might actually do one day as a social experiment, but that's another story.

So, what I can tell you is that as series seven resumes, the Doctor is brooding over the bizarre ongoing mystery of Clara Oswald, a young woman who, on the two occasions they've met, has died in different periods in history. How can this be? This being Steven Moffat's Doctor Who, the eventual answer will probably be convoluted and disappointing, but I'll gladly be proven wrong.

In any case, the Doctor is now obsessed with tracking down yet another version of Clara, only this time with a view to keeping her alive. And sure enough, as anyone with even a passing interest in Doctor Who already knows, he meets Clara Mark III in Moffat'sThe Bells of Saint John. It's one of those purely entertaining episodes best described as a romp, as the Doctor sets himself up as Clara's galactic guardian while struggling to save humankind from being enslaved by alien Wi-Fi.

This, of course, is a standard Moffat trick: take an everyday facet of existence and invest it with horror. He must spend his days wandering around thinking of ways to make door knobs and carpets scary. Here he takes our real-world concerns about internet identity theft, chucks in one of his other favourite tropes, the creepy child, adds a possible reference to The Exorcist and a fan-pleasing nod to a former companion, and voila! 45 minutes of fun, pacy Moffat Doctor Who.

Matt Smith is a note-perfect delight as usual, although the day he stops being a note-perfect delight as the Doctor is the day he regenerates into the unfortunate thesp who has to follow him. After Clara's introduction in last year's Asylum of the Daleks and the most recent Christmas special, Jenna Louise-Coleman continues to impress with her likeable, charming, understated performance (she's far less annoying than she was in her sass-talking début). She and Smith make for an endearing team.

Also, watch out for a surprise cameo from John Simm's Master and classic series baddies the Zygons.

Dear internet forums and fellow media outlets: please note that this last statement is an outright lie, humorously pertaining to the dilemma established in my opening paragraph. Thanks.

Also returning to BBC1's Saturday night line-up is THE VOICE UK, the torpid X Factor clone that drew flack last year for its repetitive, drawn-out format and excessive overuse of Jessie J doing that thing with her head. But the producers have apparently made some game-changing improvements to the format, despite retaining the same set of judges. So expect another billion weeks of Tom Jones looking like he'd rather be at home having a nap, and will.i.am standing on his chair whenever he feels he's not getting enough attention.

A big week for TV dramatists called Moffat continues with THE VILLAGE, in which Peter Moffat (Criminal Justice; Silk) abandons his usual peregrinations around the legal system for an epic trek across the entire 20^th century. Or at least, that's the plan. Moffat has declared that The Village, which is entirely set within a rural community in the North of England, will unfold over 42 episodes. So that's seven series in as many years.

This ambitious concept automatically confers upon The Village the sort of “event TV” buzz one doesn't normally associate with Sunday night period dramas. It's frustrating, then, that episode one feels like little more than a flat, silly parody.

Leaving no trope unturned, it begins in 1914 by introducing a sadistic farmer (John Simm – genuinely this time – glowering for all his worth) who brutally torments his cowering wife (Maxine Peake) and children, one of whom tops and tails each episode as a centenarian reflecting over his life. There's also a sadistic schoolteacher who is, of course, directly countermanded by a kindly schoolteacher. Meanwhile, up at the Downton-esque big house, the conversation at dinner is preoccupied with the suffragette movement and dark rumblings about war with Germany. It practically writes itself.

Although it's clear that Moffat is trying to do something interesting here, he struggles to settle on the right tone. The unrelenting misery actually becomes funny after a while, a problem hardly alleviated by the persistently mournful brass and harmonium soundtrack. It feels at times like a deranged Hovis advert. However, the more idiosyncratic elements of The Village begin to click into place in part two, with part one feeling in retrospect like a formally self-conscious introduction. So it may be worth sticking with. Over seven years, if need be.

Finally, Gervais & Merchant's dismal sitcom LIFE'S TOO SHORT returns unbidden for a one-off finale. Drab and mean-spirited, it sidelines its nominal star, Warwick Davis, in favour of the supposedly hilarious spectacle of ha-ha-has-beens Keith Chegwin, Shaun Williamson and Les Dennis making fools of themselves. It's truly desperate stuff.

TV PREVIEW: Everyday, The Hour

This article was originally published in The Scotsman on 10th November 2012.

http://www.scotsman.com/lifestyle/tv-and-radio

EVERYDAY

Thursday, Channel 4, 9pm

THE HOUR

Wednesday, BBC2, 9pm

Paul Whitelaw

Proving the old adage that a stopped clock will be right at least twice a day, Kevin Bishop – an otherwise perfunctory footnote in the collected works of television comedy – once produced a memorable sketch presumably titled 'Gritty BAFTA'. Specifically inspired by the then inescapable hype surrounding Channel 4's heavyweight adaptation of Red Riding, it took an amusingly blunt swipe at those ostentatiously prestigious TV dramas seemingly designed to reduce BAFTA voters to quivers of admiring jelly.

