TV Review: POLDARK and NURSE

This article was originally published in The Dundee Courier on 14th March 2015.

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

Poldark: Sunday, BBC One

Nurse: Tuesday, BBC Two

Paul Whitelaw

It's oddly satisfying, humbling even, that one of Britain's biggest ever TV exports concerns a man in a tricorn-hat struggling to revive his tin mine. A massive hit in its 1970s heyday, the BBC's first adaptation of Winston Graham's Poldark novels cemented forever our worldwide reputation as stalwart purveyors of high-end period drama.

It's therefore fitting that this grand tradition continues with the latest version, which – mark my soothsaying words – will be an enormous hit. Why? Because it ticks all the right boxes in brazenly confident style.

Self-evidently, no expense has been spared in bringing this savagely romantic world to life. Set in Cornwall in the late 18^th century, it mercilessly exploits the area's rugged coastlines and vast, God-fearing skies. While it doesn't quite match the almost docudrama feel of Wolf Hall, it does boast a fairly authentic sense of candle-lit time and place. Visually, it's a resplendently photographed treat.

But pretty pictures are all for naught without a sturdy mainframe to support them. Fortunately, this epic saga is told in rip-roaring style. Though played deadly straight by a fine ensemble cast, it benefits in execution from a kind of sly knowingness.

Scenes of Poldark on horseback galloping dramatically along the coastline, or removing his shirt for no earthly reason, flirt outrageously with barnstorming camp. Casting Aidan Turner from Being Human as Poldark is a master-stroke. A charismatic, handsome actor, he broods and twinkles most effectively. Artfully stubbled and tousled of barnet, this saturnine hunk spends much of his screen-time glowering intensely as clouds gather ominously, yet somehow sexily, overhead. It's a star-making performance.

A charming scoundrel with a sturdy moral core, he's ably supported by a rich cast of characters including Phil Davis in unabashed scowling mode as a ruddy-faced manservant, and the late Warren Clarke in his final screen role as Poldark's scheming uncle. Though she doesn't come into her own until later episodes, newcomer Eleanor Tomlinson is suitably feral yet delicate as Poldark's vulnerable peasant ward.

Normally I'd criticise a drama for leaning on blunt exposition - I lost count of the number of times a variation on “Cornwall is changing, these are difficult times” was uttered in episode one – but here it forms part of a slightly heightened, charming sense of melodrama. Subtlety is grabbed by the seat of its britches and hurled into the crashing briny. In the rampant world of Poldark, understatement is as welcome as a bout of scurvy.

The bold antithesis of a staid Sunday night period drama, it's tremendous fun.

A tender new vehicle for Paul Whitehouse, Nurse is as low-key as Poldark is bombastic. Essentially a series of bittersweet character sketches linked by a loose yet effective through-line, it follows a community psychiatric nurse as she visits her patients, most of whom are played by the heroically versatile Whitehouse. 

Stand-out characters include a depressed ex-con struggling with agoraphobia, and a delightfully ingratiating Jewish OAP. Whitehouse is an extraordinary actor, yet his multiple turns never feel like egocentric grand-standing. He's fully invested in these three-dimensional characters.

Though often very funny, ultimately Nurse is a sensitive and humane study of issues surrounding mental health and community care. I can't recommend it enough.

TV Review: BANISHED and POMPIDOU

This article was originally published in The Dundee Courier on 14th March 2015.

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

Banished: Thursday, BBC Two

Pompidou: Sunday, BBC Two

Paul Whitelaw

You'd have to be mad, foolish or both to challenge Jimmy McGovern's reputation as one of Britain's leading TV dramatists. Fuelled by anger, humour and compassion, his greatest hits include Cracker, The Lakes, Hillsborough and The Street. That's one helluva strike rate.

However, even writers of McGovern's stature can be scuppered by compromising circumstances. Banished is proof of that. Set in a late 18^th century penal colony in New South Wales, it follows the arduous lives of British convicts and Royal Navy marines as they struggle to survive in this 'Godforsaken' land.

