Miranda recommissioned

“I like it because it’s old school,” said Debbie the Shiatsu therapist who worked hard to iron out the neck pains I’d acquired in the run up to *that website launch*. “Miranda is funny. Miranda Hart is funny. It’s gentle and charming. The whole family watches it together.”

I sighed relief, in part as a result of the aches and pains eeking out of my body and also because it was a relief to hear someone else thinking the same as me.

“She seems to be able to execute the falling down joke very well without it ever getting tired,” I said, ”Her stooge is funny and obviously brilliant. And the episode when she went on holiday in a hotel down the road .. that’s the kind of thing I’d entertain doing.”

There is undoubtedly a simplicity about the comedy, something which is immediately and engagingly refreshing. Whilst it appears simple and low-key, Hart’s frequent looks to camera must make filming each episode really quite demanding.

It is marvellous to hear of the series being recommissioned. Not only because the cast are good, the writing’s good and at least one member of the cast is easy on the eye, but because something fundamentally good has been brought back. Now the writers need to work their magic and come up with something as good, if not better. I’d hate to be blogging how my favourite thing on TV hit the rails in the second series. I’d be so embarrassed.

Chicken Liver Parfait with Sultanas & Raisins

The people responsible for scheduling Saturday morning TV should be ashamed of themselves.

An hour of Saturday Kitchen Live followed by a cheeky peek at Nigella Lawson and her special Christmas edition of kitchen pornography and my original intention to dedicate today to Christmas card assembly tasks was in tatters.

Nigella is problematic. I know what her game is. She sells the idea of a groovy, stress-free kitchen creation experience. If her recipe book is open on my work-surface it doesn’t take very before I’m convinced that I’m in Nigella’s kitchen using her utensils and raiding her store cupboard to effortlessly whip up a lazy supper for the friends she’s rented from the nearby model agency.

A colleague on Twitter doing the same as me – watching TV whilst gracefully laid out on the sofa – made her feelings about Nigella clear. It must have been a female thing, I thought. @suellewellyn is every bit as glam in real life as The Lawson is on TV and is as adorable as I like to imagine the TV cook would be in real life too. When I read Sue’s tweet however, I was immediately defensive of The Lawson. Although I didn’t realise it at the time, this was the final nail in the coffin of my day. Something in my subconscious focussed my attention on cooking, and specifically on the Lamb Tagine Nigella Lawson had demonstrated during the programme @suellewellyn found herself having to avoid.

And of course, this is where things started to go a bit awry. I leapt for the Christmas recipe magazines. There are three copies of BBC Good Food to work through, along with Delia’s original Cookery Course compendium, her original Christmas recipe collection as well as a handful of others from lesser known favourites of mine.

I started making a list, dreaming about all the things I’d like to see stocked up in the fridge and freezer in readiness for the impending holidays. First on the list was the tagine. Then there was the chilli jam from a couple of weeks ago to boil down a bit and make a bit more stodgy. Maybe I could slip in a few star-topped mince pies and have a go at some mini-smoked salmon souffles. Most important of all, however, was testing out the new chicken liver pate recipe I’d found in BBC Good Food magazine.

The Significant Other isn’t a big fan of chicken liver pate. At least, the one I normally make from Delia’s Complete Cookery Course isn’t a big hit with him. The spices, mustards, herbs and brandy make for a overwhelming intense eating experience meaning I’m left with the entire batch to myself.

So it was I ended up taking two and a half hours to drive from Lewisham to Crayford on the first Saturday afternoon of Christmas to get card supplies from Hobbycraft (a bewildering shopping experience for adult and children alike) and purchase various ingredients for a late afternoon messing about in the kitchen.

Nigella’s tagine is cooking on a low heat in my Le Creuset casserole dish. The chicken liver parfait with raisins and sultanas are chilling in the fridge. The rest will have to wait until next weekend.

The Christmas cards will have to be done tomorrow. If they’re not I fear I’ll start having other, more grandiose ideas when I see the first episode of a Victorian Christmas on Friday.

TV: Doctor Who – The Waters of Mars

Not an especially happy bunny, originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good.

 

Around about four years ago (I can’t be exact) I sent an email to Doctor Who Executive Producers Julie Gardner and Russell T Davies asking them for an interview for inclusion in my modestly titled Thoroughly Good Podcast.

This was par for the course, I reckoned. Here was I a mere outsider to the BBC, reckoning I was the big man, attempting to rub shoulders with the big guys in the hope of an interview. I wanted to find out about the show, find out about their new series Torchwood. I was sure they’d be accommodating.

I heard nothing from either of them. Nothing. Zippo. Silence. A couple of other people (their names, rank and file escape me at the present time) did contact me. I can’t say they were particularly pleasant. They weren’t exactly rude, although they did make it quite clear to me, my line manager and his line manager in no uncertain terms that me recording a podcast in my bedroom about Russell T Davies, Julie Gardner, Torchwood or Doctor Who wasn’t allowed.

I was heartbroken, it has to be said. I dealt with things in the way I continue to deal with things now.

I threw my toys out of the pram. I formally announced the end of my love affair with the programme and promptly put my DVD box set of season one up for sale on the interweb. Nobody bought it. It still resides on the bottom shelf of DVDs alongside the classic series collection of Doctor Who I look upon adoringly.

Any new Doctor Whos I’ve watched in the intervening years have been through an incredibly critical eye. I’ve been dismissive of nearly everything, spectacularly allowing my prejudices to influence what I’ve seen on screen. Then, when I learnt David Tennant, Julie Gardner and Russell T Davies were leaving the good ship Doctor Who, I confess to feeling pleased. Maybe the next bunch would be agreeable to an interview.

I’m quite a bitter old queen. Really, quite a bitter old queen.

A few weeks ago, however, something unexpected happened.

I met up with someone who used to work on Doctor Who in season two. Shortly after offering me a large glass of wine he, completely unbidden, launched into a series of happy memories about working on the Doctor Who production team. He spoke so warmly of executive producers Julie Gardner and Russell T Davies and Phil Collinson, the disparaging mental image I had of the lot of them wandering around the offices of BBC Wales accompanied by the BBC National Orchestra of Wales playing the Doctor Who theme music behind them began to dissipate.

How could my prejudiced view of all of them hold up against someone who spoke warmly of his experiences when I hadn’t let on about any of mine?

That’s why I ended up buying season two of Doctor Who on Friday – David Tennant’s first series in the role. I’ve watched five episodes from that series this weekend ahead of the latest episode (and first of his last three – The Waters of Mars) this weekend.

Three out of the five episodes I’ve watched have been better than I remember watching first time around. I’ve concluded I must have been drunk or (almost certainly) had the memory of what amounted to nothing but a misunderstanding cloud my judgement. Tennant is brilliant (although I knew this anyway) and there’s some really quite dark writing in places.

But none of that I’ve re-visited this weekend compares to the first episode of Tennant’s last installment. Dark, upsetting and scary, Davies and Gardner have disproved the age old Doctor Who myth that the British can’t do futuristic drama. Scariness is implied when it’s not obvious on the screen and I’ve had my mind tinkered with – something to be applauded. But where the episode scores is its proof that an extra 15 minutes doesn’t mean 15 minutes of filler.

