INSIDE MAN | MAKE ME PRIME MINISTER | TASKMASTER

This article was originally published in The Courier on 24th September 2022.

NEXT WEEK’S TV

Inside Man – Monday, BBC One, 9pm and Tuesday, BBC One, 9pm

Written by Steven Moffat of Doctor Who renown, this arresting new thriller is typically dark and audacious. Your charismatic co-stars are Stanley Tucci and David Tennant.

Tucci plays an erudite American death row inmate whose criminology background is frequently called upon by guilty establishment figures and curious journalists. Imagine Hannibal Lecter without the cannibalism. 

Meanwhile, way over yonder in a picture postcard English village, Tennant turns on the charm as an apparently groovy vicar. 

Moffat – an often dazzlingly bright and witty writer who revels in constructing puzzles – has a whole lot of fun subverting tropes he and we are fully aware of. 

The set-up is irresistible, it’s queasy, odd and unpredictable. Hopefully it all pays off.

Bad Chefs – Monday, ITV2, 9pm

Preview copies weren’t available for this new series, but it sounds like a passable way to while away some time. Apologies in advance if that’s not the case. 

It’s a reality show in which – so it says here – some ‘takeaway addicts’ are forced to ditch their apps and do some cooking from scratch. 

Now, I know what you’re (probably) thinking. That sounds potentially patronising. This is an ITV2 show after all. But let’s give it the benefit of the doubt. 

Maybe it will somehow turn out to be an uplifting show in which people, during this horrific cost of living crisis, discover how to cook decent, healthy meals on a reduced budget. Onwards and upwards, eh?

 Celebrity I Literally Just Told You – Monday, Channel 4, 10pm

A throwaway nugget of mildly diverting escapism, this Jimmy Carr-fronted gameshow revolves around a simple yet effective premise: the answers to every question are seeded by Carr’s links and whatever occurs during the various rounds (an industrious panel of backroom researchers type up questions as the show unfolds). 

Which means, in that time-honoured TV quiz tradition, you can play along at home. Just pay close attention to everything that’s said. 

The latest series kicks off with a charity fundraising sport-themed episode starring footballers John Barnes and Sue Smith, broadcaster and gymnast Gabby Logan, and football manager Harry Redknapp. 

Carr is in his element here, it’s the slick, vaguely Monkhouse-esque vehicle he’s always coveted.

Make Me Prime Minister – Tuesday, Channel 4, 9:15pm

Good grief. This Apprentice-style reality series is so woefully misjudged, it may trigger an actual revolution. 

The premise: twelve contestants, under the watchful gaze of celebrity politicos Alastair Campbell and Sayeeda Warsi, attempt to prove how much better they’d be than the Prime Ministers we’ve endured during the last 40–odd years. 

Two of those PMs – Blair and Cameron – occasionally crop up to issue advice. 

Now, I concede that perhaps I’m a laughably old-fashioned bore with deeply held moral convictions, but politics isn’t supposed to be entertaining. It’s not a game, the decisions these people make have a devastating impact on millions of lives. 

I urge you to watch it, though. You’ll be astonished and angered. It’s jaw-dropping.

Taskmaster – Thursday, Channel 4, 9pm

Glory be! Greg Davies and Alex Lowe have returned for another series of this absolutely charming load of old nonsense. 

You presumably know the score by now: a bunch of comedians have to complete a series of maddening, pointless tasks, most of which require a bit of ingenuity, cheating and chutzpah. 

Our contestants this time around are Dara Ó Briain, Fern Brady, John Kearns, Munya Chawawa and Sarah Millican. The opening round involves a fiendish display of hip-touching, hand-finding and milk-lifting. 

Taskmaster works for one fundamental reason: it seeks only to entertain. It has no truck with cruelty or cynicism. Davies is an ostensibly acerbic MC, but his insults are always delivered with a twinkle.

TV Column: DRACULA + DOCTOR WHO

This article was originally published in The Courier on 28th December 2019.