It's a typical McGovern piece in that it revolves around terrible moral dilemmas, miscarriages of justice and the powerful notion of doing the right thing under desperate circumstances. Indeed, the script is fairly solid and engaging. If you're a fan of the expletives 'whore' and 'scum' it's an absolute treat. But the problem lies in the way it's been transferred to screen.

Despite being set in a supposed hell-hole, it has the glossy look of an afternoon TV movie. The intrusive score sounds curiously synthetic and cheap. The actors are too groomed. The relatively grime-free camp looks like what it is, an outdoor set. It just doesn't feel lived in. Good direction and production design can disguise such fakery – just look at the authentically filthy Deadwood, for example – but it's difficult to fully invest in the reality of Banished.

Another glaring flaw is the prominent presence of Russell Tovey as upright convict James. Within his limits, Tovey is a perfectly competent, rather charming actor. But his inability to convincingly convey anger and intensity is a major stumbling block, especially in a brooding drama such as this. With his mannered contemporary inflections and sudden shifts into slurred, stilted rage, he sounds like Michael Caine channelling the wayward spirit of William Shatner.

It's frustrating, as the rest of the cast are fine. I was particularly impressed by Julian Rhind-Tutt playing against upper-class type as Tommy, a supposedly wronged, working class convict. Ewen Bremner is also rather interesting as a permanently aghast vicar wrestling with his morality. Imagine Edvard Munch's The Scream as played by Derek Nimmo. That, I assure you, is a compliment.

The intensely compelling scene in which, against his will, Reverend Spud was forced to hang Tommy for sleeping with fellow convict Elizabeth was classic McGovern. Pleasingly melodramatic, it climaxed with Tommy's life being spared at the last second when the Reverend's saintly wife screamed, “This is crucifixion!” Irresistible stuff.

While the prison hard-man – a Scot, naturally – and cruel Navy captain flirt dangerously close to pantomime villainy, McGovern is careful to ensure that characters such as the quietly humane sergeant and nominally lenient governor are sketched along more nuanced lines.

It's far from perfect, but Banished does have much to commend it. If McGovern can sustain the drama, then its faults may be less troublesome in the long run.

A daft visual comedy starring Matt Lucas as a penniless aristocrat, Pompidou is a mixed bag. Though aimed at a family audience, some of the more grotesque gags – e.g. Pompidou pulling organs from his butler's stomach – feel oddly out of place in this otherwise bright and colourful cartoon world.

While Laurel and Hardy, to whom the show is indebted, often employed similarly offbeat nightmare gags, the consistency of tone in Pompidou is far less assured.

Still, Lucas is a gifted clown and his latest venture is certainly quite funny and likeable. It just needs to settle on what it wants to be.

TV Review: INDIAN SUMMERS and REGINALD D. HUNTER'S SONGS OF THE SOUTH

This article was originally published in The Dundee Courier on 28th February 2015.

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

Indian Summers: Sunday, Channel 4

Reginald D. Hunter's Songs Of The South: Saturday, BBC Two

Paul Whitelaw

Thanks to a lifetime of constant disappointment, I admit I'm prone to making massive, unfair presumptions about things I haven't actually experienced for myself. That's why, before I'd even seen it, I rashly presumed that 1930s period piece Indian Summers would be a ponderous and starchy affair: a prissy Merchant/Ivory knock-off. Actually, it's rather engaging.

Hyped as Channel 4's most expensive ever drama, and scheduled up against JK Rowling's similarly class-focused The Casual Vacancy on BBC One, it can't afford to fail. On the evidence of its first two episodes – there are ten in total – it appears to be succeeding on its own intriguing, languid terms.

Granted, certain characters haven't quite clicked yet. Alice, the sister of smoothly chiselled Private Secretary Ralph, is presumably intended as the moral, tender heart of the series. So far this role has been defined by winsome glances and little else. And Dalal, who last week took a bullet during a botched assassination attempt on Ralph, feels rather limp for such a prominent character.

