Yet, if you set aside these frustrations, the finale itself
was touching and powerful. Jack Shepherd was burying his father
Christian. But when he opened the coffin there was no-one there.
Then his Dad walked into the room. How was that possible when
he was dead? Because they were all dead. The sideways universe
was God’s waiting room; they’d been hanging around until every
castaway died so they could move on to Heaven together (except
for those who weren’t available for contractual reasons). And
the first to walk into the light was Christian Shepherd (geddit?)
Back on the island, a handful of our favourites including
Sawyer and Kate escaped by plane. Dying Jack watched them leave.
The final shot was of Jack closing his eye as life slipped away.
It was simultaneously sad and feel-good; the TV equivalent of
being taken in by a fake psychic. Emotional at the time, but
afterwards you feel cheated and slightly soiled. Lost was still
wonderful television, though. It was as bold and beautiful as
it was baffling. It got people talking. It broke the rules.
British TV doesn’t make shows like this, anymore, because we’ve
lost our balls. But no doubt in thirty years’ time ITV will
do its own piss-poor version of it.
*AREN’T there clear parallels between Lost and EastEnders?
They’ve got a smoke monster (Dot), and a bald devil (make that
two; Lucas and Phil). The Others turn up periodically (unmentioned
relatives). None of it makes much sense. And occasionally characters
see glimpses of former chums in another dimension (The Bill).
*ODD. My pal tried to Sky+ Lost and got a re-run of the Kevin
BBC2 did for Money what Ronan Keating’s been doing to that
dancer. It was such a bomb, al-Qaeda claimed responsibility.
In Money, drunken London ad-man John Self becomes a hot-shot
Hollywood director. But Nick Frost’s Self was such a moron it
was hard to believe he could direct traffic down a one-way street
. Most of the humour of Martin Amis’s novel and all of the sparkling
lingo was lost. On the plus side, Emma Pierson sparkled as his
cheating girlfriend. This woman is so hot Carla Bruni would
have to learn a fifth language to do her justice.
SPARTICUS: Blood & Sand is full of war, gore and slappers
sneaking about for sex. It’s like 300 meets the Chelsea training
ground. The show makes Up Pompeii look like Hamlet. There’s
no depth or characterisation, the CGI is crap; the slo-mo blood-spilling
is like something out of a cheap video game. And yet in the
right mood (drunk/stoned), there is much to enjoy: like the
soft-porn romping, comic book action and dialogue that sounds
like it was translated from Bulgarian - badly. You have to love
a show with lines like “My boot will find your arse in the afterlife.”
If only they’d remembered the laugh track...
HOT on TV: Viva Bianca as bad-girl Ilithyia (Spartacus)...
Stones In Exile... Modern Family (Sky1)... Evangeline Lily –
ROT on TV: Money – two-bob drama; Amis devalued... Josh Dubovie
(Eurovision)... David Dickinson – makes Titchmarsh look good...
The Million Pound Drop – not as much fun as Fergie’s £500K bungle.
THE National Movie Awards are as mad and wrong-headed as the
dopey Soap ones, but at least Tom Cruise and Chris Rock turned
up for the fillums ((c) James Nesbitt.) The results were a joke.
The Time Traveller’s Wife is bland old tosh. And Robert Pattinson
deserves a Best Performance gong about as much as Sarah Ferguson
merits free, life-time Mensa membership. The rest was just an
over-long puff for the latest cinema releases.
*SHAME no-one ever finds TV time to toast the UK’s indie film-making
industry. We make quality movies for tuppence. London To Brighton
cost just £80K. Brit flicks like Freight and Rollin’ With The
Nines win awards. It’s all a sight more interesting than Sex
& The City 2.
*RAY Alan has died. Well I’ll ge guggered. Lord Charles was
speechless. Ray had only been dead for 24 hours when Derek Acorah
spoke to him, while drinking a glass of water.
*WHAT future for Lord Charles now? Hmm, a self-important,
opinionated, silly-arse dummy... Well, Britain’s Got Talent
can always do with a reserve judge.
*I LIKED Neil the singing doorman (BGT); but how come all
his bouncer mates wore suits and ties while he looked like he'd
just been gardening?
