TV Review: THE MYSTERY OF VAN GOGH'S EAR + AN HOUR TO SAVE YOUR LIFE

This article was originally published in The Dundee Courier on 13 August 2016.

https://www.thecourier.co.uk/category/lifestyle/entertainment/tv-film/

The Mystery of Van Gogh’s Ear: Saturday, BBC Two

An Hour to Save Your Life: Tuesday, BBC Two

  

The story of Vincent Van Gogh severing part of his ear as a perversely romantic gesture is almost as famous as his immortal body of work. According to legend, the emotionally fragile artist turned up at the door of a Provence brothel in 1888, and handed a package containing a bloody slice of his own lobe to one of the working girls. 

It’s a sad, shocking story. But did it actually happen? As revealed in The Mystery of Van Gogh’s Ear, contemporary newspaper reports were suspiciously inconsistent when it came to details. Surely there must be accurate archive medical and police reports pertaining to the most notorious incident in the history of modern art?

Intrigued by this murky mystery, art lover Bernadette Murphy embarked on a seven-year mission to uncover the truth. A nice middle-aged lady with a snazzy line in neckerchiefs, the Provence-based adventures of this tenacious amateur sleuth are a Sunday night detective drama just waiting to happen: Vera meets Lovejoy.

Hosted by that other great tortured artist, Jeremy Paxman, in full-blown quizzical gravitas mode (honestly, you sometimes have to wonder if he’s even heard of Chris Morris), this engaging documentary managed to sustain its central conceit, even though the results of Murphy’s investigation recently hit the headlines. The journey was just as interesting as the final destination.

Murphy uncovered several hitherto unknown facts. “Rachel”, the object of Van Gogh’s affections, wasn’t a prostitute after all. She worked at the brothel as a cleaner. It’s possible that, as the victim of a rabid dog attack, she was one of the “wounded angels” with whom Van Gogh felt such empathy.

After poring through research by the author of the Van Gogh biopic starring Kirk Douglas, Murphy finally unearthed a conclusive medical diagram by the doctor who treated Van Gogh post-injury.

The great man didn’t just cut off his lobe, he severed his entire ear.

Understandably, Murphy was reduced to tears. Not only had she solved a mystery that’s eluded experts for over a century, she’d exposed the harrowing depths of a deeply troubled soul.

The programme also reinforced an inescapable point: uniquely among artists, our appreciation of Van Gogh’s work is intrinsically fused with our knowledge of his tragic personal life. He quite unwittingly forged the dubiously romanticised notion that genius and self-destruction are automatic bedfellows. While I understand the impulse to believe that – I include Brian Wilson and Peter Sellers among my heroes - it makes me feel uncomfortable.

Then again, would Van Gogh have created his masterpieces if he hadn’t been mentally ill? It’s a conundrum that even Jeremy Paxman can’t unravel.

The trauma continued in the latest series of An Hour to Save Your Life, in which cameras follow paramedics and doctors as they make critical decisions on behalf of accident victims.

Like most medical documentaries, it’s essentially a form of rubber-necking voyeurism. Yet despite its manipulative bombast – with its ticking clock graphics and split-screen technique, the production team are blatantly influenced by 24 - it does highlight the unflappable professionalism of people who hold lives in the balance on a daily basis.

All at once, it makes you value your wellbeing, worry about the freak fragility of existence, feel humbled in the presence of those who make a difference, and resent the fact that you’ve done nothing worthwhile with your life. 

Marginally less troubling than The One Show, it’s an existential minefield.

TV Review: INSIDE HARLEY STREET

A version of this article was originally published in The Dundee Courier on 18th April 2015.

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

Inside Harley Street: Monday, BBC Two

Paul Whitelaw

“Do you ever get bored of the prostate, Roger?”

Vanessa Engle has a knack for probing questions. An incisive student of life's rich pageant, she's renowned for superior observational documentaries on subjects such as feminism, socialism and orthodox Jews. Exclusive subcultures and beleaguered ideologies are grist to her mill.

It was only a matter of time before she arrived in the privileged world of Harley Street, that famed square mile in central London offering private healthcare. With its winning combination of wry humour, social critique and underlying compassion, Inside Harley Street put her cheerfully impudent interviewing style to good use.

Inevitably, her recurring focus was on money. Doctors wouldn't be drawn on how much they earned; “a lot” seemed to cover it. As for their upper-crust patients, one old dame claimed to have no idea of how much she forked out. Another said money was no sacrifice, as she'd never sacrifice anything for anyone. True blue Britain at its best.

A commercial enterprise designed to generate revenue, the Harley Street estate has been privately owned for over 300 years by one of Britain's wealthiest broods, the Howard De Walden family. The company stance on euthanasia is typical of its strict regulations. Even if it were to become legal in the UK, it would never be allowed in Harley Street. Not a good advert for the brand, claimed a De Walden executive. Too much of a downer.

Their preferred image is one of exclusive, personalised care. Engle caught patients being warmly greeted by their GP's with “Hello darling!” hugs and kisses, as they exchanged idle chit-chat about expensive foreign holidays.

One GP – typical in that he began his career in the NHS – spoke of patients calling him at 2AM to have their blood pressure taken. “They may be feeling anxious after returning from the casino,” he said, semi-seriously. He then became defensive when Engle asked if this is why he became a doctor. “Yes,” he frowned, “I became a doctor to help people.”

I don't doubt that. However, a colleague later admitted that the help they provide isn't inherently 'better' than what you'd get for free on the NHS.

Not that all Harley Street patients are wealthy. Of particular interest were the ordinary Arab patients whose treatment is part-funded by their government, and the poor Russian child whose surgery was made possible by a charity telethon back home.

Then there was Derek, an Alzheimer's patient partaking in a free medical trial subsidised by drug manufacturers. Derek might be given useless placebos, but his wife reckoned it was worth the risk. Her quiet desperation spoke volumes.

Essentially a political filmmaker, Engle's point about social inequality and the rank unfairness of life was slyly delivered. “If everyone had access to private medicine we'd have a healthier population,” said one doctor bluntly. Yes, and if only the NHS provided free gold lollipops. Oh when will this dream come true?

Engle is a heartfelt polemicist, and a blatantly left-leaning one at that. As such, she's an open-goal for those bizarrely paranoid, misguided souls who accuse the BBC of being a red-fingered hotbed of socialist dogma. The truth of the matter is, she's an anomaly, a throwback almost. 

Right-wingers should be delighted that "lefty" documentary auteurs such as Engle barely exist in TV any more. I'm delighted that she does.