GOOD TELE, INNIT?
I have been watching Ben Fogle's Extreme - climb every mountain, ford every stream -Dreams. Might have given it a miss on the grounds that it is the dreaded reality television. [I am still strongly opposed to the use of the general public as entertainers.] But Ben is the sort of bloke who expects nobody to do what he won't do himself, so that makes it half bearable even to an old grouch like me.
I will never understand the logic behind the choice of certain team members of course, (well...it's good tele, innit?) but there is a feel good conclusion to the proceedings each week which appeals to those fans of Ben Fogle who just have to have an a-a-a-a-a-ah ending.
Afraid I tend to snort impatiently when the compulsory attention seekers whinge on.
Cannot help but be aware that there is a crew with a bloody great camera tackling the same desert - forest - mountain - river - swamp and doing it without sound or dramatics.
Daunting? Tell them about it.
Still, my Leader is a fan, so a-a-a-a-ah.
MARPLE UNVEILED.
That didn't take long.
The next Miss Marple on television will be Julia McKenzie.
Well, she'll be a fine successor to Geraldine McEwan and I feel slightly smug that she was one of my choices for the role. Oh, all right, one of my ten names. I reckon as a soothsayer that has to put me on a par with Professor Sybil Trelawney (see Emma Thompson via J.K. Rowling). Anyway, I very much look forward to the new series and wish Ms McKenzie all the theatrical breaking of legs in the world.
ROWAN PUTS HIS OAR IN.
As a choirboy in wartime Britain I attended matins and evensong every Sunday without fail. Swinging the lead was not encouraged: swinging the thurible was.
But I quickly lost patience with dogma and have long held the view that nobody should believe anything without question.
Now Dr. Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury, has (somewhat in keeping with a sainted predecessor, Thomas Becket) put his oar into turbulent waters. It is his view that the adoption of certain aspects of sharia law is unavoidable in the U.K.
He must be thankful that this is not the 12th century or four knights would have been on their way to visit him.
As it is there have been rumblings from certain establishment mouthpieces who should know better but never do: there have been hysterical calls for his resignation from the office boy press: and there has been the usual sanctimonious posturing about the need for him to apologise.
Why?
I have no idea whether he is right or wrong and I am not about to believe him without question.
But he, like me, is a citizen of a country where there is supposed to be freedom of speech within the law.
I cannot see that he has broken any law.
LARK RISE TO CANDLEFORD (BBC1).
Not quite Cranford, perhaps, but this Sunday night excursion into the land of oo-ar and la-di-da accents has all the right ingredients.
There is a wise and decent postmistress, Dorcas Lane, played by Julia Sawalha, a wise and decent squire, Sir Timothy Midwinter, played by Ben Miles and a splendid cast of oo-ar and la-di-da actors including the ever reliable Liz Smith and dear ol' Karl Johnson. There is also Dawn French as a constantly abandoned wife and mother (a boozy version of her Jam and Jerusalem character).
The main character, Laura Timmins, thought to be based on herself by author Flora Thompson (1876 - 1947), is faultlessly played by Olivia Hallinan.
My Leader and I like it.
THE PALACE (ITV 1).
Here we have newly crowned King Richard IV (Rupert Evans) struggling to find his way through the morass of intrigue, resentment and stupidity that surrounds him: most of it engendered by his own family. No change there, then.
It is watchable, too, particularly if you are one of those who gives any credence to the weird conspiracy theories currently being aired by Mr. Mohamed al-Fayed in the lawcourts. (I think they are just the sad, impossible to prove, honest beliefs of a bereaved father - and I am no fan of self-important Prince Philip.)
But as a television series The Palace is no West Wing or Dallas.
It's simply tripe with tiaras.
And yeah, my Leader and I like it.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Sunday, February 03, 2008
97. An Independent reader, watcher and complainant
AN INDEPENDENT READER.
Yasmin Alibhai - Brown and Johann Hari are the first two people I read in The Independent every Monday. I then turn to the erudite Andreas Whittam Smith, whose financial nous scares me silly. I try to ignore The Pocket Churchill, Bruce Anderson. (Well, with my advancing years and diminishing powers I sometimes have a disgraceful tendency to agree with him, if only in a very small c conservative way.)
I usually read Miles Kington's piece before turning to the editorial, the letters and the quick crossword. His death last week was an enormous loss to the world of humorous writing and he will be a terribly hard act to follow.
Last Monday, Yasmin wanted to know why racial abuse is now considered acceptable in this country.
It seems she and others were subjected to crass treatment from "posh hooligans" at a public debate (on "what we wanted from the London Mayor") in Cadogan Hall, Sloane Square, a couple of weeks ago.