Sure, I’d still want it to go on week after week (the next episode on Christmas Day seems like a lifetime away – the broadcast itself may well eclipse Christmas celebrations too), but I’ve ended an hour’s entertainment feeling suitably satisfied. For critical bitter old me that’s important.

Now, can I have that interview?

• Watch Doctor Who: The Waters of Mars via BBC iPlayer

TV: Graham Norton Show (Episode 6.6 Mon 9 Nov 2009)

Shameless self-promotion, originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good.

Either I’m consistently wasted on cheap wine, or Mr Norton’s show is proving a reliable source of entertainment. I’m veering towards the latter but am prepared to concede the former in the event of having to sit through a duff episode in the next few weeks.

Tonight, beau-of-the-ball and soon to be ex-Time Lord David Tennant carried out what must now feel like tiresome process of winding up the contract he’s been in for the past few years by promoting a TV series he’s soon no longer to star in. The beginning of the end – the story is entitled The Waters of Mars – airs on BBC One on Sunday 15 November.

He was joined by an arrestingly honest Johnny Vegas and the strangely alluring Alison Moyet and equally gorgeous complexion and best-of album.

A giggle from beginning to end. Marvellous work.

• Watch Episode 6.6 of The Graham Norton Show via BBC iPlayer

The World’s Strictest Parents / Episode 2.1 / BBC Three

I don’t normally watch much on BBC Three. I’ll occasionally drop in to Family Guy (Who wouldn’t? It’s painfully funny. And Stewy’s adorable) but the rest of the schedule I normally give a wide berth. Three years out of the target audience age range (16-34 year olds), I always look at the pink neon three in the top left hand corner of the screen and think “Nope, it’s just not for me.”

The words “seventeen year old homosexual” were what commanded my attention when I was flicking channels last night however. That teenager was Chezden Dundee, openly gay with a view of his heart disease-suffering mother amounting to little more than a master/slave relationship. He seemed quite happy to give instructions about how to use the washing machine even though his mother had no doubt been using it for considerably more years than he’d been alive.

Chezden joined equally troublesome (and equally troubled) teenager Bex Keene (pictured above) in a trip to Atlanta for eight days to be parented by Baptists David and Wanda Kimbrough in the latest episode of BBC Three’s The World’s Strictest Parents. Would the teenagers go about a significant change in attitude during those eight days? Would they return to the UK vowing to treat their own parents with considerably more respect than they had been prior to departure?

A more pressing question for me was whether I’d get to the end of the broadcast. At first the pseudo-documentary style was irritating. If noddies in interviews are generally sneered upon now, then surely the more generic cutaway (where edited coversations need to be papered over so everything looks a little smooth) must be on the way out. At times the editing felt a little clumsy. Sometimes I just wanted to hear complete exchanges between characters.

Despite that stylistic criticism, the hour long programme didn’t feel like an hour at all – usually an indication of a story taking longer than is absolutely necessary. There were pockets of seemingly genuine exchange between David Kimbrugh and Chez over a box of matches (the Kimbrughs weren’t keen on the teenagers smoking, let’s put it like that) which was surprising, ticking the “you’re in my personal space”  and “which one of you is the more angry at this point and over what exactly?” boxes.

Similarly, the Sister at the school the Kimbrughs run (they own and run a Baptist church too) who did singularly have the most significant effect on errant Bex at the point where the teenager expressed considerable reluctance to dissect a dead baby pig in the classroom. Frankly, I probably would have reacted in the same way as the the teenager and wouldn’t have taken too kindly to being advised on the right way to behave as a teenager. Certainly watching the entire programme I did find myself often on the side of Chez and Bex when I was rather expecting to be totally in support of the Kimbrughs given they’re adults.

What surprised me the most was how I remained with the programme to the end. I cared about the central characters and appreciated the final scenes. Bex and Wanda reconciled their differences whilst Chez and David did the same. This was the conclusion. There were tears. There was hold handing. This was what we were expecting. And yet it seemed genuine. And it was a definite relief. There was less cutting, less papering over audio edits and in general things felt like they’d slowed down. What a relief.

I had no idea that World’s Strictest Parents was now in it’s second series on BBC Three. Nor had I realised the American style reality TV show produced by ShedMedia (the same people who produce the US version of Who Do You Think You Are? donchyanow) had originated on BBC Three last year either. There are versions in the US (with a surprisingly groovy if slightly gaudy looking application website) and one in Australia too. This is a successful format it seems. Everyone wants a bit of it. Little wonder the visual language is the way it is. Time prevents production companies from making something which fits the style demanded by a vocal if slightly self-obsessed member of the minority audience.

If I did question the sincerity of the edits in places, there was one picture which reset the balance at the end. If I’d thought there were staged elements (and there must have been – some of the editing in the earlier discussions when the Kimburghs walked into the teenagers bedroom after they’d been out on the balcony must have been reshot – it was all too convenient and looked it) then the shot of both kids with their locum parents for the stills camera communicated immense warmth. In those pictures it seemed as though there was a genuine bond, one which had seemingly formed over a short space of time. That was important to see. It confirmed the content was there even if the style sometimes wasn’t.

• Watch World’s Strictest Parents / Episode 2.1 / Atlanta on BBC iPlayer

TV: Did Heston Change Little Chef?

Heston Blumenthal returned to the Little Chef in Popham recently to check on how his previous efforts to improve its output have been maintained.

If Little Chef’s percentage increase on sales after Heston’s previous visit to the chain are to believed, then the Liverpool Echo’s assessment of the programme being a glorified advert for the restaurant chain is in part correct. Mind you, the combined broadcast viewing figures on Channel 4 and Channel 4+1 proved Heston’s ongoing popularity (more to do with his obvious on-screen sincerity rather than a desire to see an old brand like Little Chef revitalised) up and against the brilliant Andrew Marr and his new series on BBC Two.

Mark Lawson argues in the Guardian that the jeopardy inherent in infotainment type programmes such as Did Heston Change Little Chef? is threatened by the pressure TV networks are under to secure viewing figures. Consequently the overriding question about whether or not Blumenthal succeeded in turning around the fortunes of the restaurant chain was already known before the programme was broadcast.It came out, he says, when the Good Food Guide was published.

I don’t pour over the Good Food Guide press releases – although my recent ‘Jonny On Tour’ in Cardiff, Newcastle and Belfast may now prompt me to at least buy the publication – consequently, I was unaware of the inclusion of Little Chef Popham in the directory. What was obvious however from the style of documentary was that there was always going to be a happy ending anyway. That is the way these programmes are made. We start knowing Heston’s going back. We figure there’ll probably be something he needs to sort out (after all – this is an hour’s worth of material) and there has to be some kind of redemption at the end of it.

Like reality TV, maybe there’s a call for this kind of formulaic docu-entertainment to be put down. There is nothing more boring than being able to visualise the storyboard and the shooting script when you’re watching a programme.