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

NEXT WEEK’S TV

DRACULA

New Year’s Day to Friday, BBC One, 9pm

If, like me, you eventually grew tired of Steven Moffat and Mark Gattis’ unbearably self-indulgent Sherlock, you might be pleasantly surprised by their muscular take on Dracula. A 19^th century period piece, it borrows heavily from Bram Stoker’s novel while going its own freewheeling way (e.g. traumatised solicitor Jonathan Harker recounts his terrible tale to a drolly straight-talking, Godless nun). Despite containing flashes of slyly affectionate meta-commentary on established vampire lore, this Dracula isn’t a send-up. It’s witty, yes, but it’s also grimly atmospheric and unabashedly horrific. It may be one of the goriest dramas ever made by the BBC. Main selling point: a commanding performance from saturnine Danish actor Claes Bang as an utterly ruthless, cocksure Count.

DAME EDNA RULES THE WAVES

Hogmanay, BBC One, 9:05pm

The great Dame emerges from semi-retirement to host this one-off special from her enormous luxury yacht (it’s three times the size of Wales). Her celebrity shipmates include Sharon Osbourne, Judge Rinder, Emily Atack and Anita Rani, all of them eager to be insulted in inimitable passive-aggressive Edna fashion. Now aged 85, Edna’s material isn’t quite what it was. Her opening monologue falls flat, sadly, although it does contain this touching tribute to her late sidekick Madge Allsop: “She went peacefully… she died in my sleep.” All is not lost, however: once the guests come out, traces of her sharp improvisatory wit can still be detected. She can’t help being naturally funny, that gift never disappears completely.

DOCTOR WHO

New Year’s Day, BBC One, 6:55pm

The Doctor returns with a skittish two-part Bond pastiche called Spyfall (like Skyfall; such wit), featuring guest-stars Stephen Fry as a Q-style MI6 official and Lenny Henry (more of whom below) as a villainous billionaire businessman. I’m no fan of tin-eared showrunner Chris Chibnall; he is, at best, a competent hack. Spyfall is Chibnall at his best. It’s a fairly enjoyable run-around in which a mysterious race of aliens launch an attack on international intelligence agents. Chibnall pulls off a couple of decent set-pieces, Ryan and Yaz actually get to do something for once, and Jodie Whittaker makes her mark whenever the script allows her to. Things can only get better?

IMAGINE… LENNY HENRY: YOUNG, GIFTED AND BLACK

Thursday, BBC One, 12am

This thoughtful profile of Sir Lenworth has, for some mystifying reason, been buried at midnight. So what if you can watch it whenever on iPlayer? He deserves better. It’s a poignant companion piece to his recently published autobiography, in which he focuses, not on his years of fame and fortune, but on his early struggle to make a name for himself on the ‘70s working men’s club and television circuit: a seemingly insurmountable task for a black teenager in a predominantly white - and covertly racist - environment. He reflects upon the importance of delivering race-based jokes before the audience got there first. It was a defence mechanism, he had no choice. Today he’s a figurehead for the diversity movement.

LAST WEEK’S TV

A CHRISTMAS CAROL

22^nd December to Christmas Eve, BBC One

The zillionth adaptation of Dickens’ festive classic starred Guy Pearce as Scrooge and Stephen Graham as Marley. It was written by Steven ‘Peaky Blinders’ Knight, hence the knowingly mannered, sooty charcoal aesthetic and salty language. Knight was obviously more interested in exploring Scrooge’s eloquent nihilism than his eventual redemption, but it was the resolutely dark Christmas Carol we deserved this year. An enjoyably nasty addition to the canon.

MARTIN’S CLOSE

Christmas Eve, BBC Four

Mark Gatiss – that man again – wrote and directed this boring adaptation of an M.R. James ghost story about a 17^th century nobleman accused of murdering a young woman with learning difficulties. I admire Gatiss’ commitment to reviving the BBC’s Christmas tradition of supernatural yarns, but his efforts tend to be little more than fanboy homages. They lack the haunting impact of the adaptations he adores. RIP Jonathan Miller.

GAVIN & STACEY CHRISTMAS SPECIAL

Christmas Day, BBC One

There are few things worse than a reunion with people you didn’t much care for in the first place. This unnecessary comeback confirmed the wisdom of that stone-clad sitcom edict: don’t bother. Have Corden and Jones learned nothing from Only Fools and Horses and David Brent: Life On The Road? It’s a nice enough show, fairly well-observed, but leave it where it belongs: somewhat fondly remembered in the third tier.

TV Review: DOCTOR WHO + LITTLE WOMEN + ERIC, ERNIE & ME + ERIC & ERNIE'S HOME MOVIES

A version of this article was first published in The Courier on 30th December 2017.

