What with 21 November being National TV Day (yes, as this blog revealed in 2020, that is a thing) welcome, dear blog reader, to the fifteenth annual From The North TV Awards. Celebrating, in Keith Telly Topping's opinion, the very best and extremely worst TV programmes broadcast during the past twelve months in this blogger's sight. In what is rapidly becoming an annual observation, you may notice that there are around twice as many 'highs' listed here as there are 'lows'. This imbalance is not, necessarily, any reflection of the actual ratio of good-telly-to-bad during 2022. Not even close. Rather it is because, generally speaking, we tend to remember the good stuff and attempt - only sometimes successfully - to forget about all the hateful, laughter-free, 'unsurprisingly inadequate' shat. Mostly, though not exclusively, broadcast on Dave.
Also, each year when this blogger posts these awards, he usually gets a few e-mails from dear blog readers and Facebook fiends saying something along the lines of 'very good, Keith Telly Topping. But, you missed [insert own favourite here], so you did.' Therefore, please note, since answering such comments is always a right flamin' pain in the dong, this blogger has not missed anything. These awards represent what Keith Telly Topping has been watching and enjoying (or, in the case of the Worst Of list, vastly disliking) during the past twelve months. If a programme is not mentioned, it is either because this blogger did not see it (try as he might, Keith Telly Topping can't watch everything - there simply aren't enough hours in the day for that) or he did, but didn't consider the show in question worthy of inclusion. If you disagree with his assessment, as is your right in a free and democratic society, then by all means you have this blogger's permission to start your own blog and create, present and justify your own awards. Fair enough? Then, let us begin.
Fifty Two Extra-Primo-Rad Highlights Of Yer Actual Television In 2022:-
1. The Sandman
'We begin in The Waking World ...' It was received wisdom that Neil Gaiman's acclaimed early-1990s horror-fantasy comic (of which this blogger was a huge fan) was 'unfilmable.' A lengthy series of attempted movie and TV adaptations in the ensuing thirty years failed to get anywhere near off-the-ground. Because, as Gaiman himself noted, how can you compress a three thousand page story into a couple of hours? After yet another false start in development as a movie, Netflix did what Netflix does and turned The Sandman into a really big-budget TV series (reportedly spending somewhere in the region of one hundred and fifty million dollars on the eleven episodes). This blogger doesn't intend to spend too much time explaining the whys and wherefores of The Sandman's quintessential brilliance; after all, he previously used an entire - massive - From The North update to do that back in August. Which you can read here if you have the stamina. Plus, there was further coverage of the bonus eleventh episode of the ten-part series(!) a couple of weeks later. Let's just say that The Sandman was pretty much perfect in every imaginable way - taking all of its best bits (dialogue and visuals) from Gaiman's template but having the courage to change things where necessary. Much to a chagrin of various - no doubt perfect - specimens of fandom. Dolts who objected, loudly, to anyone that would listen (and, indeed, anyone that wouldn't) about the casting of a woman as Lucifer Morningstar, a woman as Johanna Constantine and (shock, horror) a black woman as Death. That hateful scumbag reaction, alone, justified The Sandman's existence. But, irking the purists was just the first of many reasons behind The Sandman's lustre. It was superbly acted, admirably diverse, touching, thrilling and often breathtakingly daring. The best of the episodes (A Hope In Hell, Dream A Little Dream Of Me, the magnificent The Sound Of Her Wings, Collectors, Dream Of A Thousand Cats/Calliope) showed dozens of previous would-be adaptors exactly where they had been going wrong all these years - just film the bloody comic, guys. 'A triumph that lands what counts and looks good doing it,' according to Forbes. Confirmation of a second series took a long time to arrive and many fans were starting to get more than a bit worried that the series' budget might count against it despite The Sandman being a major audience hit. But, eventually the news we'd been waiting for arrived. Often there isn't much justice in the world (particular in the world of compromise that is television) and for a while the best advice this blogger could offer was to cherish what we'd already had and wait, patiently, to see if we'd be given any more. Thankfully, it seems that we are. The best TV show of the year? God, yes. The best TV show of the Century so far? Quite possibly. It certainly pushes 2017's From The North favourite Twin Peaks: The Return close.
2. The Man Who Fell To Earth
'Tell my wife I love her very much.' 'She knows.' Until The Sandman came along, Showtime's The Man Who Fell To Earth had appeared to be running away with the From The North 'Best Of 2022' award. And, the fact that it took something genuinely remarkable to beat it is a tribute to both of these fine adaptations. Created by Jenny Lumet and Alex Kurtzman, this was based on the 1963 novel by Walter Tevis and acted as a broad sequel to Nic Roeg's cult 1976 movie. The series starred Chiwetel Ejiofor as an alien who arrives on Earth, Naomie Harris and Bill Nighy, in the role of Thomas Newton, originally played by David Bowie in the film, of course. And it was fantastic. 'A commanding Chiwetel Ejiofor gives this space oddity an Earthy gravitas,' according to Rotten Tomatoes. The Man Who Fell To Earth had 'a lot to say about everything from technology and science to faith, social media and more. This is a dramatic tale that will make you laugh as much as it will make you think about the world around you,' wrote the JoBlo Movie Network. Sadly, a recent announcement has confirmed what many of us suspected earlier in the year, that this was always viewed as a one-off and we won't be getting further series. A shame, though at least what was got was superb.