The food – even if fish and chips – didn’t look that amazing. If anything it looked like the kind of basic standard food I’d expect from a company who have a captive audience to satisfy in 170 properties nestling alongside the UK’s main roads.

What I rather hope is that it’s one small step along the way to improving this country’s appalling service industry culture with it’s long fringes, bottle blonde hair and alabaster attitude. Now that would make an interesting documentary. A twelve parter, I’d suggest.

Electric Proms 2009 / Robbie Williams

I missed the live broadcast of Robbie Williams’ Electric Proms gig. I heard about it though. People were raving about it to me whilst I was at Radio 3’s Free Thinking Festival last weekend.

I must watch it, I thought. So I watched it online switching from the full screen version on my laptop to follow the set list (and avoid Scott Mills’ face – his appearance in both Attitude Magazine and Gay Times this month means the cutesy Radio 1 DJ may be in danger of jumping the shark if he’s not careful).

It was nice to see Williams back. It was nice too to hear songs given a thorough orchestration by producer Trevor Horn. The strings sounded iffy in places but the sound of a timpani underpinning some dramatic moments in various tracks made for a nice effect combined with the interestingly satisfying interior of The Roundhouse packed full of screaming girls. (I tried to overlook the appearance of James Corden and Dec from Ant and Dec fame.)

But there is a fly in the ointment I thought. I’m sure there’s a few places where Robbie’s not necessarily delivering 100% on the intonation front. There are moments, I’m sure of it, when the cheeky chappy whose swagger can be just a bit too much at times just can’t reach those top notes. Maybe it’s me being overcritical, I thought. Maybe I should give the boy I was once obsessed with (didn’t you see the Rock DJ video?) a second chance.

BBC HD re-ran the concert last night. Me and The Significant Other watched it this afternoon.

I can confirm that I wasn’t wrong. There are many times when Robbie illustrates to what extent he needs to work on his live performance. I was surprised to see him reading from his autocue, amazed to observe he had the obligatory ear-piece in just one ear. And yet at various points it was clear the massive orchestra behind him and the track played into his ear wasn’t helping. I grimaced a number of times. I’m sorry Mr Williams but I did. You need to work on this.

What’s infinitely more frustrating is the reviews from the mainstream press about the concert (Independent, Times Online, The Guardian). Not one other person picks up on the intonation troubles Williams suffered. It’s as though there’s a different quality threshold rehabilitated popstars must reach in order to get four out of five stars. It’s as though we’re happy to overlook that. It’s as though they were all given a free ticket, access to the VIP area and plenty of booze for the night. That does so make my blood boil.

Why is this important? Possibly because Williams has a story and, as a result, a place in our hearts. He did great stuff and we want him to do great stuff again. Perhaps we want him to acquire that much-desired ‘national treasure’ status. I do. He fits the bill. You’ve just got to turn in a consistently high standard of performance Robbie. I’m stickler for perfection.

>> Watch the live performance of Robbie Williams’ concert at the BBC Electric Proms

TV: Graham Norton Show (Episode 6.4 Mon 26 Oct 2009)

Unbearably cute with a firm grasp of camp, originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good.

Singer Michael Buble is a TV executive’s dream. Not only is the man unbearably cute, at home singing live and comes with a band who dress a set perfectly, the singer also has that rare talent of being able to engage in the perfect banter for a mainstream entertainment show.

Obviously, Michael Buble had something to sell. No guest goes on a chat show without a good reason. His reason is a new album, an album which accompanies a tour it seems. And yet, the 34 year old combined an endearing nervousness with boyish enthusiasm whilst sat alongside Lily Cole, Isabella Rossalini and Sue Perkins. Little wonder we wanted the anecdotes to keep coming.

Chat wasn’t relegated during this particular show, surprising given the crowd of guests Norton faced. Banter ensued instead, with just the right combination of giggling, put-downs and innuendo. Oh .. and of course there was a ginger joke. (I hope to God no-one starts saying that’s offensive. Catherine Tate did a series of sketches about that. She sets the precedent.)

Two and a half years ago, I stood in the Executive Producer’s office at So Television all green, naiive and lonely. I hadn’t really gelled with anyone during my work experience week. I’d made no-one laugh, embarrassed myself by doing research no-one asked for, succeeding only in making the production team certain I was a tabloid journalist desperate to find some dirt.

“When will Graham be on BBC One ?” I asked the exec, desperate to ingratiate myself, “Isn’t it time he got his 45 minutes on a Friday? He’s the perfect Friday-nighter.”

A few months after that I winced with embarrassment when I recalled that exchange. Experience has shown that anything I like on BBC Two (The Graham Norton Show started on BBC Two) normally seriously goes off the boil when it moves to BBC One. Yes, we might all be consuming our TV via BBC iPlayer, but still the audience profile and the material for each of those networks differs considerably.

When I heard The Graham Norton Show would move to BBC One I reckoned that would be the end of it, that I’d look back over my blogs about the show and realise the sad truth: the only reason I watched it was because of the rose-tinted memories which remained from those 13 days at So Television in March 2007.

Episode 4 of this new series – The Buble Show – proves me wrong. It holds up well as testament to how chat / entertainment shows really can work just so long as the right combination of people are producing it.

A successful show depends on the chemistry between the guests, the ideas of the producer and the effeciency of the production team. Episode 4 sits well on BBC One – better than quite a few originally aired on BBC Two and an illustration of how some things take a lot of finessing before the right combination of elements can be exploited for good TV.

I hope to God Episode 5 is just as good, otherwise I’m going to look like a complete twat.

• Watch Buble’s infectious Haven’t We Met Yet on YouTube

(remember to set your stopwatch running after the end to monitor exactly how long it will take before you realise this song will be played everywhere, accompanying all sorts of TV montages – it *will* happen)

• Watch The Graham Norton Show on BBC iPlayer

Nick Griffin on BBC Question Time

If you’ve searched on the internet and hoped for a breakdown of what happened during *that* BBC Question Time with Nick Griffin, you will almost certainly be disappointed. I didn’t watch it as it was broadcast. Instead, I caught up on what happened on Twitter, via some twitter pals and reading accounts provided by The Guardian, The Daily Mail and the BBC website.

A reminder of what felt like the TV event of recent weeks or months was flagged up at the end of a busy few days filming some BBC College of Journalism (CoJo’s launch reported here) events in the leafy setting of the BBC’s Broadcasting House in Cardiff. Attention had been duly focussed on making sure we got the best shots for a series of videos which will with any luck make it onto the College’s learning-rich website when it goes public. It had been a demanding few days. When we all said goodbye at the end of it, it did rather feel like we’d delivered even if there’s some post-production to go through yet.

Being out of London for that relatively extended period of time probably explained the shock we all experienced when we stopped dead in front of the plasma screen outside the studio. There streamed live on the BBC News channel were shots of Television Centre seemingly under siege by protesters registering their disgust at the appearance of BNP leader Nick Griffin on the BBC’s Question Time.