In the course of a loud verbal attack she was called a "cunt" and told to go back to Uganda.
As I have remarked elsewhere in this blog, bullies are scum.
So the moron who shouted those brave words should have been spirited away by the law, thrown into a Black Maria, transported to a distant police station to spend a contemplative night and then released on a week's police bail with the words: "C.U. Next Tuesday, eh?"
Who knows what has come over this nation.
To be good mannered is now regarded as patronising. Effing and blinding in public is accepted. There is contempt for anything but a positive approach i.e. rudeness. No age group or class is exempt. There is an absence of self respect and respect for others. Litter louts and fly-tippers abound. Don't try to get through to anybody; they'll be too busy talking on their mobile or listening to their ipod.
Sadly, we oldies are no little to blame
(See my post of 15th April 07 New stuff on the block - good and bad! Ignoring Bigotry.)
More sadly, it is far too late to do anything about it.
There is too much apathy and negativity and fear.
And too much sitting in front of the television - or computer.
(IGNORING BIGOTRY - final paragraph)
It is as well that Yasmin Alibhai-Brown of The Independent does not read stuff like this. I would not want to add to her despair at the state of the national psyche. But there you are, concerned lady, an awful lot of old buckets will have to be kicked before this country becomes a haven for any but the likes of Al Murray's Pub Landlord or, more insidiously, those like me who sadly can condone bigotry by ignoring it.
LAMENT FOR A DEPARTING MARPLE.
I was sorry to hear that Geraldine McEwan will no longer be playing Miss Marple.
In a nineteen twenties middle class way Jane Marple was easily the most charming of Agatha Christie's fictional detectives and Ms. McEwan, with a wicked glint here and a sly riposte there, accomplished a subtle revamping of the character for the current television series. Not that I am impressed by the all singing all dancing Agatha Christie's Marple or, for that matter, by Agatha Christie's Poirot: where are Miss Lemon, Inspector Japp and Captain Hastings?
I do like Geraldine McEwan, though, and look forward to seeing her on screen again soon, whatever the role.
So who will replace her as Miss Marple?
I dunno.
How about Miriam Margolyes? She would be great and I like her.
But I like Eileen Atkins and Barbara Flynn and Sue Johnston and Gemma Jones and Julia McKenzie and Doreen Mantle and Maggie Smith and Imelda Staunton and June Whitfield and a whole lot of others who would be great, too.
If you are a follower of Miss Marple you will no doubt be looking for a favourite of your own to fill the role.
Doubtless we will all be left foolishly floundering when the sublime successor surfaces.
[Avoid abominable alliteration. Ed]
REPETITION, REPETITION, REPETITION.
If there is one thing you can rely on from the compilers of television programmes it is that there will be no shortage of repeats.
Currently we are starting what must be at least the third re-run on ITV3 of Pie In The Sky, the enjoyable cook/detective romp which originally ran from 1994 to 1997. Even with unmissable Richard Griffiths and always watchable Maggie Steed, this is a slice too much.
Same goes for the Best of American in the CSI's and NCIS. After five or six lengthy series, viewers surely do not welcome the reminder that they could have ignored it all from the very beginning.
Today Cadfael is back. A one-off, perhaps, but one I have seen twice already. This time even Derek Jacobi with his herbs cannot revive it.
As for Poirot, I've seen the series so many times I'm a phantom understudy to most of the actors.
Likewise I probably know more about Morse than Kevin Whately does.
Sherlock Holmes has spent as much time in my living room as he has in Baker Street.
Wexford waves to me across the road.
Hetty Wainwright smiles when we meet in the grocer's shop.
Monk recognizes me instantly - but doesn't shake hands.
And I am a regular guest at the homes of Mark Sloan and Jessica Fletcher in America and the Tom Barnaby family in England.
What? How have I avoided becoming a 'vic' at Malibu Beach, Cabot Cove or Midsomer?
Hell, I'm just too damned unreasonable to finish up as a non-speaking extra in a body bag.
Ironically, this complaint is a repeat.
But a genuinely restructured repeat, not a blatantly cheap space filler.
AND A WORD OF PRAISE.
Don't usually watch soaps, but the solo performance by June Brown on East Enders last week was not to be missed. Dot Branning's message to her husband was superb stuff. If Ms Brown and all concerned do not get television awards there will be no justice.
Yasmin Alibhai - Brown and Johann Hari are the first two people I read in The Independent every Monday. I then turn to the erudite Andreas Whittam Smith, whose financial nous scares me silly. I try to ignore The Pocket Churchill, Bruce Anderson. (Well, with my advancing years and diminishing powers I sometimes have a disgraceful tendency to agree with him, if only in a very small c conservative way.)