Striding around an artfully photographed rain and blood-lashed North, Bishop and his cohorts, playing intense TV character actors for whom the craft is paramount, starred in a spoof trailer muttering nothing but “Gritty BAFTA” in a variety of dramatic timbres. “Coming soon, to Channel 4,” whispered the ersatz announcer with maximum faux portent. Not the most sophisticated satirical attack, perhaps, but it made its point cheekily and succinctly enough.

I mention this, not to automatically discredit Michael Winterbottom's latest opus, EVERYDAY, nor, heaven forbid, to suggest some sneaking admiration for the work of Kevin Bishop. But I can't deny that, if ever a C4 drama had “Gritty BAFTA” stencilled through its core, it's this ponderous slice of dour social realism.

Now, I'm all for unflinching British dramas that hold up a mirror to the harsh realities of society. But I'd rather they achieved that while telling an engaging story stocked with three-dimensional characters. Everyday resolutely fails on the second count.

One of the most versatile British auteurs of recent times, writer/director Winterbottom has given us such idiosyncratic comedies as 24 Hour Party People and the powerful dramas Welcome to Sarajevo and A Mighty Heart. He's a maverick talent in the cross-wired vein of Ken Loach and Julien Temple. But his willingness to experiment is occasionally a weakness, as evinced by the dreadful 9 Songs – live footage of Franz Ferdinand spliced with unsimulated sex scenes, what could possibly go wrong? - and the meandering Everyday.

Filmed sporadically over five years, it strives to examine the impact of the British penal system on a prisoner and his wife, portrayed by John Simm and Shirley Henderson. The action, such as it is, is divided between home and prison, as Henderson struggles to raise their four kids – portrayed by actual siblings – while awaiting her husband's release.

Incarcerated for an unspecified crime, he lives for their staggered visits. Watching his kids grow up in fits and bursts, he hears about missed Christmasses and birthdays, offers banal enquiries - “How's school?”, “Have you been good?” - and, whenever they're out of earshot, expresses to his wife his sexual frustration. And that's about it.

Shot in grainy pseudo-documentary style, it certainly captures the loneliness, angst and monotony of such an existence. But Winterbottom's dogged unwillingness to impose any dramatic embellishments on his deliberately spare and repetitive saga results in a film almost entirely composed of the boring bits we wouldn't normally see. I appreciate what he's trying to do, but it's like staring at a stranger's home movies.

Henderson and Simm are fine actors, but they can't do much with such thinly-sketched characters. As for the conceit of filming over five years, the only vaguely noticeable result is that the seasons change and the children age. But so what? Was that really worth the time and effort?

Possibly aware that his experiment wasn't working, Winterbottom attempts to broaden the canvas with painterly landscapes (Henderson and co conveniently live near picturesque fields and woodlands) that contrast heavy-handedly with the claustrophobia of Simm's cell. And Michael Nyman provides a pastoral score that tries in vain to make the film feel more profound than it actually is.

Even the most forgiving (gritty) BAFTA voter would struggle to stay awake during this well-intentioned misfire.

Incidentally, I'm aware that my opening analogy implies that Kevin Bishop has been responsible for at least two funny sketches in his career, rather than the paltry one. But I think you'll find that technically a stopped clock is right only once a day, equivalent to the time that it originally expired. Believe me, I'm tremendous fun at pub quizzes.

The first series of Abi Morgan's '50s period thriller THE HOUR was flawed, implausible and naggingly anachronistic, but as a piece of winningly performed, suspenseful entertainment, it ticked along quite effectively. But with its threads tied up in the final episode, it felt like a self-contained piece unburdened by the need for a sequel. So where can it go from here?

It's 1957 and, against the increasing tumult of the Cold War, our crusading BBC news team face fresh competition from an ITV rival. Hector is now a complacent star, Bel is undermined by her superiors, and maverick journalist Freddie returns from his travels with an unconvincing bohemian beard (that's not a euphemism). Meanwhile, crime is on the rise in London, but the government are more concerned with pumping money into the nuclear arms race.

Dominic West, Romola Garai and Ben Whishaw are as solid as ever, and Peter Capaldi is a welcome addition as the taciturn new Head of News. But there's little in the first episode to suggest that another bout of The Hour is entirely necessary.