Not for the first time since signing that all important BBC contract, I left Cardiff’s Broadcasting House wondering whether the BBC was a hated institution. Was the BBC wrong for having Griffin on Question Time. Should they have refused him? Were they giving a voice to something fundamentally wrong? Had the BBC and all who worked for it and subscribed to it’s values, followed the wrong path? Was this another nail in the coffin? More importantly, in my pursuit of a dream job with a dream organisation, had I backed the wrong horse?

History will judge that fist full of questions. And, if it doesn’t, I’m not the person to provide an objective view on it. To do that I’d have to be working for someone entirely different, quite possibly in an entirely different field.

Instead, I took solace in the words of the taxi driver who submitted to my line of jovial questioning effortlessly executed during the short journey back to the miserable hotel I’ve been staying in these past few days.

“You’ll have missed Question Time tonight then?” I asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.

“Oh yes. But I’ve been following it all day.”

“What do you make of it all?” I asked, keen not to make things appear too obvious.

“I don’t agree. I don’t agree with him but we’re about free speech. I don’t like that. I don’t like him having that time. But he had his time. He was voted in. We’re about free speech. He was allowed his time. “

“Do you think the BBC was right to have him on?”

(It was only a six or seven minute journey to the Copthorne Hotel. Time was of the essence.)

“Of course. I trust the BBC. I know what I hear from the BBC is the truth. And if they get it wrong they’ll tell me they’ve got it wrong. I appreciate that.”

What the taxi driver said isn’t important. (Technically speaking I should have provided you with an audio record of the conversation so this blog is fully backed up in terms of evidence. Sadly, the journey – including the 3 minutes spent at the cash machine getting the necessary £10 for the journey home – only amounted to 15 mintues and we spent 5 minutes of that talking about Radio 4.) What’s important to me is the sense of relief I felt when that one individual expressed appreciation of what the BBC does and the values it’s recently demonstrated.

I confessed my allegiance shortly before he pulled on the handbrake outside the front door of the hotel. “I wondered why you were asking,” he said handing me my change, “but don’t misunderstand me whatever you do lovely. I like the BBC. I trust the news I get from it. I don’t like Radio Football – there’s never any mention of the rugby scores from Wales on a Saturday evening and I can’t stand Strictly Come Dancing. But you lot who do the news. You lot get it right mostly. And when you don’t, you usually tell us you haven’t.”

Bless him.

TV: Joanna Lumley: Catwoman (ITV)

ITV Director of Television Peter Fincham must be feeling a little pleased with himself. For most people who remember his departure from the BBC over that Queen documentary thing, Joanna Lumley’s lead in ITV’s Sunday night late-teatime documentary piece about cats will surely have secured a core demographic.

‘Everyone loves cats,’ the executives must have screamed across the table, ‘let’s make a documentary about cats.’

You’d think it might have been a bit mawkish. It might have been just that little bit ‘ITV’ (low on information, high on filler). You’d be wrong. Instead Joanna Lumley lit up the screen with her warmth and sincerity.

Fine. I may not have learnt much more about cats than I knew already but I did get to see cats on television on a Sunday night interspersed amongst interviews with cat-lovers and cat-carers who weren’t necessarily given an easy ride at every turn by this most famous of cat-fans.

Nice work Mr Fincham.

TV: Torchwood – Children of Earth \ BBC

Some years ago – back when I thought the path to a glittering career in broadcasting could be followed by producing a weekly, highly amateurish and largely rambling podcast – I bid for an interview with Doctor Who head-honcho Russell T Davies and his executive producing associate Julie Gardner.

How could they resist, I thought to myself. Here I am. A smashing chap, desperate to make his way in the broadcasting world, equally desperate to break into the BBC, possessing an unfailing ability to spot exactly when a spot of ego massage is both timely and pragmatic. One hand washes the other, I thought. I’ll interview them on my little podcast and then people will go, “Oooooooh.”

Not so. Not only was Julie Gardner and Russell T Davies less than keen to be interviewed by a nobody like me, the thought of a podcast about the much-anticipated launch of Doctor Who spin-off Torchwood was something they were even less enthusiastic about.

One or two people with potentially important broadcasting links took me to one side in the kitchen at work. “Whatever you’re planning on doing, take my advice and don’t. It’s not a good idea.” “But I like Doctor Who and I’m looking forward to Torchwood. It’s like Doctor Who but for me .. for a 30 something desperate to rekindle the fear he experienced in his spotty youth.”

“Forget it. Pick something else. Do something about that smoothie company in Shepherd’s Bush.”

I responded in typically adult and considered fashion, putting my first season DVD set of Doctor Who on eBay and channelling all my bitterness and resentment into a personal scathing assessment of the first episode of Torchwood. I recall no more from the first episode of the series than seemingly never-ending shots of an SUV (nobody calls it an SUV for God’s sake – it’s a four-by-four) and being unable to find an answer to the very simple question: “Why is this damn rift in Cardiff exactly?”

I didn’t watch past the first episode, told the person who advised me about the podcast the same and from then on fostered an unreasonably and unjustifiably mean dislike of John Barrowman with his white teeth, layers of make-up and tiresome attempt at hero-running in a trench coat. (Avoid the puddles man! Just because you think you’re a hero, doesn’t mean you should run through puddles. Think of your appearance.)

I didn’t listen to the Torchwood play on Radio 4 last year on the CERN day that never was nor did I commit to any more than the first 12 minutes of last week’s play entitled Asylum. I failed to catch up on the rest on the BBC’s iPlayeritAgain thing.

But .. I did resolve to watching Torchwood: Children of Earth which ran Monday to Friday last week Would I enjoy it? Would I still hate it?

Those dark feelings from nearly three years ago may well have hung around during the first episode.

I was skeptical about Peter Capaldi (has he now reached the point in his career when he’s rolled out to do everything high profile?), occasionally irritated by naff rock music intended to ramp up the tension and in the days following London’s Pride March I remained utterly unconvinced that a permanently non-aging alien-fighting hero’s on-screen romance was convincing or necessary.

Clearly demonstrating that I had come a long way in a few short years, I did however embrace the unexpectedly positive thoughts I had about the first episode. The story had pace; it felt like there was time to expand on things in this five day story; there wasn’t too much gratuitous running around; and it did look utterly fantastic (especially the helicopter shots of London government) in High Definition. It might even be a reason to go out and get HD if you haven’t already.

To pour over the detail of each and every episode would be pointless, difficult and almost certainly ring alarm bells in various people’s offices.

However, there was one point when I had what might be described as a mild, low-key road to Damascus experience.

Quite apart from the scene in which Captain Jack really is being punished (this was the first piece of horror inflicted on the character in which I genuinely felt villified), there was one scene in which the government of the day is forced to decide how to select the sacrificial lambs for the gruesome slimey thing with the insatiable appetite in the greenhouse downstairs. Within a space of a few seconds, the full horror of this ridiculous dilemma flicked the appropriate switches. Writers and producers clicked their fingers and stared into the eyes of the audience: what criteria would you use to feed that hideous thing downstairs?

As any sneery, childish old-school wanton Doctor Who fan will tell you, that scene was the kind of moment we all yearn for. It’s the moment when us fans are transported from the mere entertainment daubed all over the screen to a thought provoking place. Instead of physical motion on the screen, there was an emotional depth delivered quite unexpectedly.