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

DOCTOR WHO: Christmas Day, BBC One

LITTLE WOMEN: Boxing Day to Thursday, BBC One

ERIC, ERNIE & ME: Friday, BBC Four

ERIC & ERNIE’S HOME MOVIES: Friday, BBC Two

A piece of television history occurred on Christmas Day when Peter Capaldi regenerated into Jodie Whittaker, the first woman to play the lead in DOCTOR WHO.

As epochal though that moment was – Whittaker’s brief burst of screen time was suitably tantalising - it didn’t overshadow the brunt of this enjoyable festive special, during which outgoing show-runner Steven Moffat gave Capaldi the emotional farewell he deserved.

Instead of signing off with an epic bang, Moffat marked the end of this era – the first twelve years of ‘Nu-Who’ basically - with a relatively low-key, character-driven hour in which the dying Doctor, having fought, loved and lost for thousands of years in an eternally evil-scarred universe, couldn’t go on any longer. He didn’t want to regenerate, he just wanted to quietly die in the Arctic tundra.

And not, as it turned out, for the first time. Moffat, who can’t resist sewing new fragments into Doctor Who’s vast ongoing tapestry, conjured a bittersweet storyline in which the Doctor’s original incarnation – David Bradley doing a pretty good job of replacing the late William Hartnell, despite the first Doctor’s political incorrectness being jarringly overplayed  – also tried to stave off his imminent regeneration. 

Here were two iterations of the same Time Lord separated by aeons, yet united by fear, confusion and weariness. Nothing says Christmas quite like a double dose of existential fatalism.

It wasn’t as depressing as that sounds, of course. Moffat juggled pathos and gags while building towards an uplifting final act in which both Doctors came to realise the importance of their place in the universe. They lived to fight another billion days.

The Twelfth Doctor’s turnaround was admittedly rather sudden – all it took was a group hug from his loyal companions – but in the context of a moving recreation of the Christmas Armistice of 1914, I’ll let that pass. Moffat’s heartfelt Christmas messages – death can never erase memories of loved ones, human beings are essentially kind – never came across as trite.

Moffat had his faults, as did Russell T. Davies before him, but this was a dignified last stand. He’ll always be one of the best and most ambitious writers Doctor Who has ever had.

One of the modern show’s most talented directors, Rachel Talalay did a typically beautiful job. I hope we’ll see more of her standout work during the Whittaker era.

Capaldi and Bradley were ably supported by the excellent Pearl Mackie in her final performance as companion Bill – oh if only she’d been paired with Capaldi from the start – and Mark Gatiss delivering a sensitive guest performance as a World War One Captain (and grandfather of classic Doctor Who stalwart Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart) stoically facing down death.

This was a touching celebration of everything the Doctor and the hit TV series Doctor Who stands for. The Twelfth Doctor’s pre-regeneration speech, though grandly performed by the great Peter C, was a tad overlong but just about succeeded as both a meta and in-universe declaration of the selflessly heroic Time Lord’s core attributes.

If incoming showrunner Chris ‘Broadchurch’ Chibnall heeds Moffat’s checklist, then Doctor Who and Jodie Whittaker should be in safe hands. I remain cautiously optimistic.

The umpteenth adaptation of the classic novel by Louisa May Alcott, LITTLE WOMEN hopefully managed to introduce this immortal coming-of-age saga to a new generation.

After all, its themes are eternally relevant. Young women in the late 19^th century share the same fundamental concerns as their modern counterparts. Attitudes may have evolved, but the human condition is unchanging.

Heidi Thomas, creator of Call the Midwife, captured the charm, wit and gender-political thrust of Alcott’s source material, while newcomer Maya Hawke (daughter of Uma Thurman and Ethan Hawke) shone brightly as proto-feminist Jo.

You’d have to be a total numbskull to botch this timeless celebration of female strength and charity. Thomas is not that numbskull.

Morecambe & Wise were always a gifted double act, but it wasn’t until the brilliant writer Eddie Braben refined their onscreen personae that they found a permanent place in the nation’s collective heart.

Eric was an innate comic genius. Ernie was the consummate foil. It was Braben, however, who lit the Eureka bulb of making them both funny in different ways. Inspired by Laurel and Hardy, these three wise men (including one Wiseman) struck cascading comedy gold.

