Post 362. SOMETHING ORIGINAL?

YOU'RE UNLIKELY TO FIND IT ON TELEVISION.

ORIGINALITY is the programme producer's bête noire. If the coronavirus lockdown in our country has illustrated one negative facet of national television above any other it surely has to be the dogged determination with which the production powers-that-be adhere to the status quo: or amend it to its detriment. Much of today's programming is presented as if the target audience is a class of pre-school children. I watch it briefly, then reach for the 'let's find something other than this rubbish' remote. You have to have some pride. Among my pet hates I would particularly mention the new format of:  

BARGAIN HUNT. Who was it decided that this popular old programme would be improved if you set the contestants a programme presenter's challenge of buying at least one item priced over £70 and/or an item made in a place like Outer Mongolia? Could nobody convince whoever the moron was that you don't spend over £70 for something in a junk shop and make a profit on it in an auction house where the customers (most of whom have only come in to get out of the rain) have absolutely no intention of bidding any more than a tenner for anything no matter where it came from? Did nobody think to mention that the only bargain hunters who ever made a profit at auction were those who spent threepence ha'penny for something that fetched thirty bob or who risked thirty bob on something that magically made them thirty quid (less auction percentage and VAT)? 

For chrissake get back to the timeworn formula. It worked.

POINTS OF VIEW. Let us see the current presenter Tina Daheley on screen. We saw more than enough of Mr. Ubiquitous (Jeremy Vine) for ten years. On each of the last two series I have sent an email complaining about this sexist oversight. Neither approach was heeded. Well, neither complaint started “why oh why oh why...” 

 Do come on though, BBC. Before y'know what you'll be making me pay the licence fee.

AND THERE ARE MORE. But life really is far too short to go over the list of antique twaddle, cooking crap, reality rubbish etc. etc. yet again. As it is:

WE HAVE BEEN WATCHING Prime Video series Hanna (too many episodes: half a dozen would be quite enough) and are increasingly drawn to Netflix and YouTube where many of the repeats are so old even I have forgotten how good or bad they originally were. Recently saw Alan Ladd and his son, David, in The Proud Rebel, a film with Olivia deHavilland which I don't think I ever did see before. It was sensitively directed by Michael Curtiz. Was reminded how unkind technicolour was to actors. The acting was good though: David Ladd won a Golden Globe award as “Best Newcomer of 1958” and a special award for “Best Juvenile Actor.” Hard to believe he's 73 now. Ms. de Havilland, bless her, is 103.

Coming back to the twenty first century, we have been chilling out with Jason Statham's blood and thunder offerings on Netflix. Apparently he doesn't like that many of them and very bluntly says so. Well, there are far worse action movies being produced without apology by his competitors. Actors should only utter unscripted lines to those of their nearest and dearest they know they can trust. Not all publicity is good publicity. Even the UK government must have realised that. Hancock's half hour as coronavirus patsy for the PM came to a complete end yesterday evening. The PM took the stand in person. There's a surprise.

AND TO CONCLUDE. The monster garden here at our island home is slowly being licked into shape by one of our nearest and dearest, daughter Roz. She has also spared me the expense of buying a violin by cutting my hair: it had reached a lockdown length of hippy proportions. Now I could take a squad on a drill square again and face not a single questioning eyebrow. That's what I call a haircut.

All for now.

Mix from a sensible distance: don't mingle.