THE WALK‐IN | THIS ENGLAND | BLANKETY BLANK

This article was originally published in The Courier on 1st October 2022.

NEXT WEEK’S TV

The Walk‐In ‐ Monday, STV, 9pm

This intensely powerful factual drama confronts the horrifying resurgence of fascism in western society. 

Labour MP Jo Cox was murdered by a racist in 2016. One of the journalists who investigated that appalling tragedy was a former Neo‐Nazi turned anti-fascist campaigner. A brave man, he’s played by the great Stephen Graham. 

The Walk‐In is written by Jeff Pope, a television heavyweight rightly renowned for his outstanding catalogue of assiduously researched dramas steeped in sensitive subject matter. 

This, I assure you, is a searing piece of work. Fuelled by compassion, it seeks to understand the deep‐seated causes of bigotry and radicalisation. TV dramas such as this can make a difference. They matter.

24 Hours in A&E ‐ Monday, Channel 4, 9pm

The 29^th series of this hardy perennial returns to St George’s Hospital in south-west London, which is home to one of Britain’s busiest A&E departments. 

The first patient we encounter is Graham, who’s been involved in a high-speed motorcycle accident. Graham’s doctors fear that he may have suffered significant damage to his back and neck, so he’s sent off for an urgent CT scan. His worried wife, Kate, talks movingly of their relationship and the various unforeseen problems they’ve faced. 

And that’s the very essence of 24 Hours in A&E: unlike so many programme of its ilk, it never fails to remind us that these people are three-dimensional human beings with stories to tell.

Paxman: Putting Up with Parkinson’s ‐ Tuesday, STV, 9pm

Jeremy Paxman is a notoriously short‐tempered man. He doesn’t suffer anything gladly. Eighteen months ago he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s. And this is his response. 

He’s on typically frank form during a programme in which he converses with leading neurological researchers and some other people who have Parkinson’s, while challenging myths about his condition. 

He also attends an English National Ballet therapy dance class and learns how to play bowls. 

Paxman often comes across as a rather blunt and dislikeable person, but that’s his act I suppose. It’s all showbiz. In this context, however, speaking honestly as himself, his no-nonsense approach is tempered with some sensitive insight. 

It should, one hopes, provide a bit of comfort. 

This England ‐ Tuesday and Wednesday, Sky Atlantic, 9pm

An excoriating six‐part drama from that estimable writer/director Michael Winterbottom, This England traces the absolute chaos of Boris Johnson’s first year in office as Prime Minister. 

Preoccupied with getting Brexit done, whatever that actually means, Johnson’s government were utterly unprepared for COVID. That’s understandable, but This England gets its point across in no uncertain terms: for all his Churchillian bluster, Johnson was fatally ill‐equipped to take charge of a national crisis. 

Kenneth Branagh as Johnson pulls off a difficult feat: playing a man who deliberately presents himself as a caricature. He comes across as an irresponsible fool floundering with the consequences of a pyrrhic victory, while sinister Dominic Cummings pulls the strings.

Doc Martin ‐ Wednesday, STV, 9pm

As the final series of this comfort blanket continues, Louisa is understandably perturbed when her estranged father (that fine actor Kenneth Cranham) turns up out of the blue. 

Meanwhile, Doc Martin is still struggling with his blood phobia, so he seeks some counsel with Ruth (that other fine actor, Dame Eileen Atkins). 

The third storyline ‐ there are always three, that’s how these shows operate ‐ involves a squatter who refuses to be budged from a vintage caravan. 

I have no truck with kneejerk cynics who sneer at the likes of Doc Martin. There’s nothing wrong with basking in good‐natured entertainment. You mustn’t always avoid the middle of the road, as Bob Dylan probably once sang.

Taskmaster ‐ Thursday, Channel 4, 11:05pm

Self-effacing sidekick ‘Little’ Alex Horne ‐ the brains behind the entire Taskmaster enterprise, but don’t tell faux-domineering host Greg Davies that ‐ is in his element this week. 

He oversees several tasks involving admin, ducks and flour. As always, his pedantic efficiency while dealing with such nonsense provides much of the humour. I appreciate that I’ve just described the appeal of Taskmaster in the driest possible terms, but Horne would presumably see the funny side of that. 

The whole point of the show is that none of it matters, but it wouldn’t work at all were it not treated with at least some degree of dedicated seriousness. And from thence the comedy arises. You’re welcome.

Jon Richardson: Take My Mother‐in‐Law ‐ Thursday, Channel 4, 12:15am

You’ve got to hand it to the professionally grumpy comedian Jon Richardson, the man has an unerring knack for coming up with vehicles for himself. His pitch meetings presumably involve him reading from a list of things he pretends to find vaguely annoying. 