Braben received his due in ERIC, ERNIE & ME, an affectionate drama starring Stephen Tompkinson as an inspired freelance writer who was eventually driven to extremes of nervous exhaustion by the crushing burden of creating an annual Christmas spectacular for millions of expectant viewers.

I’m automatically suspicious of tears-behind-the-laughter biopics, but this one had no truck with voyeuristic sensationalism. How could it? There’s no dirt to be found beneath the fingernails of this story, just sweat, toil and the nerve-straining demands of cheering people up for a living.

The boys themselves were the stars of ERIC & ERNIE’S HOME MOVIES, a truly heart-warming documentary boasting recently unearthed silent footage – most of it shot by Eric – of them enjoying their offstage lives in the ‘50s, ‘60s and early ‘70s.

One usually endures other people’s family mementoes with a polite smile while scanning for the exit, but watching these priceless documents in the intimate onscreen company of delighted friends and family members – most of whom had never seen them before either – was an honour.

I was glad when it ended, but only because the lump in my throat was becoming painful to the point of asphyxiation.

Morecambe and Wise were the beloved funny uncles we never knew in person.

This beautiful programme confirmed what we’ve always known. We loved them because they loved each other.

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: 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.

TV Review: DOCTOR WHO + BIG GOLD DREAM + BORN TO KILL

A version of this article was originally published in The Dundee Courier on 22 April 2017.

https://www.thecourier.co.uk/fp/lifestyle/entertainment/tv-film/paul-whitelaw-reviews/409792/tv-reviews-whos-ready-give-golden-age-doctor-another-spin/

DOCTOR WHO: Saturday, BBC One

BIG GOLD DREAM: Saturday, BBC Two

BORN TO KILL: Thursday, Channel 4

Believe it or not, there are people out there who’ve never seen DOCTOR WHO before. Some of them, admittedly, are children who weren’t even born when the show returned triumphantly in 2005, so at least they have an excuse. Everyone else has been slacking, frankly.

Or maybe they’ve been put off by the daunting prospect of joining a club with such a vast membership and over 50 years of continuity behind it. I know I would be.

However, when you throw out all that baggage and get down to basics, the concept behind Doctor Who couldn’t be more straightforward: an eccentric alien hero travels through time and space righting wrongs in his bigger-on-the-inside spaceship. That’s all you need to know.

And that’s why the first episode of Peter Capaldi and head writer Steven Moffat’s final series was so effective. It served as a concise, witty, charming and – most importantly – fun introduction to Doctor Who itself. New viewers could easily jump in here.

Through the wide eyes of new companion Bill – the instantly likeable and engaging Pearl Mackie – the craftily titled ‘The Pilot’ spelled out the essential ingredients of the Doctor’s universe, while providing enough in-jokey wrinkles to satisfy the initiated. Moffat’s wry subversion of the traditional “companion enters TARDIS for the first time” sequence was particularly amusing.

It’s such a shame that this is the wonderful Capaldi’s last hurrah, as he’s now in complete command of the role. A truly Doctorly Doctor - he's even the right shape -  I could happily watch him in action for at least another year. 

The warm teacher/student chemistry between the Doctor and Bill was so refreshing after years of being lumbered with deadweight Clara – casting someone who can act alongside Capaldi makes a world of difference - while Matt Lucas continues to intrigue as the long-suffering yet enigmatic Nardole. There’s clearly more to him than mere comic relief.

Aside from telling an entertaining self-contained story which fulfilled its brief with consummate ease, Moffat also dropped tantalising hints about this year’s series arc.

Why is the Doctor posing as a university lecturer? What secrets lie inside the vault he and Nardole are guarding in the cellar? Why has the Doctor vowed to remain on Earth and out of trouble?

If Moffat provides satisfying answers to these questions while overseeing a series of enjoyable episodes, then he and Capaldi look set to exit with their heads held high. A very promising comeback.

An old Glasgow punk, Capaldi would’ve loved BIG GOLD DREAM. This droll documentary paid fond tribute to that fleeting period of post-punk excitement when Scotland ruled the hip parade via pioneering indie labels Fast Product and Postcard.

A tale of two Svengalis, it showed how Fast’s mercurial Bob Last and Postcard’s insufferable Alan Horne built their DIY empires in Edinburgh and Glasgow respectively.

Musicians from regal Scottish indie bands such as Orange Juice, Strawberry Switchblade, The Associates and Fire Engines shared affable anecdotes, guarded complaints and poignant regrets as they raked over the coals of their youthful innocence.