The idea was plausible, one presented on screen without a single chance of a sneer interrupting the flow. The idea was planted in the mind of the audience who were in a split second left to think through the implications. It was showing not telling. It was kick-starting the imagination. It was classic “Who” (even if this was only a “Who” spin-off). It was a Genesis of the Daleks moment.

It was a moment which quite simply a prelude to some quite simply executed yet fundamentally dark and disturbing scenes in which vulnerability plays a very big part and the viewer is furtively wiping a tear from the eye.

It was a corker.

Do I regret the reaction I had to the first series? Could I in fact return to it having seen how good this five-parter was and drastically reassess the rest?

The answer to that is no. I may be self-deprecating and I may be quite open to change, but there are limits. The grauitous shot of John Barrowman’s backside at the beginning of one episode was a step too far no matter how good the fourth episode was.

Oh .. and in case you’re wondering, I didn’t find a buyer for the DVD set of the first series of Doctor Who. Any interested parties, please do not hesitate to get in touch.

Torchwood: Children of Earth is available via Amazon. Go on. Buy it.

TV: You Have Been Watching \ Charlie Brooker \ Channel 4

Charlie Brooker, host of new Channel 4 panel show You Have Been Watching, is a victim of his own success.

Having preached to a formerly disatisfied audience, Brooker has converted the cynics to his way of thinking. Now that same audience sit and watch him do something different from his usual output and provide the same armchair criticism he did in his Screenwipe shows.

Those programmes were pure Brooker. Half an hour of uninterrupted critical assessment of various aspects of television output. If there was an issue in the media, Brooker could be relied upon to provide an accurate summation of that issue and deliver an everyday angle on it, cutting out the crap with his viciously scathing humour.

In doing so, he succeeded in pointing out exactly what it was we the audience were thinking about any given media-related subject, even if we didn’t realise where we stood on it.

And in doing that Brooker became our mate. Brooker became a badge of honour. He led an army. We followed him unconditionally. He was someone who didn’t need to be offered a drink at the bar because there were plenty of fans already queuing up to purchase one already.

In You Have Been Watching, Brooker takes the same jaw-droppingly awful sequences from popular TV shows including the BBC’s The One Show and a stunningly disgusting segment from ill-thought out and deeply disturbing “factual” entertainment show Deadliest Warriors. Instead of satisfying ourselves with Brooker’s take on a show offered in his usually biting voice-over, the host also welcomed the opinions of his three panellists.

Those three panellists were Rufus Hound (someone I only really recognise from the Dave posters on the Underground advertising another panel show he was in but whom I feel I know sufficiently well to want slap every time I saw his face on the screen), Richard Herring (someone I did know but whose similarly smug face made it look as though he couldn’t believe his luck he was back on TV and thus, I wanted to punch him too) and Jamelia (who’s chest didn’t shake when she laughed thus confirming her role as the dizzy female pundit constantly playing catch up with the wittier panellists who surely must have missed their taxi to the studio). All of them took up position in a ridiculously oversized studio with bright colours and a perfect audience. The picture was complete. This was Telly Addicts for the 21st Century.

Of course, Brooker’s expertise could well be at work here. Maybe the whole thing was ironic. Maybe the gag was that he was taking the piss out of formats. What better way to cock-a-hoop at the industry but by treating his ascerbic wit the same way and seeing if it worked.

Personally speaking, I don’t think it did. Brooker looked mainstream. He’d moved from being behind the bikesheds pouring scorn on the other kids there with him desperate to find a working lighter for their cigarettes, and now seemed to be standing at the front of the class delivering the lesson in a slightly self-consciously wacky style.

Brooker is best when he’s on his own. I want to see him being grouchy in what purports to his own flat. I want his opinion, not anyone elses. I don’t want to see people attempting to be funny with him and neither do I want to see him try and make an audience laugh.

What he’s incredibly skilled at is writing scripts which don’t rely on the interaction of others. When he voices them or they’re printed in the Guardian they’re pure Brooker and that’s what those of us in the media industry who occasionally quake with fear need to reset us from time to time.

Patrick Dowling & The Adventure Game

There’s a pooly lit corner of television history which anyone of a certain age will feel instantly comfortable residing in for a while when they’ve been directed to it.

That programme was The Adventure Game, a series of puzzles and conundrums laid out for celebrity participants set on the fictitious planet of Arg. Contestants had to solve the puzzles and successfully cross the seemingly deadly Vortex in order to win their inter-galactic tube train journey home.

I remember it first and foremost for The Vortex, a simple game of cat and mouse played out using green screen and BBC Computer graphics. OK, so I may not have appreciated the complexities of green screen broadcast technology when I was a mere 12 years old, the graphical representation of the Vortex sedately chasing after the contenders crossing the board was realistic. Our computer lab at school was populated with BBC computers. I saw similar graphics on our monitors at school. No real surprise that me and my contemporaries spent many a lunch break trying to recreate the excitement of the Vortex on the tree stumps outside school.

Producer of the show Patrick Dowling (whose death at 89 was announced yesterday), revealed in an interview just how challenging a process the production of the show was in an interview for Off The Telly in 2004. I hadn’t appreciated to what extent the celebrity participants hadn’t been on-script.

What Dowling and his team were doing (in effect) was filming a series of problems being solved and then editing them together for TV entertainment. The accomplishment deserves raucous applause given that such a relatively risky production resulted in entertainment I engaged with at the age of 12. The fact that Dowling was doing exactly the same as Big Brother and a whole string of other reality TV programmes continue to do nearly 25 years later makes it even more remarkable.

TV: Alan Carr:Chatty Man \ Channel 4

Is Alan Carr the new fluffy homo we’re prepared to open our hearts to or just yet another camp stand-up comedian who’s been given his own chat show?

Carr isn’t new to TV entertainment. He and his west country big cat sidekick Justin Lee-Collins have been doing the Sunday Night Project (and various other projects) for a number of years now. It was the prospect of Carr on his own however which prompted me to watch him on his new Sunday night chat show Alan Carr: Chatty Man.

Joined by entertainment God Bruce Forsyth and Heather Graham there were times when it felt as though his guests were there solely to provide Carr with material for his next gag. In “chat show” world this is nothing new, it has to be said. And whilst there was obvious chemistry between Carr and his first two guests, it was his segment with Ross Kemp which left me a little cold. Even a personal appearance from sometime tough-guy Kemp talking about his Sky One documentaries did little to impress me about Kemp’s latest contribution to the canon of investigative journalism.

The inclusion of monologues at the top of each segment was something fresh borne out of pragmatism no doubt. More time featuring Carr meant less time with the guests which in turns throws more of the spotlight on Carr. The material will have to be good, although there’s a promise there with Twitter Tattle. The Big Brother segment was seemingly over before it had begun. The most successful sequence was undoubtedly his guest appearance in the Pet Shop Boy’s rendition Did You See Me Coming?