RANDOM irritations: Hayley’s turmoil (Corrie) – pull yourself
together, man. Loose Women’s bingo wings. Sex & The City 2 in
general, any man who goes to see it in particular. Michael Bublé
using auto-tune; and the lack of celebs at his Audience With.
Instead of ‘Haven’t Met You Yet’ Michael should have sung, ‘I've
Met You, But Who The ***k Are You?’
SMALL joys of TV: Ross Noble (HIGNFY). Lucy Lawless in Krusty’s
red wig (Spartacus) – she looks like Xena, Warrior Clown. Modern
Masters on Dali. Clueless dimwits on Million Pound Drop.
SEPARATED at birth: Nick Frost in Money and Ron Jeremy? One
a loathsome creature defined by porn and abuse, the other Ron
May 29. I flew out to Germany today. As usual, airport
security confiscated my water and deodorant and my guitarist’s
shaving foam. Water, deodorant, shaving foam... everything terrorists
don’t use, we can’t have.
May 23. SO let’s see if I got this right. Gene Hunt
was a Dead Man Nicking, not just someone Sam Tyler dreamed up
in his coma. And Ray, Chris, Shaz and Bolly-Knickers had been
ghosts all along too. The last-ever Ashes To Ashes revealed
that they’d all been ‘living’ in a 1980s-themed purgatory –
a limbo land between this world and the next (to experience
same, visit Croydon). Their entire existence had been, as Gene
would have said, as fake as a tranny’s fanny.
Jim Keats was probably the Devil and not as previously thought
Joe Pasquale’s stunt double. And the Railway Arms, Manchester
(unseen since Life On Mars) was the portal to the after-life,
a kind of Stella-way to Heaven, with Nelson as a pint-pulling
St Peter. Only Gene stayed behind, leaving the door open for
future possible Bowie-themed spin-offs. Confused? Well, it probably
made more sense than the end of Lost will.
I’m still struggling to fathom why Viv died when he was destined
to be the first black police inspector. Or what the significance
of Keats whistling ‘Bubbles’ for an episode was (possibly a
premonition of the hell Upton Park turned out to be for Kevin
Mitchell?) The biggest disappointment was that Gene never got
to bend Bolly over his desk and administer the trouser truncheon.
Ashes was never as hot as Life On Mars. The writing was uneven,
and the tone swerved about like Sue Cleaver at closing time.
The Gene genie was the reason we watched. This giant creation
caught on because he was a magnificent echo of The Sweeney’s
Jack Regan. Hunt was the Sherriff, with his posse of armed bastards.
He stood for a time when the law was about banging up bad guys,
not worrying about their human rights. Gene was that rare thing
on British telly too; a man’s man. In a sane industry, other
strong male roles would now be created for great tough guy actors
like Ray Winstone, Dave Legeno and Craig Fairbrass. But our
lazy, camp-obsessed TV bosses are no doubt too busy dreaming
up a new 97-part reality show for Louie Spence to bother. Goodbye
Gene. RIP – Reign In Purgatory; Regan impersonator. Long may
you drink from a tart’s furry cup.
*WHAT Gene would have liked on TV last week: the Sons Of Anarchy
rescue mission. Audrina Patridge. The demo chant of “Allah?
Allah? Who the f*ck is Allah?” (Young, British & Angry).
SOME write off The British Soap Awards as 150-minute waste
of time. The speeches are lousy, we know all the results and
Phil Schofield is such a vacuum he should be sponsored by Dyson.
Fair enough, but if we didn’t watch it we’d miss the joy of
seeing bad actors trying to hide their resentment at being passed
over in favour of rotten ones. Emmerdale’s eye-rolling, head-shaking
Danny Miller didn’t even attempt to disguise his wounded sense
of entitlement. The highlight was Scott Maslen picking up the
Best Actor gong – the same Scott Maslen who fluffed his lines
in the Enders live special. Mind you he was pretty good in that
coma. The Walford clip-show was terrific; the only problem was
it reminded us that no current Ender can hold a candle to the
giant characters of yore. Irritations were manifold. Not least,
Enders winning Best Storyline for Who Killed Archie, as opposed
to best rerun of something Dallas did much better thirty years
before. And how did praying mantis-faced Sam Warwick make the
Sexiest Female shortlist when Jorge Porter didn’t? It’s an outrage.