Like most tales of idealism, eventually it collapsed into a sad heap of compromise, betrayal and disappointment. But the music lingers on.

The most important thing about this delightful film? Reminding the world that Scotland – Bob Last’s Factory pre-dating label in particular – invented independent music as we know it.

Nicola Sturgeon should run on that ticket.

Teenagers can’t be trusted, even when they read aloud to dying pensioners. That’s the important public service message behind BORN TO KILL, a new psychological thriller about a seemingly sensitive, kind adolescent boy with homicidal tendencies.

Sam lives with his mum. He claims his dead father was a war hero, but that’s obviously a desperate fantasy. Mum’s job on a geriatric ward allows him to indulge his dangerous obsession with death, which eventually results in murder.

I’ve no idea what to make of it so far.

Sam is subtly inhabited by promising newcomer Jack Rowan – his unnervingly friendly smile recalls Anthony Perkins in Psycho – but I can’t shake the nagging suspicion that this is yet another emptily stylised exploitation of mental illness as just another form of bogie man monster madness.

Rowan’s performance aside, it feels rather dubious. 

TV Review: DOCTOR WHO + THE WITNESS FOR THE PROSECUTION + TO WALK INVISIBLE

This article was originally published in The Dundee Courier on 31 December 2016.

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

DOCTOR WHO: Christmas Day, BBC One

THE WITNESS FOR THE PROSECUTION: Boxing Day/Tuesday, BBC One

TO WALK INVISIBLE: Thursday, BBC One

Superheroes are such a ubiquitous cultural fixture these days, I wouldn’t have blamed you for slumping face down in your leftovers when another one turned up in the DOCTOR WHO Christmas special.

Is nothing safe from their super-strength stranglehold?

Apparently not, and for once I’m glad. The Doctor’s encounter with a New York caped crusader was actually rather charming.

An affectionate tribute to Christopher Reeve’s Superman films, it swapped the tiresomely dark seriousness of so many modern superhero sagas for a nostalgic dip into a more innocent, optimistic age of comic book action and romance.   

Steven Moffat is known - some would say notorious - for his intricate storytelling puzzles, but this was a refreshingly straightforward tale, told with a lightness of touch, in which a geeky young man eventually got his dream girl by abandoning his masked alter ego to reveal – oh yes -  the human hero within.

Corny stuff, but winningly delivered by Moffat with his customary wit and skill. Post-modern yet sincere.

It sagged whenever the perfunctory alien invasion plot took over from the more engaging central storyline, but on the whole it achieved its primary goal – to provide 60 minutes of smart, satisfying, handsome entertainment for Doctor Who apostles and floating viewers alike.

Oh, and Matt Lucas, in the space of just two episodes, has proven himself a more likeable foil for Capaldi than Clara ever was.

Whereas many Agatha Christie adaptations are produced in quaintly ornamental style, the team behind Christmas 2015’s justly-acclaimed And Then There Were None and this year’s THE WITNESS FOR THE PROSECUTION revel in the depths of her darkest yarns.

These beautifully crafted productions treat Christie seriously, yet never feel strictly deferential. Like all good adaptations, they honour the source material while exploring the subtext (in this case: homosexuality, post-war grief, xenophobia and the abandonment of our brave boys, although not necessarily in that order).

Set in early-1920s London, this particular mystery is forbiddingly urban. Mired in seediness, violence and a grimy nicotine fug – it’s a real pea souper, even indoors – it boast a visual ambition and thematic richness beyond most of its rivals.

Little man du jour Toby Jones starred as a threadbare solicitor who believed, largely for sentimental personal reasons, in the innocence of his client, a young man accused of murdering his wealthy lover.

All the principal characters, including Andrea Riseborough’s Austrian showgirl and Monica Dolan’s vindictively jealous housekeeper, were lost in a cloud of lonely ambiguity.

Despite these solemn trappings, it zipped along in suitably compelling murder mystery style. Exemplary stuff.

Alas, the same can’t be said for TO WALK INVISIBLE, a curiously sluggish drama about the struggles and tragedy of the Bronte sisters from the otherwise brilliant Sally Wainwright of Happy Valley renown.

So what went wrong? A writer/director of Wainwright’s calibre combined with such potentially fascinating material should’ve sparked one of the festive season’s TV highlights, but she somehow failed to get under the skin of this remarkable family.