Carr is a funny man and an adorable one too. He’s better on his own and has definitely hooked in one new committed viewer. But whilst the set was good and the crowd raucously enthusiastic, Carr’s chat show follows a tried and tested format. It’s a vehicle which shows once again british TV is woefully lacking a genuine and sincere entertainment chat show. Whilst I’m waiting for that particular need to be met, I’ll still settle myself down for a cosy 50 minutes every Sunday night for the forseeable future.

George Fenton

With so much information available on the internet I do sometimes find myself feeling a tad guilty for not feeling arsed to go and find out stuff off my own back. Sometimes I need an impetus. Sometimes I need to be provoked into finding out stuff about someone or something.

That spark of interest came from Tommy Pearson’s excellent Stage and Screen Online podcast interview with film and TV composer George Fenton (left). There’s a total of an hours worth of fascinating conversation between the two discussing the process he followed composing the film soundtrack to Ghandi. There’s also plenty of discussion about his other film scores to boot.

Quite apart from the fact Fenton comes across as a refreshingly humble and charming individual, what really surprised me was learning about Fenton’s work on various TV programmes I remember watching as a kid. In particular was the signature tune to BBC Breakfast Time, the first network breakfast programme in the UK and guaranteed to provoke a warm fuzzy feeling whenever I hear it.

I remember the moment well, sat in front of the fan heater in a cold lounge at home, up in time to watch the first programme go out. I remember there being something really quite exciting about the music back then. That combined with the arresting simple visuals provided a fitting moment in television. At least that’s how I think I recall it.

Whilst I can’t be sure whether he was the man behind the following news based signature tune (I know he composed Newsnight – and he discusses it at the end of the first part of Pearson’s podcast), I’m fairly certain he must have had a hand in the BBC’s One O Clock news from the mid-eighties.

The compositional style mirrors that of Breakfast Time effortless. It has, for me at least, Fenton’s name written all over it. It successfully combined urgency and excitement without the usual self-conscious impending doom associated with so many present-day news themes. It promised hope rather pessimism. The soundtrack combined with the graphics communicated integrity. It should come as no surprise it was around about the same time as I started dreaming of being a newsreader, a dream I might add I haven’t realised.

Hear Tommy Pearson’s podcast interview with composer George Fenton (Part One / Part Two)

Fenton is also in conversation with Tommy Pearson on Sunday 7 June prior to a London Symphony Orchestra concert in the Barbican Concert Hall featuring a selection of the composer’s film and TV scores. Be sure to go.

TV: Jonathan Ross Show (1 May 2009 feat. Jade Ewen)

    

Our girl and the Lord, originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good.

It was quite a big night for us Eurovision fans tonight. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen a Eurovision act on a late night prime time BBC One show, nor the last time I’ve watched Jonathan Ross’ late night show. (Well, actually I did see the one he did when he returned from his three months on gardening leave. That was the only one.)

I was nervous this evening. Friends came round. I’d announced we should watch it. They acquiesced. I felt guilty.

It’s a strange feeling when you see the person you’ve invested so much in perch on a sofa and face a person you’re a little bit frightened of. How will our girl Jade come across in this interview? And does it prepare me for how things will go in the Eurovision final?

Andrew Lloyd Webber sat in the hot seat, Jade next door. There was a short clip of her singing her big modulation moment, followed by some chat and then another sequence (slightly less flattering) focussing on her in a moment of vocal insecurity she experienced when she was understandably feeling slightly emotional. I reached for the bottle of wine on the table in front of me at around about the same time.

At some point after this there seemed fewer shots featuring the lovely Jade. Andrew Lloyd Webber seemed to feature a bit more. There were a handful of nauseating clips from previous Eurovisions but all I remember now is subsequent talk of Lloyd-Webber’s future project.

When he let slip he didn’t think we’d really win, I did feel a tiny bit irritated.

It seemed a little bit insensitive to be sat next Jade and be saying that. He’d been involved in the selection procedure after all. And now he’s saying that.

If I’d have been her I possibly might have scratched his eyes out backstage. I would have stamped my foot. I probably would have called my Mum. “You won’t believe what that Andrew Lloyd Webber said Mum….”

But in the spirit of painful objectivity, there might just be a bit of a tough lesson for me here however. Obviously (unless you’re drunk and have no idea of what the sub-text here is) I’m prepared to confess to a spot of transference here.

Or to put it another way: just because I want us to win the Eurovision, doesn’t necessarily mean we will.

There are 41 other countries (I think) taking part in the Eurovision this year. There are plenty of songs which could deservedly take the crown. I do rather need to get used to that idea. I’d probably enjoy the big night a whole lot more if I did.

Jade on Jonathan Ross via BBC iPlayer until Friday 8 May.

Read about Jade’s appearance on BBC One’s The One Show, the following Monday here.

Robinson’s Be Natural ‘Bird House’ Advert

It’s a far cry from those adverts for weak lemon drink featuring sweaty tennis players sat at the side of the centre court at Wimbledon mopping their brows. Now Robinsons have opted for a eye-catching and charming little piece for their new push featuring a bird returning to his pad from a busy day of … well, being a bird. Keep an eye out for the criminal cat on the TV news bulletin especially for birds. The avian take on the cuckoo clock is especially classy. Quality work indeed.

Update: It seems that the first posting had an embedded YouTube video which was subsequently removed by the user. Shame. It was a quality piece of work. Somebody must have complained. Boo. So, if this one gets removed and I haven’t picked it up, please be sure to let me know. Lots of fluff. Jon.

Baftas 2009

I’m not normally tempted to sit through two hours of relentless back-slapping in the hope I might have something to write about, but the 2009 Bafta awards seemed like the perfect stuff to watch on a Sunday evening.

From a personal perspective, I found some of the decisions a little surprising largely because a lot of the stuff which did get an award was either something I didn’t agree with or hadn’t watched. Had it not have been for Dawn French and Jennifer Saunders getting the Fellowship award I may well have ended the broadcast feeling like I was owed two hours of my life by BAFTA and that I was seriously out of touch with the rest of society. Now I come to think of it I suspect both things still apply this morning.

Graham Norton hosted the event staged at the atmosphere-less Royal Festival Hall. Don’t get me wrong, the Festival Hall is a gorgeous venue. It’s just not made for TV.

Drama – Wallander (BBC)
Factual – Amazon (BBC)
Entertainment – X-Factor (ITV)
Sport – F1 (ITV)
Continuing Drama – The Bill (ITV)
News – Chinese Earthquake (ITV)
Entertainment Performance – Harry Hill (ITV)
Single Drama – White Girl (BBC)
Comedy Programme – Harry and Paul (BBC) – Geoffrey Perkins
Specialist Factual – Life In Cold Blood (BBC)
Feature – The Choir: Boy’s Don’t Sing (BBC)
Situation Comedy – The IT Crowd (Channel 4)
Best Drama Serial – Criminal Justice (BBC)
Special Award – Jane Tranter, Controller of Drama, BBC (BBC)
Single Documentary – Chosen (Channel 4)
Philips Audience Award – Skins (Channel 4) – a little taken aback
Comedy Performance – David Mitchell (Peep Show, Channel 4)
Actress – Anna somebody (Channel 4)
Actor – Stephen Dillane (Shooting Thomas Hurndall)
Fellowship – Dawn French & Jennifer Saunders
Current Affairs – Saving Africa’s Witch Children (Dispatches, Channel 4)
Interactivity – Embarassing Bodies Online (Channel 4)
International – Mad Men (BBC Four)

Bea Arthur Dies

News that Bea Arthur has died hasn’t gone down very well in this particular gay household. She was after all a bit of a legend, quite possibly one of those icons highly thought of but not often thought about and yet still sadly missed when her departure was announced a few hours ago. 

