There is a spellbinding moment in the Rivals finale where fiery Declan O’Hara makes an impassioned speech about the potency of television. He praises its power “to bring us together, to give us a window into others’ lives, to bring new ideas into our homes.”
If only real TV executives had that zeal. Sadly, with the odd exception, they seem perfectly happy to stuff our screens with so-so quizzes, over-stretched soaps, and half-baked cooking shows. (Ice cream and caviar? No thanks, Gregg.)
For the finest modern drama see the streamers – Slow Horses on Apple, Shogun on Disney+ etc.
Ironically, the most addictive series right now is Rivals (Disney+) itself, a playful comic drama set amid a 1987 TV franchise war. On one level, it’s utter trash – it’s broad, filthy and frequently in bad taste; but it’s also engaging and funny, a soapy romp, like Dynasty crossed with confessions of a country squire.
Disney’s lavish adaptation of Jilly Cooper’s 1988 bestseller packs in snobbery, lechery, and off-colour remarks that would horrify Gen Z bedwetters.
We get Rupert, a libidinous government minister who wants to have his Kate and Edith too. Lord Tony, a nasty, vindictive and adulterous TV boss. Declan, a hard-drinking, short-tempered Irish psychopath/TV interviewer who is biased enough for Channel 4 News; and finally Danny Dyer as self-made electronics millionaire Freddie, in a scene-stealing wig.
Strong female characters include Cameron Cook, a smart, successful US producer improbably recruited to the joys of regional TV in fictional Rutshire, a county where fidelity is mission impossible, sex is missionary improbable, and you wouldn’t trust some of the leads to stay faithful at a bus stop.
Yet there is enough warmth, vulnerability, and character development to keep you hooked. Even womanising cad Rupert is reformed by Declan’s likeably innocent, doe-eyed daughter Taggie.
There are of course the inevitable digs at Margaret Thatcher – the makers abandon the 80s soundtrack to play The Clash’s 1977 single White Riot (written under a Labour government) over Maggie footage.
There is also – spoiler alert – one scene of full-frontal naked tennis. I suspect a whole series of that is probably already in development over at C4.
For a less comic take on corporate backstabbing, ruthless ambition and reckless rumpo, Industry (BBC i-Player) is the score to beat. Creators Mickey Down and Konrad Kay make this fictional take on London’s hard-nosed financial sector believable and utterly compelling. Marisa Abela and Myha’la Herrold excel in a fine cast.
One BBC strong suit is often said to be popular science, even though they make very little of it and much of what they do make is dumbed down. Brian Cox’s Solar System (BBC2, Monday) treated us to amazing views of lakes of liquid methane on Titan, Saturn’s biggest moon. He explains our neighbouring planets in soft, soothing terms. Just as he did in 2010. The CGI is good, the music stirring, but it’s all ponderously slow. The dreamy vibe is closer to a meditation tape than actual science. Don’t you wish he could go a little deeper? And faster?
Elsewhere we had Halloween. Isn’t that odd? Mainstream telly ignores Trafalgar Day, snubs St George’s Day and screens just one variety show, top-heavy with miming pop acts, annually, and yet we get a whole week devoted to imported American rhubarb.
The circus started with ‘Halloween Week’ on Strictly Come Dancing (BBC1, last weekend) where poor Dr Punam Krishan danced a tepid terminal tango. Judges Craig Revel-Horrid and Anton du Beke came as the Grady twin sisters from The Shining, that was genuinely repulsive, and Motsi Mabuse dressed as Cruella de Vill. Claudia out-did them all by coming as herself.
Strictly has gone to pot. I preferred when you could look at the celebrity and their partner and know which was which without the aid of Google. The best thing about this current series is Chris McCausland.
Generation Z (Channel 4, Sunday & Monday) was yet another zombie drama, this time with side agendas of Brexit and Covid. A mysterious virus, spilt from a truck, turned old people into flesh-eating monsters. “That lot had the best this country had to offer and they f***ed it,” we were told. Yawn.
The evil horde, including Anita Dobson and Sue Johnston, were fun but the enterprise lacked bite, originality and crucially laughs. It was more a predictable polemic than the “darkly comic” satire we were promised. Still you might have enjoyed it, if you hadn’t already seen The Walking Dead, The Last Of Us, or vampire horror The Strain.
There were proper laughs on The Simpsons: Treehouse Of Horror XXXIV (Sky Showcase, Sunday) a three-pronged special which saw Bart turned into an NFT, a Silence Of The Lambs parody, and everyone in Springfield mutating into Homer, due to radioactive exposure. They’ve been doing these annual horror compendiums since 1990, spoofing everything from The Shining to The Twilight Zone, and show no shortage of invention. But for real horror, we needed Rachel Reeves’s tax-raising, growth-wrecking Budget. Nobody in the cabinet has ever run a business. Asking them to come up with a coherent economic policy is like asking Ann Widdecombe to write season two of Rivals…
Hammer: Heroes, Legends & Monsters (Sky Arts, Thursday) was a must-see homicidal delight for horror fans, with marvellous talking heads ranging from John Carpenter and Tim Burton to Caroline Munro and Madeline Smith. A genuine Halloween treat.
Finally the under-valued Paul Ross interviewed the late Sir Norman Wisdom on Norman Wisdom: A Life (Talking Pictures, Sunday); a wonderful nostalgic documentary that reminded us of days when comedy didn’t need to come with a degree in metaphysics. Charlie Chaplin predicted Wisdom would follow in his footsteps in 1950. He was right. Norman’s first major film, Trouble in Store, broke cinema records, and his plaintive theme song, Don’t Laugh at Me, went Top 10 for months.
He had an unbroken run of movie hits until 1966, and more than 18 million watched his BBC TV pantomime Robinson Crusoe.
Wisdom’s slapstick had a universal appeal, earning him fans as far afield as South America and Albania where they raised a statue to him – the little guy, the working class zero, who beats the odds.
We could do with a modern equivalent. The old days were the old days and they were great, but what have you got for us now?
Random TV irritations: limp, lazy TV ‘satirists’ who can’t (and won’t ever) lay a glove on this cluster-fudge of a government…Craig and Anton dressed as schoolgirls on Saturday night telly…EastEnders writers’ addiction to blackmail…and Brian Cox’s obsession with kilometres – why? Most viewers still think in miles. At least translate measurements on screen.