Ralph himself is more interesting, largely on account of his darker traits. A typical child of Empire in his patrician attitudes towards the Indian people he's been sent to govern – this week he was quick to dismiss Ghandi's peaceful nationalist cause as a terrorist movement – he nevertheless adores his adopted country. It would be all too easy to present these toodle-pip colonialists as outright villains. But the underlying political thrust of Indian Summers is more nuanced than that.

An effective note of intrigue was maintained throughout the episode when it transpired that Ralph had a prior relationship with his would-be assassin. Indian Summers is rather adept at teasing such mysteries.

Practically everyone in the show is nursing a secret of some sort. It remains to be seen whether their revelations are worth the wait, but I'm particularly intrigued by Julie Walters as the colourfully named Cynthia Coffin, a scheming, fag-smoking East End matriarch and charismatic hostess who appears to be ruling an entire subcontinent by pulling Ralph's strings. It's an interesting reversal of the class system back home, where a woman such as Cynthia would never be granted such authority. It's a ripe old role for Dame Julie, and she tackles it with enigmatic relish.

Production-wise, Indian Summers glistens with a sticky, inescapable heat. The chaste sex scenes may be gently torn from the pages of Mills & Boon, but the show isn't lacking in sun-kissed atmosphere. It's a promising saga.

The balminess continued in Reginald D. Hunter's Songs Of The South, a thoughtful three-part travelogue in which the droll African-American comic explores the origins of American popular music.

To a wonderful soundtrack of bluegrass and country, he began by travelling from Kentucky to Tennessee. The highlight was his detour into the uncomfortable realm of minstrelsy – white singers performing in blackface – where he encountered the argument that Stephen Foster's minstrel standards, which often sound offensive from a modern standpoint, were actually fairly liberal and progressive for the time.

Hunter gently dismissed this theory as a retrospective attempt to “lend dignity to a fiction created by a white man”, while concluding that minstrelsy is an important, albeit difficult, part of the American legacy and shouldn't be swept under the carpet.

An avuncular and sanguine guide, Hunter's almost poetic sincerity elevates this series beyond the bland triviality of most celebrity travelogues. 

TV Review: BRING BACK BORSTAL and COUNT ARTHUR STRONG

This article was originally published in The Dundee Courier on 10th January 2015.

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

Bring Back Borstal: Thursday, STV

Count Arthur Strong: Tuesday, BBC One

Paul Whitelaw

Prison these days is like a holiday camp. It's a cheer-sodden fantasy land full of widescreen televisions and games consoles, where inmates enter clicking their heels and exit teary-eyed having enjoyed the time of their lives.

I'm joking, of course. Consider it satire. But “prison's too good for 'em” is basically the straight-faced position one must take in order to accept Bring Back Borstal as a valuable social experiment. The premise is simple: 13 young offenders volunteer to be banged up for a month in a castle-based facsimile of a 1930s borstal. Will they benefit from the experience and become responsible members of society? Or is this gruelling system outdated for a reason?

Actually, that last question isn't addressed at all. The programme more or less accepts that a strict compulsory diet of chopping, scrubbing, gardening and rugger is a guaranteed method of reforming a recidivist. In that sense it's an unquestioning assault of aggressive right wing nostalgia. On the other hand, I must admit that my hand-wringing scepticism was challenged by its sympathetic portrayal of the voluntary inmates.

Despite the Daily Mail-esque trappings, it doesn't portray these fresh-faced crims as a mindless mass of hopeless cases. Instead they're shown for what they are: troubled kids who, for various reasons, have problems with authority and anger management. They're cocky, sure, but that's clearly a desperate façade.

In their more introspective moments, most of them betrayed a kind of earnest, unaffected sincerity. Casey was a prominent example. A sensitive soul with a pregnant girlfriend, his determination to improve his life was sadly undermined by deep-rooted insecurities. The scene in which he broke down in the arms of matron – a reformed offender herself - was particularly poignant.

But such moments jarred abruptly with images of an ex-military stafffer turfing boys out of their beds, and the essentially well-meaning governor insisting that an archaic borstal system is absolutely fool-proof.