At least Betty Driver was recognised for her many centuries
of asking “Who wants hot-pot?”
*BOY George once called me “the Bernard Manning of pop” –
a huge compliment which I could never live up to. The real George
had far more spark than BBC2’s damp squib version; he was funnier
and fatter too. This one looked as happy as a Charlton fan with
shares in Greek government bonds.
HOT on TV: Jason Isaacs (Brotherhood, FX)... Charley Webb...
Jack Bauer wiping out Dana (24, Sky1).
ROT on TV: Question Time – more arseholes than the Naked Office...Robert
Peston (HIGNFY) – comedy bankrupt... Corrie salsa class... You
Have Been Watching – no we haven’t... Worried About The Boy
– I’m more worried about the Beeb.
* JANET Street-Porter reckons weather reports excite her sexually
– a thought to give any man a chill. By coincidence, most blokes
experience a sudden ridge of rising high pressure whenever ITV
weathergirl Becky Mantin appears on screen. PS. A 40+ woman
who fancies younger men is called a cougar. Janet, 93, is more
your sabre-toothed tiger.
RANDOM irritations: Lorraine bloody Kelly getting worked up
about fashions that will never come in her size. EastEnders’
numbskull writers calling an allotment shed a summer house.
BBC1 worshipping chronic con artist Picasso.
SMALL joys of TV: Raging fool Phil Mitchell’s baseball bat
being clearly made out of rubber (Enders). Old Speckled Hen
footballing nuns (Dave channel ident.) That hot lizard babe
on Doctor Who: could a human bed her? Or would they suffer from
*SHAME Jane missed that bucking bronco on EastEnders. She
hasn’t had a powerful beast between her legs since Grant. Other
Wild West traditions that would improve Walford life: lynching,
hanging, cattle stampedes....
*RONNIE Mitchell described herself as being “like the dog
at the gates of hell.” You said it, love. Except Cerberus had
three heads, not two faces.
*SEPARATED at birth: Kristanna Loken and Tamzin Outhwaite?
One plays Painkiller Jane, the other was pain-bringer Mel on
*BOFFINS have created artificial life in a lab. Worrying,
yes. But it’s already more likeable than Vernon Kay. And a damn
sight easier to understand.
* BBC1 bosses want Victoria Beckham and Amy Winehouse for
Strictly. Get Sally Morgan too. What a line-up – Posh, Sloshed
* THE first British TV ad for abortions airs tomorrow. I believe
it’s The Chris Moyles Show.
May 16. One week in and Junior Apprentice has already
found a star in can-do market trader Zoe Plummer. Zoe, 16, charmed
passers-by with her cheeky smile and flirty chat. Flogging cheddar
in Covent Garden she said, “You look like a cheesy kind of fella”;
sales soared. She was lucky. If a pretty blonde tried patter
like that in South London some perv would have offered to show
her how to put the blue vein in Caerphilly. Stinking Bishop?
If you insist...
Zoe did so well it made her project manager cry. The big difference
between this and the normal Apprentice is that the regular show
is full of bolshy big-heads, deluded bastards and ego-driven
losers whereas the kids on Junior Apprentice are a whole lot
younger. They’re all 16 or 17, although Rhys looks twelve. The
audience is half-pint too – just four million watched. But the
format’s the same and the kids know how to play the game: big
yourself up, then let yourself down. “I’m ruthless in business,”
boasted posh boy Jordan De Courcy. “If somebody is there that
I don’t need in my company, they’re gone.” Naturally his decisions
stank like ten year-old gorgonzola and Jordan was the first
Never mind mate. Que cheddar, cheddar. Whatever will brie,
Sir Alan is now Lord Sugar, but he’s still not funny – unless
you count the time he seemed to tell them “Do me a favour, will
you, leave this house in one piss.” Al’s scripted ‘adlibs’ fell
flatter than a squashed cheese omelette. But Sugar had reason
to be sweet. “For once I’m actually taller than most of the
candidates,” he almost smiled.
It was boys v girls for week one’s task - flogging £500 worth
of assorted fromages. Bearded Tim the Teen-Wolf had the bright
idea of selling cheap, affordable Credit Crunch lunch packets.
Then he stopped making them cos it was windy (“My least favourite
weather condition”). So he’ll do as well as the emailer-plus.