For 120 interminable minutes, she never made me care about these people, whereas I was utterly invested in her Happy Valley characters. Like the Brontes, her talent lies in examining reality through fiction.

Wainwright knows there’s a timeless story to be told here, about sexism, addiction, sibling loyalty, the pressures of familial expectations and the catharsis of creative expression, but for once her usually reliable instincts were thwarted by dawdling over-indulgence and a lack of focus.

Even the wuthering Yorkshire scenery looked disappointed.

TV Review: DOCTOR WHO and PREY

A version of this article was originally published in The Dundee Courier on 12th December 2015.

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

Doctor Who: Saturday, BBC One

Prey: Wednesday, STV

Paul Whitelaw

Farewell then, Clara Oswald, I'm sure I speak for many when I say you were definitely a companion in the hit sci-fi series Doctor Who. Please don't come back.

A fortnight after she was killed off, Clara returned in this year's series finale. Head writer Steven Moffat just couldn't let her lie, thus undoing the impact of her demise. But at least he only revived her to give her tangled story an absolutely final happy ending. Didn't he?

Having essentially become a surrogate Doctor after all that time spent with him, she whizzed off in her American diner-shaped TARDIS to have intergalactic adventures with a female companion of her own. In a bittersweet twist – one that explicitly mirrored/subverted the tragic demise of Donna Noble - the Doctor, after spending 5 billion hellish years trying to reverse Clara's death, had all his memories of her erased.

This, in its vaguely underwhelming way, was actually one of the nicest, most poetic send-offs a companion has ever had. It's just a shame it was wasted on Clara.

Had she been a more engaging character, her exit would've carried greater emotional weight. Instead it came across as merely clever. A neat conjuring trick. Moffat the technician. Unlike most previous companions, Clara was a bland non-event. Introduced as little more than a mysterious plot device during the Matt Smith era, she never developed a personality beyond Moffat's standard quipping, sassy auto-bot setting

I didn't dislike her. How could I? It was impossible to feel any strong emotions about such a thin, inoffensive character. She was pretty. Her clothes were nice. Clara Oswald, a life.

It wasn't Jenna Coleman's fault, she's a competent actress. But even the greatest board-treader would struggle with such an unfocused role. It didn't help that she was paired with Matt Smith and Peter Capaldi, two of the most magnetically charismatic actors to ever fill the Time Lord's boots. She didn't stand a chance.

So why did Moffat keep her around for so long? Possibly because he was determined to fix a character who simply didn't work. He wanted to make her seem important in the grand scheme of DW lore because he regretted having created such an insubstantial character. But she never came alive.

Still, at least we can look forward to a new companion next year, one who will hopefully prove worthy of Peter Capaldi's magnificent central performance. He commands the screen with total assurance.

The unevenness of the finale – which, though beautifully directed and full of interesting ideas, didn't quite cohere - was frustrating given that this series was one of the best in years.

Capaldi's electrifying anti-war speech from the Zygon adventure was the most powerfully direct political statement in DW history, while the extraordinary episode in which the Doctor found himself trapped within an hallucinatory Kafka-esque nightmare has rightly been hailed as an all-time classic.

It was a reminder that, when inspired, Moffat is one of DW's greatest ever writers. If, as rumoured, the next series is his last, I hope he exits on the high note he deserves.

Series one of Prey starred John Simm as man wrongly accused of a terrible crime. The loosely connected second series finds his old Life On Mars mucker Philip Glenister in a similar predicament. Last year, Ashes to Ashes' Keeley Hawes found herself wrongly accused and framed in Line Of Duty 2. Is that entire cast suffering from a paranoid persecution complex? Do they have something to tell us?

As a prison guard blackmailed into allowing a female inmate to escape, Glenister plays his standard role with practised hangdog aplomb. I'm a sucker for a Wrong Man scenario, and Prey riffs on the theme quite assuredly. It's a pot-boiler, but competently brewed.

However, the real star of this reasonably diverting thriller is Rosie Cavaliero as the engagingly cynical, humanely downbeat detective on his trail. I suspect we'll be seeing a lot more of this fine character actress in future.

TV Review: DOCTOR WHO and MIDWINTER OF THE SPIRIT

A version of this article was originally published in The Dundee Courier on 26 September 2015.