I usually read Miles Kington's piece before turning to the editorial, the letters and the quick crossword. His death last week was an enormous loss to the world of humorous writing and he will be a terribly hard act to follow.
Last Monday, Yasmin wanted to know why racial abuse is now considered acceptable in this country.
It seems she and others were subjected to crass treatment from "posh hooligans" at a public debate (on "what we wanted from the London Mayor") in Cadogan Hall, Sloane Square, a couple of weeks ago.
In the course of a loud verbal attack she was called a "cunt" and told to go back to Uganda.
As I have remarked elsewhere in this blog, bullies are scum.
So the moron who shouted those brave words should have been spirited away by the law, thrown into a Black Maria, transported to a distant police station to spend a contemplative night and then released on a week's police bail with the words: "C.U. Next Tuesday, eh?"
Who knows what has come over this nation.
To be good mannered is now regarded as patronising. Effing and blinding in public is accepted. There is contempt for anything but a positive approach i.e. rudeness. No age group or class is exempt. There is an absence of self respect and respect for others. Litter louts and fly-tippers abound. Don't try to get through to anybody; they'll be too busy talking on their mobile or listening to their ipod.
Sadly, we oldies are no little to blame
(See my post of 15th April 07 New stuff on the block - good and bad! Ignoring Bigotry.)
More sadly, it is far too late to do anything about it.
There is too much apathy and negativity and fear.
And too much sitting in front of the television - or computer.
(IGNORING BIGOTRY - final paragraph)
It is as well that Yasmin Alibhai-Brown of The Independent does not read stuff like this. I would not want to add to her despair at the state of the national psyche. But there you are, concerned lady, an awful lot of old buckets will have to be kicked before this country becomes a haven for any but the likes of Al Murray's Pub Landlord or, more insidiously, those like me who sadly can condone bigotry by ignoring it.
LAMENT FOR A DEPARTING MARPLE.
I was sorry to hear that Geraldine McEwan will no longer be playing Miss Marple.
In a nineteen twenties middle class way Jane Marple was easily the most charming of Agatha Christie's fictional detectives and Ms. McEwan, with a wicked glint here and a sly riposte there, accomplished a subtle revamping of the character for the current television series. Not that I am impressed by the all singing all dancing Agatha Christie's Marple or, for that matter, by Agatha Christie's Poirot: where are Miss Lemon, Inspector Japp and Captain Hastings?
I do like Geraldine McEwan, though, and look forward to seeing her on screen again soon, whatever the role.
So who will replace her as Miss Marple?
I dunno.
How about Miriam Margolyes? She would be great and I like her.
But I like Eileen Atkins and Barbara Flynn and Sue Johnston and Gemma Jones and Julia McKenzie and Doreen Mantle and Maggie Smith and Imelda Staunton and June Whitfield and a whole lot of others who would be great, too.
If you are a follower of Miss Marple you will no doubt be looking for a favourite of your own to fill the role.
Doubtless we will all be left foolishly floundering when the sublime successor surfaces.
[Avoid abominable alliteration. Ed]
REPETITION, REPETITION, REPETITION.
If there is one thing you can rely on from the compilers of television programmes it is that there will be no shortage of repeats.
Currently we are starting what must be at least the third re-run on ITV3 of Pie In The Sky, the enjoyable cook/detective romp which originally ran from 1994 to 1997. Even with unmissable Richard Griffiths and always watchable Maggie Steed, this is a slice too much.
Same goes for the Best of American in the CSI's and NCIS. After five or six lengthy series, viewers surely do not welcome the reminder that they could have ignored it all from the very beginning.
Today Cadfael is back. A one-off, perhaps, but one I have seen twice already. This time even Derek Jacobi with his herbs cannot revive it.
As for Poirot, I've seen the series so many times I'm a phantom understudy to most of the actors.
Likewise I probably know more about Morse than Kevin Whately does.
Sherlock Holmes has spent as much time in my living room as he has in Baker Street.
Wexford waves to me across the road.
Hetty Wainwright smiles when we meet in the grocer's shop.
Monk recognizes me instantly - but doesn't shake hands.
And I am a regular guest at the homes of Mark Sloan and Jessica Fletcher in America and the Tom Barnaby family in England.
What? How have I avoided becoming a 'vic' at Malibu Beach, Cabot Cove or Midsomer?
Hell, I'm just too damned unreasonable to finish up as a non-speaking extra in a body bag.
Ironically, this complaint is a repeat.
But a genuinely restructured repeat, not a blatantly cheap space filler.
AND A WORD OF PRAISE.
Don't usually watch soaps, but the solo performance by June Brown on East Enders last week was not to be missed. Dot Branning's message to her husband was superb stuff. If Ms Brown and all concerned do not get television awards there will be no justice.
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