The big plus is the winner gets £25K towards a business, rather
than having to work for Sugar. Result.
*THIS just in from Roman Polanski: Odd. Jordan is called De
Courcy but Zoe’s the one who makes kids dream of nookie bare.
*RIP Blanche Hunt. That’s Rest In Poison of course. Corrie
did the old battle axe proud. Blanche “wore honesty like a set
of knuckle dusters,” observed Norris. While Roy Cropper pointed
out that she was a “difficult unpleasant woman... often unnecessarily
cruel.” “Thank god you’re not doing the eulogy, Roy,” quipped
Peter. Roy Hudd's return as undertaker Archie Shuttleworth was
a joy as was Blanche’s musical selections (‘Accentuate The Positive’!)
and the memory of Annie Walker in pink looking like “Barbara
Cartland with a slow puncture.” Irritations began and ended
with Becky and Janice’s jackets. You need something black for
a funeral. Like, for example, Tracy Barlow’s soul. Yes, jailbird
Tracy kicked off after seeing Amy with Becky, although quite
how she recognised her daughter escapes me seeing as the kid
has had a head transplant. Blanche would have loved every minute.
*I THOUGHT Blanche looked hot when she was young. So let’s
hope she left me her giant specs in her will. Who makes glasses
that size? Presumably the people who supply lenses for the Hubble
telescope. Even Specsavers couldn’t get them done in an hour.
*HD is coming to Corrie. Eh? She’s there already, isn’t she?
*HOW about a grumpy guide to the idiots on Grumpy Guides?
Who are they, and why do they pretend to be wound up by things
they clearly hadn’t seen until a researcher showed them the
clips? Most of these witless no-marks were sucking Farley’s
Rusks during the 1980s – a decade they professed to hate. And
bad as 3-2-1 undoubtedly was, is Live From Studio Five any better?
*WHAT became of that posh twerp from the Gold Blend coffee
ads? I always hoped that he’d dumped snooty drawers and run
off with the tea lady. *GREAT in the 80s: Minder, Madness, Maiden,
Motorhead, Dallas, Dexys, Auf Wiedersehen Pet, Boys From The
Blackstuff, Spitting Image, the Special AKA, the Stone Roses
(continued Memory Lane)
HOT on TV: Derren Brown v ‘psychic’ Joe Power – Power meets
Kryptonite... Julie Benz – I bet she does (Desperate Housewives)...
True Blood finale.
ROT on TV: All At Sea – nothing a few Somali pirates couldn’t
improve... The Prisoner – as impenetrable as Iron Man’s y-fronts...
Donna McPhail – always McFails to make me laugh.
*DIDN’T think much of Bill Oddie’s Top Ten Aliens; here’s
mine: 1) 7 of 9 (Jeri Ryan) 2) Caprica Six (Tricia Helfer) 3)
V’s Anna (Morina Baccarin) 4) Supergirl (Laura Vandervoort)
5) T’Pol (Jolene Blalock) (cont on the Holo-deck with the Borg
*DR Who was trapped between two nightmares last night. So
now he knows how Lloyd on Corrie feels – working with Eileen,
sleeping with Teresa. The Doc was haunted by his inner self,
who bizarrely looked like Ian Hislop. It was part Flashforward,
part Q from Star Trek and all cobblers.
*NOT sure what happened on Tuesday’s EastEnders, I tuned in
late, but it looked like Phil was driving his jag up Pall Mall
while the Queen told some dodgy character called Gordon Brahn
to “get outta my Palace.”
*THE big question arising from TV coverage of Brown’s resignation:
when did Nicholas Witchell get so old? Any more wizened and
he’d be a Sunmaid raisin
*CLEGG and Cameron are touted as the new Morecambe & Wise.
What do you think of it so far? Cue Eric: “Rubbish!”
*BILLY Mitchell, dope dealer? Looks like Walford’s misery
junkie just found another vein.
RANDOM irritations: BBC1 jettisoning shows to broadcast rolling
news of nothing happening. Jamie Olivier turning into Ali G:
“West Side! Sha Mon!” The absence of DLT on Chris Moyles’s rotten
Radio 1 retrospective – his rage might just have made it watchable.