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

Doctor Who: Saturday, BBC One

Midwinter of the Spirit: Wednesday, STV

Paul Whitelaw

Those moments when we shout at the television, not in anger but with thrilled surprise, are a rare and precious commodity. Breaking Bad is one of the few recent shows I can think of where audacious twists caused me to grin and gasp with pleasure.

So, Steven Moffat, the brains behind the last five years of Doctor Who, deserves bounteous plaudits for pulling off that feat in – how's this for chutzpah? - the first five minutes of the latest series.

On a war-torn alien wasteland, the Doctor (Peter Capaldi) tried to rescue a boy trapped within a quagmire of killer hand mines (literally hands with an eye embedded in the palm). The, if you must, OMG moment came when the boy revealed his name: Davros.

Cut to the Doctor looking horrified. Cue opening credits. Bang! That's how to kick-start a series. Thankfully, the rest of the episode lived up to its fan-baiting intro.

In terms of scope and intensity, it felt more like the first part of a series finale than a series opener. Dramatic stakes were ramped skywards as the Doctor wrestled with the moral dilemma of whether to save Davros – essentially the 'Would you kill baby Hitler?' conundrum on an intergalactic scale – while intimating that, for reasons yet unknown, his Time Lord days are numbered.

Meanwhile, his other arch-enemy, Missy/The Master (a wonderfully bananas turn from Michelle Gomez), formed an unlikely alliance with Clara (Jenna Coleman, competent as always) in a bid to rescue him from Davros' clutches in the Dalek city on Skaro. The arresting conceit of the devious Time Lord/Lady seeking to assist the Doctor, however ambiguously, is something we haven't seen in Doctor Who since the saturnine reign of Roger Delgado in the 1970s.

Some critics have complained that the episode, titled The Magician's Apprentice, was far too continuity-heavy for the casual viewer, but I'd argue that all the essential information and backstory they needed – Davros is the creator of the Daleks and, well, that's it really – was clearly explained within.

It was inward-looking in the sense that it's essentially an exploration of the complex relationship between the Doctor and one of his oldest, deadliest enemies, but it was hardly a self-indulgent odyssey aimed squarely at hardcore fans. On the contrary, there was plenty here for children, those most important viewers of all, to enjoy. 

They must have surely been delighted by the spectacle of millions of Daleks buzzing around their spectacular home turf, plus the creepy presence of Davros, his snake-shifting henchman Colony Saarf, and the supremely entertaining hat-stand villainy of Missy.

As for the Doctor himself, Capaldi achieved the impossible feat of nailing an extended comic set-piece that, in theory, should've been excruciating.

As it turned out, a shades-wearing Doctor rocking out on electric guitar atop an armoured tank while delivering bad jokes was actually very enjoyable. As great though David Tennant could be in the role, just imagine him hamming the life out of that scene. You'd cringe yourself a hernia. It's a mark of Capaldi's authority that he can nail this 'wacky' business without making a fool of himself.

Though still spiky, the acerbic, antisocial misanthrope who replaced Matt Smith last year has gradually softened to reveal more warmth and charm, a development neatly illustrated by that sweet little moment when, upon meeting up with Clara again, he strummed a few bars of Roy Orbison's Oh, Pretty Woman on his guitar. He's almost, almost cuddly now. I don't see that as a cop-out, but rather an organic evolution of his character.

The best and boldest season opener since The Impossible Astronaut back in 2011, The Magician's Apprentice suggests that Moffat, who must be nearing the end of his tenure on the show, is attempting to shake up the formula somewhat. Doctor Who has survived, off and on, for over 50 years due to its willingness to change and adapt like the ancient Time Lord himself. As ever, I hope he succeeds in his fiendish goal.

From the writer behind notorious Halloween “hoax” Ghostwatch, Midwinter of the Spirit is an enjoyably creepy supernatural drama starring Anna Maxwell Martin as a village vicar with an unusual sideline: she's a trained exorcist.

When a man is found crucified in the woods, the police request her assistance. Meanwhile, she becomes “infected” by the evil spirit of a dead sex offender and animal-torturing sadist. It's like The Vicar of Dibley gone drastically awry.

By treating this subject matter in a fairly low-key way, its scares become more potent. This aura of authenticity may be due in part to the advisory involvement of an actual CoE exorcist. Yes, such people really do exist. By the power of Christ, what a strange world we live in.