Given that prison reform is hardly a black and white issue, I suppose you could argue that Bring Back Borstal's fusion of stern conservative values and broadly liberal sympathies isn't contradictory at all. And yet still it feels like an awkwardly compromised attempt to please all viewers at once. Why, it's almost as if a provocatively titled, gimmicky ITV reality show isn't the ideal vehicle for such a nuanced, complex debate.

Without a hint of exaggeration, it was basically Brass Eye's satirical borstal sketch played absolutely straight. I half expected a “You're reformed!” catchphrase from the governor. Perplexing stuff.

A broad, bright, multi-camera sitcom, Count Arthur Strong is an occasionally sparkling curate's egg. Having peddled this character for years on radio and on stage, Steve Delaney – who co-writes with Graham Linehan (Father Ted; The IT Crowd) – delivers a wonderfully assured performance as the muttering, twitching, malapropism-prone Arthur.

But the latest episode was typical in that, a few chuckles aside, it failed to deliver on its promise. I want it to succeed as it's fundamentally likeable and I enjoy the dynamic between Delaney and co-star Rory Kinnear. Yet despite their solid work, the show as a whole is frustratingly uneven. 

TV Review: REMEMBER ME

A version of this article was originally published in The Dundee Courier on 29th November 2014.

Remember Me: Sunday, BBC One

Paul Whitelaw

Ideal viewing for these Godless winter evenings, Remember Me is a highly promising three-part ghost story made all the more effective by the casting of 'cuddly national treasure' Michael Palin in a central role. Given his involvement, the timeslot and channel, its ghoulish intensity could almost be described as subversive.

An underrated and underused dramatic actor, he's wonderful as Tom, an enigmatic, twinkly pensioner who's endured solitary exile in a gloomy terraced house for decades. Tom is what would emerge if Alan Bennett's typewriter ever became haunted.

Desperate to escape his mysterious curse, he eventually fled to an elderly care home, the presence of which makes Remember Me feel like an even more horrifying version of Ricky Gervais' Derek. The lead care-worker is even named Hannah, which I insist is no coincidence (it probably is).

A teenager living in a house where you can practically smell the damp – every character seems trapped in their own dark, cluttered space – Hannah became embroiled in Tom's mystery following the shocking death of his social worker, who was hurled from his window by powerful forces unknown.

Also on the case is a sympathetic detective (the quietly impressive Mark Addy), who's the sort of sad-sack cop who spends his evenings alone supping melancholy pints in the local Dog and Gizzard.

Indebted to classic British ghost stories such as M.R. James' Whistle and I'll Come to You, My Lad, this atmospheric spook-show is a tightly woven knot of unease. Writer Gwyneth Hughes understands that horror tends to be more effective when rooted in a mundane, everyday environment. While picturesque Yorkshire towns have been the setting for countless Sunday night dramas over the years, here the effect is anything but cosy. What with this and Happy Valley, I'd be surprised if anyone ever visits there again.

Director Ashley Pearce masterfully exploits the underlying terror of Yorkshire's stunning rural landscape, where the drizzle pours incessantly from vast, oppressive, spectral clouds. It's an immensely confident production full of darkly beautiful imagery. That strange spectre of a veiled, bedraggled woman rising from a desolate beach will linger in the memory for quite some time.

Kudos too to the sound department, who really earn their keep with a wonderfully chilling soundtrack of bumps, groans, scuttles and drips. While jump scares, i.e. sudden loud noises, are often used as a cheap device in horror, here they worked in tandem with a carefully constructed atmosphere of compelling dread.

The claustrophobic scenes set in Tom's abandoned home were highly effective. A particularly nice touch was the sparing use of subliminal movement in his collection of antique photographs, the subtlety of which was blown asunder by the orgiastic, heart-stopping climax which managed to encompass every haunted house cliché – creepy attics, rocking chairs, slamming doors etc. - without slipping into outright parody.

Granted, even these scenes had their flaws. Hannah's visit to Tom's sepulchral abode was undermined by some textbook moments of dumb horror illogic. While characters in supernatural yarns obviously don't know the rules, some of her actions were downright daft. Who, while creeping around at night in a creaky house crammed with spooky old artefacts, would then decide to sit at a piano and play from some sheet music? Even Bobby Crush would resist that temptation.