His latest one, as you’ve presumably surmised, involves his mother‐in‐law. She’s about to retire, so Richardson has to pretend he’s intent on finding her a home in Spain ‐ otherwise she might move in with him and his wife! 

Yes, the premise is knowingly contrived, it’s a post‐modern take on mother‐in‐law gags. But it’s really just an excuse for yet another harmless/pointless TV road trip.

LAST WEEK’S TV

Blankety Blank ‐ Saturday 24th September, BBC One

We all know that Blankety Blank is nothing without Wogan or Dawson, both of whom elevated a daft quiz to knowingly dry‐witted heights, but Bradley Walsh does a decent job of keeping the flame alive. 

He’s an affable character who fundamentally ‘gets it’. A silly format, so let’s poke some fun at it. 

No, he can’t match Wogan’s subtly whimsical approach, nor Dawson’s hilarious decision to treat the whole thing as if it’s something he’s doing under major duress, but Walsh is a likeable pro. He knows how to keep things moving with a quip or two. 

That’s a talent, and I can’t deny the simple pleasures of watching a seasoned comic carrying out their duties proficiently.

Martin Compston’s Scottish Fling ‐ Friday 30th September, BBC Two

The latest leg of Compston’s amiable tour of our great nation took him, and co‐host Phil McHugh, to the Highlands. 

It’s an area of Scotland I have a particular affinity with, as I spent much of my childhood in Invergordon. So it was rather lovely seeing the ‘gordon (as no one calls it) represented on your actual primetime BBC television. 

Last week’s episode involved go‐karting, delectable vegan cuisine and an inspirational strongman story suffused with a positive mental health message. 

If you fancy a bit of respite, something to unwind with, then I thoroughly recommend catching up with this show on iPlayer. It’s a gentle pleasure, a spirit‐lifter.

TV Review: THE CRIMSON FIELD and THE TRIP TO ITALY

The Crimson Field: Sunday, BBC One

The Trip to Italy: Friday, BBC Two

Paul Whitelaw

If the Sunday evening gulf left by Call the Midwife is proving difficult, then The Crimson Field should help to ease the pain. Similarly mired in suffering, it's a death-infested medical drama set in an army field hospital during World War One. While I wouldn't go so far as calling these shows subversive, it's somewhat pleasing that BBC One's traditionally cosy period drama slot is now the reserve of determinedly miserable bedpan horror stories.

Our plucky heroines are a trio of mismatched voluntary nurses. They're a carefully selected study in contrasts: one plays by the rules, the other is a brusquely perceptive rebel, and the third is a golly gosh posh girl who's frightfully eager to please.

As played by Oona Chaplin, the taciturn maverick is the only truly interesting character. Immediately at odds with the stereotypically stern matron, she's a novel protagonist – certainly for dramas of this nature – in that's she's not immediately sympathetic. 

“I didn't come here to make friends,” she snapped, like a prototypical reality TV star. Indeed, she didn't bond with anyone other than the possibly psychotic dying soldier who physically attacked her and demanded that she save his life. When she refused to beg for mercy, he crumbled in confusion. How convenient. There was an intriguing suggestion that she doesn't really care if she lives or dies, which given her circumstances is probably an ideal state of mind.

As with most Great War dramas, The Crimson Field makes a blunt point about the mercenary madness of governing officers. We were treated to a visit from a straight-faced General Melchett type who was practically frothing at the mouth at the prospect of getting wounded men back in the firing line.

“If they can walk and shoot then back up they go,” he barked, his medals for cruelty glistening by gaslight. Not content with sending a clearly traumatised young man to war, he then accused the patients of faking venereal disease. Thank heavens, then, for the kindly hospital chief played by Kevin Doyle, otherwise known as that nice Mr Molesley from Downton Abbey. He's like a beacon of decency in a quagmire of carnage.

The late arrival of Suranne Jones as a strikingly modern Sister – she has a bob and rides a motorbike – suggested an impending storm of friction, and there's obviously something afoot with the quietly bitter Sister whose position she's usurped.

Written by former EastEnders scribe Sarah Phelps, it's a slick and assured drama. While it was hardly free of cliché, episode one was more or less a textbook example of how to establish an ongoing drama. And hats off to Phelps for including a plot strand about graphically depicted dismembered toes and the incineration of amputated limbs. It was admirable in that it would be insulting to shy away from the visceral realities of World War One. I'm sure we've got a lot more discomfort to come.

One of the most purely pleasurable shows I've seen in quite some time, The Trip to Italy reunites Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon as barely fictionalised versions of themselves on a culinary road trip through gorgeous scenery. Mostly free from the animosity that characterised series one, their enjoyment of each other's company is contagious. Spending half an hour with them each week is a grin-inducing treat.

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.