This article was originally published in The Dundee Courier on 8 October 2016.
Louis Theroux: Savile:
Sunday, BBC Two
Still Game: Friday, BBC One
Paul Whitelaw
When
Jimmy Savile was posthumously outed as one of Britain’s most prolific sex
offenders, Louis Theroux’s already infamous 2000 encounter with him instantly
developed extra layers of gruesome fascination. It appeared to reveal so much
in hindsight.
Theroux,
to his evident regret, didn’t succeed in exposing the man for the monster he
was. Savile hoodwinked Theroux with his obfuscating carapace of eccentricity,
just as he duped the nation for over 40 years.
In
Louis Theroux: Savile, the documentary-maker
sought to make amends by trying to find out how Savile got away with his crimes
for so long. He met people who knew him – insomuch as anyone ever knew someone
who only revealed his true nature to those he abused – to unearth a grim
portrait of a cunning sociopath who hid behind a self-servingly charitable
veneer.
One
elderly woman with a weird shrine to Savile in her shed – that Lego bust will
haunt my dreams - still couldn’t come to terms with the fact that a predatory
paedophile raised millions for her hospital. Savile’s long-term PA was in deep
denial, despite the fact that he treated her appallingly. An uneasy pall of
regret, anger and horror hung over the programme.
Although
it was partly preoccupied by Theroux’s guilt over his part in the scandal, his
anguish didn’t overshadow that of Savile’s actual victims. Instead he used his
experience with Savile as a symbol for how we all failed to recognise the truth, a theme
which gradually coalesced with the most important figures in this story.
He
spoke to women who’d been abused by Savile, all of whom recounted bravely frank
tales of a brazen predator with a repugnant knack for targeting vulnerable
children. That was the real Savile. Hearing the harrowing details of their
ordeals was essential, as we need to understand the full extent of his crimes.
Theroux
also asked what they thought about his original documentary. Without fail, they
chastised him for being so naïve.
In
a way, this was a self-flagellating apology from Theroux on behalf of the BBC.
A noble endeavour, but he needn’t shoulder the burden of guilt here. He was
just another one of millions manipulated by the bizarre force of Savile’s
personality.
Theroux’s
extraordinary, searching film proved that, if Savile had a talent, it was hiding
in plain sight.
Time now for a grinding segue into lighter pastures, and how better to oil those wheels than with Still Game? After a nine-year
sabbatical, Glasgow’s favourite pensioners Jack and Victor returned last week.
It was as if they’d never been away.
Bringing
back a beloved sitcom is a dicey manoeuvre, as it automatically invites “not as
good as it used to be” concerns.
Thankfully, writers/stars Ford Kiernan and Greg Hemphill haven’t lost their
touch when it comes to daft farce and colourfully bickering dialogue.
The
opening scene, which simply involved Jack and Victor chatting over breakfast,
instantly confirmed that they still know these characters inside out. Despite
being packed with vinegary one-liners – the poetry of Scottish swearing has rarely
been captured so adeptly - the dialogue feels natural, their warm rapport the
result of years working together.
Spending time in their world is a tonic, it’s
such a likeable show.
The
episode revolved around Jack, Victor and Isa’s endearingly foolish obsession
with “innovative” catalogue gadgets. Perhaps inevitably, this resulted in Jack
getting stuck in his bath.
As
Jack fumed and Victor proved more hindrance than help, Kiernan and Hemphill’s
love of Laurel and Hardy was delightfully plain to see.