Naturally, her impromptu performance of Scarborough Fair invited further ghostly creaks from upstairs. So thank God she had her torch to investigate them with. But it was too late. Her innocent recital of the haunting folk standard dragged her further into Tom's nightmare world.

“You brought the song away in your heart,” he railed, “now you can never take it back!” Someone should warn Simon & Garfunkel.

Fleeting moments of silliness aside - moments which, in any case, are arguably part and parcel of the genre - Remember Me is clearly the most outstanding supernatural drama to grace our screens in years.

It's a supremely unsettling experience, and I for one applaud the BBC for their bold commitment to scaring the bejesus out of unsuspecting licence payers.

TV Review: BROADMOOR and FRANKENSTEIN AND THE VAMPYRE: A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT

A version of this article was originally published in The Dundee Courier on 8th November 2014.

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Broadmoor: Wednesday, STV

Frankenstein and The Vampyre: A Dark and Stormy Night: Saturday, BBC Two

Paul Whitelaw

Given what we now know about Jimmy Savile, ITV's claim that Broadmoor has “unprecedented access” to the high security psychiatric hospital feels like an unfortunate boast.

Nevertheless, it's true that, for the first time in its 150 year history, this secretive institution has allowed a documentary crew to film within its walls. Home to notorious serial murderers such as Peter Sutcliffe and Kenneth Erskine – neither of whom chose to participate, much to the surprise of no one – Broadmoor tends to be viewed in the popular imagination as a terrifying cauldron of criminal violence.

While this sobering two-part series doesn't quite seek to reverse that reputation, it succeeds in presenting a more balanced, responsible and humane view of Broadmoor's patients. The abiding theme of episode one was encapsulated by Clinical Director Dr Amlan Basu, who observed that, despite their horrendous crimes, these men are also victims.

“It's very easy to see somebody as either the perpetrator or the victim. It's much more difficult to understand that somebody might be both.” That the programme set out to do just that is hugely commendable.

We were introduced to patients, their identities concealed for obvious reasons, whose severe mental health disorders were the tragic by-product of childhoods scarred by repeated psychological and sexual abuse. One psychiatrist claimed, almost with a rueful smile, that he could easily identify future patients if he'd met them as children.

Eventually greenlit following five years of careful negotiation, Broadmoor is necessarily compromised at times. While the vigilant staff were candid to a point – for want of a quiet life, they rarely tell people where they work – certain subjects were firmly off limits. Forbidden from filming a restraint procedure on a patient who refused to return to his room, the crew were also banned from showing a reluctant patient being forcibly injected with anti-psychotic medication.

But rather than harm the programme's integrity, these enforced omissions actually heightened its carefully handled tone of detached compassion. Images of self-inflicted scars on a suicidal patient's arms were all we needed to see. Anything more would've been gratuitous. Wisely, the ever-present threat of violence against staff was implicit.

Graced with sensitive narration from actor Eddie Marsan, Broadmoor is neither prurient nor exploitative. Uncomfortable, sad and challenging, it offers no easy answers. It's intelligent enough to realise that life is too brutal, too complicated, for that.

Part of a BBC season devoted to all things Gothic, Frankenstein and The Vampyre: A Dark and Stormy Night was a suitably melodramatic documentary recounting the unusual circumstances which led to Mary Shelley creating her horror masterpiece.

Literally the stuff of nightmares, Frankenstein came to her one evening during a sensual lakeside holiday in Geneva with her bohemian husband, Percy Bysshe Shelley, randy old Lord Byron, and an aspiring yet hapless writer named Polidori.

High on wine and ether, as freak storms raged outside, this tempestuous group challenged each other to write a ghost story. The twist in the tale was that the little known Polidori, belittled as a joke by Byron in particular, eventually wrote the first published modern vampire story. His fiendish inspiration? None other than that aristocratic rake, Lord Byron himself. It was revenge of sorts.

With articulate contributions from talking heads such as Neil Gaiman and Margaret Atwood, this handsome reconstruction of a weird, dazzling summit was a late Halloween treat. 

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.