SMALL joys of TV: Peter Kay’s new John Smith’s ad – “Clur
from work, oh aye.” Nurse Kelly Brook (Sony World Cup ad.) Tracy
Barlow’s angry return – the sore skank redemption.
*THIEF Tony White wasn’t happy in Wormwood Scrubs. “Every
time I’ve come into prison I’ve self-harmed because I don’t
like it here,” he moaned. “Prison’s not for me.” Yeah? Well
stop nicking then, you moron.
*JO Brand is wasted on C4’s book show. Better uses for Jo:
1) a bouncy castle at The Jockey, 2) use arse to block Icelandic
volcano, 3) Sop up US oil spill with her tampon...
May 8. SO who got your vote on election night? The
BBC1 swots, the C4 bad boys or Alistair Stewart and the third-party
ITV team? The Beeb had Paxman, Andrew Neil’s Luvvies Boat and
Jeremy Vine’s virtual paving stones path to power. Stewart had
a table. Those looking to C4’s Alternative election coverage
for satire, wit and comic insight were as disappointed as the
Lib-Dems, whose campaign crashed and burned like Nigel Farage’s
plane. “Cleggmania” turned out to be a total media invention,
based on the guy’s ability to talk to us straight down a camera.
There were upsets and surprises, but these came from the likes
of Caroline Lucas winning the Green Party’s first seat. Election
coverage and tedium go together like Bank Holidays and rain.
It was a long night, and the slow pace of results led to more
padding than Teri Hatcher’s Desperate Housewives fat suit.
C4 filled in the gaps with a pre-recorded Celebrity Dine With
Me, with such reliable tossers as Derek Hatton, Rod Liddle,
and Edwin Currie. A hologram of Brian Paddock may also have
been present. Neil’s election boat was better cast, with old
shredded wheat nut exchanging smirks with Bruce Forsyth, Joan
Collins, Piers Morgan and alleged comedian David Baddiel. Good
old BBC. Britain’s in crisis and the economy is going down the
toilet but they can still blow our cash on champers for celebrities.
All they were short of was a Roman emperor and a fiddle. It
was as surreal as it was pointless. At one stage Neil spoke
to a panel of experts that included Dom Joly and Dame Kelly
Holmes, a great Olympian whose political insights seem unlikely
to grace the pages of Hansard. Sadly there was a power cut before
he could garner Fern Britton’s views.
Much has been said about the Leader Debates revolutionising
national politics. They didn’t. In fact most political TV shows
lost viewers between March and April. Big issues were never
properly acknowledged let along debated. It took the Institute
of Financial Studies to ask the tough questions about cuts.
All we got were three bland suits squabbling over imaginary
middle ground. Saturation coverage gave us plenty on the Leaders’
Wives but little substance. There was less political TV a generation
ago, but politics were more engaging because the satire felt
dangerous and shows like Question Time fielded firebrands who
Actually Believed In Something.
*WHY is British TV so bad at puncturing the pompous? US politicians
are rightly mocked nightly by the likes of Leno, Letterman and
Jon Stewart. Our political humour is either uninspired (thanks
Rory) or puerile, relying on the sort of language you’d normally
only see on Nick Knowles’s Twitter account; it’s all about as
welcome as Danny Dyer at a battered wives’ refuge.
* IF Conservative Cameron hops into bed with Lib-Dem Clegg,
will we all be Con-Demned?
THOSE beautiful vampires on Doctor Who turned out to have
the worst trout pouts this side of Leslie Ash. Behind their
masking devices, they were actually alien sea creatures. I’m
not sure what kind, but something about them said blow fish.
Their leader Rosanna, the biggest cod-faced monstrosity since
Pete Burns, invited the Doc to get his tackle out. But he turned
down a dip in the Pond last week so he was hardly like to hook
up with old tuna drawers. I did like the blonde, though. She
was 36-24-60pence a pound. Ironically this was one of the few
new Who episodes that didn’t stink like Billingsgate.
HOT on TV: Justified (Five USA)... Strike Back (Sky1)... Idris
Elba (Luther)... and Outnumbered.
ROT on TV: Lewis – duller than election night... Theo’s Adventure
Capitalists – I’m out... Andrew Neil - oilier than the Gulf
ANNA the alien mated on V. She slipped out of her robe, straddled
a hand-picked lover and thirty seconds later she was pregnant.