There’s plenty written already about what the Golden Girls star achieved during her acting career. In fact, most of the online news stories share similar key facts. It’s almost like they’re all writing from the same press release. I hope to God that one of the journalists who wrote up the stories actually remembers the woman performing or watching The Golden Girls when it first went out. The idea that some whippersnapper who has no appreciation of Arthur’s identity is writing up the story fills me with fear and dread. 

I reached for my laptop as soon as I heard and searched for the opening credits of The Golden Girls. One last chance to listen to Andrew Gold’s hauntingly melancholic melody. “Thank You For Being A Friend” seemed self-indulgently appropriate in light of the death of such a star. 

What do I find? YouTube returns various results featuring the opening credits of the show which most know Bea Arthur from. This is the cut down version however. It lasts only 42 seconds. 

The full version – the full song recorded by Andrew Gold – has been pulled from the YouTube network because publishers WMG have requested it. 

Leaves a bit of a sour taste in the mouth for those of us who look for any excuse to shed a big gay man’s tear.

Still, thank God for Jonathan Denmark who delivers a smashing rendition in HD. Seems WMG are reasonably OK with that. Presumably they only possess the mechanical rights to the Andrew Gold’s performance …

Obviously I should focus. This post was meant to be about Bea Arthur. She’s dead. Us lot in the community are all very sad. At least, I am.

TV: Graham Norton Show (5.7 23 April 2009)

 

Peter Andre and Katie Price, originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good.

Peter Andre and Katie Price joined Jimmy Carr on the sofa for an edition of the Graham Norton Show illustrating how reality television needn’t be a car crash.

Andre and Price (aka Jordan) are the epitome of celebrity. OK, so one time Aussie hunk may have have a pop hit with his single Mysterious Girl and yes, he may possibly have had a good body (and who knows maybe he still does now). But what exactly does he do now? And does he deserve his media appearances ? What exactly is the man famous for now other than being married to Katie Price?

Andre’s wife Price may have justifiably established her presence with a large bosom and a jaw-dropping nerve to try anything once (just take a trip down memory lane and observe her appearance on the UK selection programme for Eurovision in 2005) but what exactly has she done recently to warrant an appearance? I can’t remember and I can’t be arsed to look at Wikipedia either. Go do your own research.

What they have is a discernible on-screen chemistry, one which makes their off-screen implicit and undeniable. Having met on ITV’s I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here, the pair have remained together for six years. That’s some feat for a couple most dismissed as getting together for the reality tv cameras.

In the episode, keep an eye out for an interesting series of exchanges between the couple and Jimmy Carr. First Katie is in total control over her husband almost belittling him, then the next moment Carr is cracking a crude joke which seemingly only Andre gets. Price has all the visible signs of someone laughing whilst not quite understanding why.

If you’re looking for a shining example of a genuinely happy married celebrity couple then look no further than Mr Andre and Ms Price as seen on Graham Norton’s Show. Despite both their shiny faces, they’re pretty real too.

It’s available on BBC iPlayer until Thursday 30 April 2009

TV: Graham Norton Show (5.6 16 April 2009)

Graham on a lap, originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good.

X-Files star Gillian Anderson and irritatingly young looking Chris Addison joined a soberly dressed Graham Norton in a welcome return of a show which has now successfully secured its place as a Thursday night treat.

Sinead O’Connor took us down (a slightly distressing) memory lane with a live performance of Nothing Compares To You , sparking a debate on performance techniques employed by a variety of former popstars. Lovely to see a special appearance from a mini-Graham (pictured).

Special mention must surely be given to the apparently necessary Japanese translator who sat on the front of the audience. She look lovely.

If you’re inside the UK you can watch it again here. If you’re outside the UK, I’m sorry.

If you’re in the US, I believe you can watch it on BBC America on Saturday 25 April 10/9c.

If you’re a friend then I’ll record a copy to DVD and save it for you to watch when you visit. If you haven’t booked a visit yet, then please do.

Oh .. and those all important links:

National Archives UFO thing.

Delia Smith

Noel Edmonds.

TV: Lost World of Communism (3/3)

Like episode one, the concluding episode in this brilliant documentary series made for uncomfortable yet informative viewing.

Gone are the sanitised history lessons from school and in it’s place haunting images of what life was really like for a handful of people in the Romanian dictatorship during up to the fall of communism.

Banning abortions and implementing a regime of regular pregnancy checks seemed unpallatable, accounts of how some desperate women carried out their own abortions even more so. The policing of banned words by Romanian communist censors at a comedy perforamance may have given slight relief, but the realities of life on peasants forced to leave their homes in the country as villages were demolished, only to be moved into substandard living in the cities left a bitter taste in the mouth. Repatriots were forced to pay rent on properties not suitable for human habitation with money they didn’t have. Little wonder the country revolted against its dictator Nicolae Ceauşescu.

Documentary makers didn’t hesitate from going further, providing a first-hand account from Captain Ionel Boeru, the paratrooper who brought the captured Ceauşescus to the court and remained with them during their trial and execution. 

The footage made for grim watching. In their final moments before being executed, did they need to be manhandled in the way they did? Was Elena Ceauşescu justified in screaming being tied up was unnecessary? Did we really have to watch their final moments alive ? At this point in time they were two old people and looked it. If they knew they were going to die, was it shameful ghoulishness to record their guilty cries? And … did we need to see their bodies slumped in the courtyard after the firing squad had done their work?

The answer was an emphatic yes from the contributors who appeared in the documentary. Captain Ionel Boeru stood in the courtyard where the dictator and his wife fell to the ground. “He [Nicolae Ceauşescu] got exactly what he deserved. I still think that”.

A new regime needed to make it clear they were in charge. Daniela Draghici explained how she had seen the footage on TV in 1989 adding, “we couldn’t get enough of it … to make sure it was really happening, that they were really dead.”

Tioday’s audience needed to see it now, no matter difficult the visual imagery was. This was real history laid bare. Sometimes, history books and Wikipedia entries can’t illustrate the realities of a period in time like video footage can.

That footage – with all it’s gruesome detail – is available on YouTube. Just search for Nicolae Ceauşescu and you’ll soon find it. Having watched LWOC it’s obvious why it was so important it was made available on Romanian TV in the early days of the 90s.

But does it fulfill the same need on YouTube as it did back then on Romanian TV? If the final point of the documentary rings true, maybe there is an element of a generation needing the next to be reminded of what a dark time in the country’s history has passed and what musn’t be visited again. It could however be quite ghoulish. The hit-rate certainly gives that impression.

The episode (like the rest of the series) doesn’t pull any punches either. The paratrooper revisits the courtyard where the Ceauşescus fell to the ground. Alternatively, go for the slightly more edited version (but no lesson challenging to watch) via the DVD of the Lost World of Communism out on April 13. Education at it’s best.

TV: Graham Norton Show (5.4 26 March 2009)

A heart throb apparently, originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good.

Graham’s number one guest for this episode was the instantly forgettable yet apparently adorable Zac Efron.

Efron certainly whipped up the audience. God only knows why. He certainly failed to make an impact in South East London. Better luck next time mister.

Little Britain star David Walliams demonstrated his obviously ease on Norton’s sofa, relaxing even more when recent Brits award winners Pet Shops Boys Neil Tenant and Chris Lowe stepped onto stage ahead of a “performance” of their latest single Love Is.

Norton’s blossomed just recently, proving he’s the belle of the ball. Nice to see.

I’m still not absolutely clear who or how important Zac Efron is. Did he deserve the cheers? I suspect not. The Pet Shop Boys studio performance reinforced how they’re better studio performers than TV acts. Nice to seem them engaging in a spot of banter with Walliams and Norton nonetheless.

Gareth McLean, homophobia and crap jokes

Guardian TV critic and Radio Times soap expert Gareth McLean has penned a scathing attack on the use of gay stereotypes in comedy. He writes:

” … there seems to be no appreciation of the part that such characters, and the attitudes that spawn, them play in the continuing insidiousness of homophobia and the resultant violence, intimidation and bullying that gay men and women endure … “

His piece inevitably taps into Chris Moyles’ “insulting” use of the word “gay” in his radio show, the character Mr Humphries from Are You Being Served? and most recently, the gay war reporter Tim Goodall from the understandably much-maligned recent new sketch show from ubiqutous “comedians” Horne and Corden.

McLean’s piece in the Guardian leaves me seething. Always a good starting point for a blog post, I find.

As a gayer/bender/poofta/homo/batty boy/fudge-packer myself, I have a rather different take. I don’t object to stereotypes in comedy because I know when I see a stereotype. If it wasn’t a stereotype (in whatever comedy I’m watching) it wouldn’t be funny (assuming it is). In fact, as difficult as it might be to believe, I actually know one or two people who bear more than a striking resemblance to the Tim Goodall too. If derogatory terms should be outlawed, should we outlaw the individuals in society who do actually bear a resemblance to the stereotypes comedians sometimes rely on for a cheap gag?

More than all of that however, I have more of a problem with those who hijack the supposedly derogatory terms using them to build a soap box on which to stand on than I do with the words themselves. If you’re to take Mr McLean’s viewpoint a stage further, presumably the world will be a much safer place for me as a gay man if we ban all the nasty names and the cheap gags. Excuse me whilst I reach for my tight white t-shirt and dog tag and rub wax into my cropped hair but dahling … I’m fuming.

Why?

Words on their own aren’t offensive. It’s the context in which those words are used which causes the offence. If the context is an overture to a violent attack then obviously it’s wrong. If we’re having a laugh then having a laugh is OK. OK?

Here’s an example. Some years back I found myself in a bit of a sticky situation. I had met my partner. I’d fallen in love. He’d given me a set of keys to his flat and I’d given in my notice to my then present landlady.  

Up until that point I had always been in what Stephen Fry charming describes as “the vagina business” but having gone on a bit of a “Gay Road to Damascus” type experience, I found myself in need of “coming out”. I needed to explain why I was changing my chosen route, why I was moving in with a bloke called Simon who was five years older than me and why it was (should anyone call me on my new number) the landline answerphone had a message with Homer Simpson saying “I like my beer cold, my TV loud and homosexuals flaming!” Coming out seemed the best path to follow.

The process was traumatic. It was the greatest fear. Perhaps the most difficult thing in the world I could have done. I hated it. I decided to use my best friend as a trial.

It was an agonising telephone call I made her from Oxford Street. I ummed and aaahed. I hesitated. I couldn’t bring myself to say the word “gay” (because I’d spent many years denying it) and I certainly couldn’t bring myself to say the word “homosexual” either. In fact, I couldn’t bring myself to have the conversation full stop.

So with traffic thundering past in the background, sensing my obvious unease (and possibly tapping into something she had already sensed but dared not say before then) my friend took up the responsibility of driving the conversation.

“Are you engaged Jon?” she asked.

“No,” I replied.

“Are you pregnant?”

“Well no, obviously not.”

“So,” she said quite abruptly, “are you in fact a bender by any chance? Is that what you’re wanting to tell me?”

The word “bender” was the last thing I expected her to say, especially given her Sunday morning committments at church. “Yes,” I smiled, all nervousness now dissipated, “I am in fact a bender.” We laughed a great deal. The laughing was borne out of surprise and inappropriateness. It made less of the issue I was worrying about. I needed to laugh about it.

The joking continued in the coming weeks. She would call me to find out how things were going in my new relationship, whether I’d spoken to my parents and how other friends had reacted. Every time we spoke we would laugh over all the derogatory terms she could think of to describe me. Once she left a message on my answerphone using a put-on voice asking to speak to “a Mr C. Ferrett….”

Despite her best efforts to mask her voice (and the fact I recognised the number) it wasn’t until I called her back to discover the “C” stood for “Chutney”. Yes. Not only was I (technically) a fudge-packer but I could also be referred to as a “Chutney Ferrett”. It made me laugh. And laughing when I came out was the best way of dealing what was quite possibly the most traumatic process I’ve ever been through.

It almost certainly wouldn’t have helped to have Gareth McLean taking my friend (or me for that matter) to task over the use of language because it might be deemed homophobic.

Gareth Horne and James Corden are certainly not guilty of creating characters or script which might be seen as homophobic (just look at the latest clip on the YouTube which shows the camp and effeminate character Tim Goodall taking on an equally stereotypical character who has been taunting him as a “batty boy” – it’s the gay character who comes out on top – please forgive the pun).

If they’re guilty of anything, it’s only for having written and performed something which is as unfunny as it is (although interestingly I’m finding myself laugh a lot at this character possibly because of his unfeasibly white teeth). They’re not the first nor will they be the last comedy duo to have turned out some duff material, and as much as I don’t want to do this (I’m not a big fan anyway) I’m prepared to forgive them for that.

Does perceived homophobic comedy increase the chances or provide motivation for a homphobic attack? I find it difficult to believe there will ever come a time when attacks on gay men will stop by narrow-minded crazed individuals who failed at the well-adjustment classes most of us attended at some point in our lives. I’m sure as hell certain that banning words or comedy characters will make a difference either. What might help is stopping ourselves from leaping on the bandwagon marked “Crying Wolves”.

TV: Graham Norton Show (5.3 19 March 2009)

Gervais on Norton, originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good.

Not the best episode of Mr Norton’s show I’ve seen this series although still quite special to see fluffy Ronnie Corbett taking pride of place in the number one seat on Graham’s sofa.

Interesting thing from Ricky Gervais about Extras talking about how another season probably isn’t likely.

The real star of the show was, of course, our cat Cromarty who can be heard fully in the clip above.

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