Talk about “This is nice, wasn’t it?” Unfortunately it left
her peckish and in the absence of cake she ate two-stroke Charlie
instead. Hmm. There may be some women - Anna Paquin, Evangeline
Lily – so hot that a guy might go for the old bed-and-die deal.
I’d risk a leg for Kara Tointon. But the least you’d expect
is a whole night at it and a cooked breakfast.
COCKNEY actor Gary Lammin turned up in Walford as a dodgy
spark dressed like a tramp (no need to trouble wardrobe then,
eh Gal?). No-one recognised him from his previous appearances
as a plumber called Quentin (only on EastEnders...) or as murderer
Dave Chapman who killed Pete Beale. That’s what I call multi-tasking.
Hits, wiring and pipes he can do, only washing defeats him.
*LINDSAY Lohan may play Deep Throat star Linda Lovelace in
a new biopic. Shouldn’t Michelle Ryan get the job? She always
*PAMELA Anderson is out of Dancing With The Stars. The rot
set in the week she promised to “do Dolly Parton” and then just
TALKING heads missing from BBC2’s tribute to lead guitarists
last night: Jimmy Page, Eric Clapton, Ritchie Blackmore, Jeff
Beck, the Edge... But they did manage to round up Billy Bragg,
Al Murray and Lauren Laverne. It was like making a documentary
on drummers with quotes from Lembit Opik, Nina Wadia and a bongo
RANDOM irritations: man-bashing condoned by EastEnders again.
Yet more Walford arson. Uneven writing and cack sci-fi on Ashes
To Ashes (nice Cockney Rejects song though.) Theo Paphitis’s
voice-overs – almost as unintelligible as Duncan Bannatyne’s.
There’s one thing these fame-craving fat-cats should invest
in: elocution lessons.
SMALL joys of TV: Spartacus trailers (Bravo). Graham Norton
having his cartoon self zapped by a Dalek. Bill Oddie’s new
critter show having a cameraman named Tibbles. Andrew Lloyd-Monster
rehearsing his words and expressions on Over The Rainbow, believing
he was out of shot, and still fluffing his lines.
LUTHER, BBC1’s new barking mad police drama teaches us two
things: 1) A good detective doesn’t need nonsense like proof
to know who-dunnit. And 2) when married to a lunatic cop, oak
doors are always a far better bet than plywood.
SEPARATED at birth: the CBBC witch and Janet Street-Porter,
one toothy, fake and evil, the other a cartoon trailer. Runners-up:
Nick Robinson and Judge Jules.
May 2. WHAT a shame TV bosses aren’t elected.
None of them would ever work again. They’re lazy, smug and patronising
with abject contempt for the tastes of the viewers who pay their
wages. Worst of all they can’t deliver. Do they really think
we’re happy with schedules stuffed soppy with soaps, camp and
cookery shows? I’d like to see BBC Director General Mark Thompson
on a meet the viewers walk-about. It’d make Gordon in Rochdale
seem tame. But Thompson doesn’t walk anywhere. Like most over-paid
BBC execs he’s far happier jetting about at our expense...
These self-important media aristocrats merrily lecture us
about ‘climate change’ while blowing more than £2mill a year
on unnecessary short-haul flights. They never come face to face
with real viewers who might demand to know why the Beeb can’t
do comedy or must-see drama any more. They don’t even respect
their own creations – as the naff Graham Norton cartoon that
trampled over the end of Doctor Who proved.
So what can be done? Here’s my TV manifesto aimed at all main
*Give us grown-up drama. Where is Britain’s equivalent of
The Sopranos or The Wire? We have great writers and superb actors,
all we lack are commissioners with guts and vision.
*Respect our heritage. Why not tell the story of the Burma
campaign the way HBO has captured The Pacific? Or dramatise
the life of Alfred the Great? It’s the 70th anniversary of the
Battle of Britain this year – mark it properly.
*Fix TV comedy. I’m sick of sneering smart alecks, bland sitcoms
and dreary right-on satirists. The posh-boy mafia has failed,
give new blood (or even old blood) a chance.
*Find and build entertainers. Talentless buffoons like Nick
Knowles and Gurnin’ Vernon Kay should never be the faces of
Saturday night TV.
*Find time for unfashionable things like variety, gag-telling
comedians and engineering – Brian Cox made astrophysics exciting;
let’s do the same for aeronautics.
*Cut back the soaps. They’re running out of steam, charm and
credibility. Don’t turn EastEnders into Hollyoaks. Make it real
– like it was at the start. Finally, stop imposing your PC views
and grubby tastes on the rest of us. Give us the TV we want
and you’ll get the ratings you need.
*OUTLAW bikers the Sons Of Anarchy are back, and they’re facing
a ruthless new enemy. Neo-Nazis bullyboys – including punk legend
Henry Rollins – are stalking the streets of Charming. (California’s
answer to Weaver Vale). Their first bright idea was raping Gemma
to teach husband Clay a lesson, which is on a par with trying
to pacify an angry bear by kicking it in the nuts. The Sons,
who siphon their gun-running bucks through their car-repair
business, were founded by two Vietnam vets – John Teller, RIP,
and Clay, who married John’s widow and raised his kid. Son Jax
now knows his Dad wanted the club to be rebels not racketeers,
sewing Hamlet-style family tensions. The show is violent but
realistic, with shots of black humour – as you’d expect from
creator Kurt Sutter, former exec producer of The Shield. This
is what TV drama should be about: great acting, gritty writing,
strong characters and an authentic feel.
*SURELY the real lesson of Gordon Brown in Rochdale is that
to make politics interesting ALL MPs should be secretly miked-up.
It’d be much more of an eye-opener than the three substance-free
TV debates. Who did you like, the bland liar, the weird failure
or the glossy opportunist?
*DID you see Brown with that Elvis Presley impersonator? He
looked uncomfortable posing with such an absurd throwback. Not
sure how Gordon felt.
*WAS it me or did that whole Gillian Duffy news story feel
like a promo for The Thick Of It?
HOT on TV: Sons Of Anarchy (Bravo) – biker groove... Henry
Rollins... Jeff Dunham (30 Rock)... V (Syfy)... Desperate Housewives.
ROT on TV: Iron Chef – ready, steady crap... James Caviezel
(The Prisoner) - you’ll see better acting in Crimewatch reconstructions...
Mary Queen of Charity Shops: Revisited – nope, just ‘repeated’...
*JOHN on Three In A Bed runs a gay b’n’b where clothing is
optional. So sausage is always on the menu. The rugs were neat,
but you have to watch out for all the exposed piping. And if
you fancy a drink be careful not to ask for a mouthful of Gordon’s.
*Quote of the show, John exclaiming: “In ten years no-one
has ever moaned about it on entrance.”
*OVER on V, the lovely Val is up the duff. Trouble is, she
doesn’t know lover Ryan is a lizard (a helmet lizard, obviously.)
She hasn’t got a bun in the oven, more like a gecko in the grill.
Still, at least if it’s a boy he’ll have some tail on him.
*SIMON Cowell wants to find a new Lassie. Makes sense, a well-groomed
performing barker you could keep happy with some water and a
fresh bone...remind you of anyone, Amanda?
*AMANDA may have had collagen treatment, but it's Piers who
deserves a thick lip...
*THERE were shock scenes on EastEnders that some viewers will
have found distressing. For starters, Ian Beale’s charging £7.75
for bangers and mash. Turn it in. Then Harvey dated Pat and
Peggy. Talk about glutton for punishment. His full name? Harvey
*PAT’S an animal in the sack. A hippo.
*A DEADLY time-energy field erased memories on Doctor Who.
I wish it could rub out all trace of that god-awful jammie-dodger
scene and the ropy M&M coloured Daleks.
RANDOM irritations: decimal betting odds. BBC Breakfast treating
EastEnders plots as news. C4 continuity cretins talking over
the dialogue at the end of Comedy Lab. Louie Spence overkill
– yes, we get it, he’s gay. Good for him. Move on.
SMALL joys of TV: Gene Hunt walloping a Ben Elton clone –
shame it wasn’t the real thing. Jack beheading Pumpkin (30 Rock)
– the most offensive buck-toothed dummy on TV since Janet Street-Porter.
Gordon Brown joining Elvis while he sang “when everything I
do is wrong”...
SEPARATED at birth: Beaker from The Muppets and Chris Evans,
one a red-haired drip who always says “mee mee mee”, the other