3. Pistol
'We're pissed off. We're bored. Maybe that should be our image?' Danny Boyle's fierce, fidgety, spittle-flecked mini-series dramatising the rapid rise and equally rapid fall of the UK's most iconic punk band, The Sex Pistols. Toby Wallace delivered a gutsy performance as Steve Jones, whose memoir, Lonely Boy, the drama was based on. Thomas Brodie-Sangster's flamboyantly over-the-top Malcolm McLaren was a real scene-stealer and Sydney Chandler's soulful Chrissie Hynde was the emotional heart of the six episodes. John Lydon, vocally, didn't want the series to be made and went out of his way to cast his trademark sneering nastiness towards it before, during and after it was broadcast. Oddly, Anson Boon's performance as the actual Mister Rotten was both thoughtful and sympathetic, portraying the Young Johnny as the one in the band who actually understood McLaren was manipulating the Hell out of them and tried (unsuccessfully) to fight against it. A man who, despite his ever-present cynicism, had his heart in the right place. Maybe that was why his older, real-life, Trump-supporting counterpart got so narked? Or, maybe it was the fact that the series was broadcast on Disney+ ('the home of punk rock!') that made Lydon so snarlingly indignant? Either way, he was missing out on something properly worthwhile. The fourth episode Pretty Vaaaycunt was the pick of the series, with brilliant recreations of the band's desperate early tours and the Bill Grundy incident (and its comedic aftermath). 'The performances vary in strength - but the collective scrappy energy of the ensemble under the director's guidance is undeniable,' said Empire. To suggest, as a few critics with an agenda (and John Lydon) did, that Boyle was flogging a dead horse was, of course, a right load of old bollocks. Never mind. A-haha. Ever get the feeling you've been treated?
4. Peaky Blinders
'If this was 1919, you would have come through my front door carrying a revolver and a Molotov cocktail and would happily have blown off my head.' It takes more than being metaphorically beaten to a bloodied pulp by that terrible old fascist stinker Baronet Oswald Ernald Mosley to rob From The North favourite Thomas Shelby MP (Cillian Murphy) of his swagger, judging by the confident final series of Steven Knight's period BBC Birmingham gangster drama. It opened with a feature-length episode packed with bar brawls, funeral pyres and double-dealings, with the series rocketing towards an explosive final couple of episodes which saw Tommy rampage through near enough every loose end he needed to tie-up before heading to his final resting place: the world of cinema! Even the Tommy-lite third episode, Gold, dominated by sister Ada (the great Sophie Rundle), was a twenty four carat blinder. S'cuse the pun. True, there was an Aunt Polly-sized hole at the core of the series caused by the horribly untimely death of Helen McCrory but there aren't many TV series which manage to maintain such a furious pace all the way to the end like this one. 'While it seems the right time to retire Peaky Blinders it still has that heavy, clunking stamp of quality, the unique mix of early Twentieth-Century gangsterism set against modern music and reassuringly uncorny dialogue,' wrote The Times. Correctly. So, when's this movie coming out, then, Steven?
5. Inside Man
'There are moments that make murderers of us all.' The Lord Thy God Steven Moffat (OBE) reunited with one of his former Doctors, national heartthrob David Tennant, for this highly-regarded BBC mini-series which also featured Stanley Tucci, Lydia West and Dolly Wells. The criss-crossing narrative followed a vicar in a quiet English town, a prisoner on death row in America and a maths teacher locked in a cellar. It was a brave, thrilling, occasionally troubling narrative which asked a genuinely fascinating question; how bad does a day have to get before it ends with someone in a bodybag? In the Gruniad Morning Star, That Awful Mangan Woman claimed it was a 'funny and typically meaty mystery from Steven Moffat.' The series also featured The Moff's son, Louis Oliver, whose performance was described by Radio Times as 'show stealing.' We didn't, of course, actually need any further proof that Steven Moffat is a master of writing effortlessly complex, thrilling, multi-layered, humane dramas. But, we got it anyway.
6. The Ipcress File
'We have an operation in Berlin. It's the retrieval of a missing person.' ITV's 1960s Cold War espionage thriller, based on the novel by Len Deighton, followed British army sergeant-turned-thief-turned-spy Harry Palmer (Joe Cole) as he was forced into an undercover mission to avoid a stint in The Slammer. Which led to a continent-spanning adventure involving kidnapped scientists, treason and a solid supporting cast including Lucy Boynton, Shireen Farkhoy and Tom Hollander. Whilst The Ipcress File was always going to have a tough time avoiding comparisons with Sidney Furie's 1965 big-screen adaptation (Michael Caine seducing Sue Lloyd whilst whipping up a fluffy mushroom omelette!) it managed, thanks to being played out over six episodes, to add more subtlety and depth to the action. Beautifully directed (by James Watkins), with loads of memorable set-pieces and a fine cast, it didn't beat the movie version of course but it did, at least, push hard for a late equaliser. Many of the reviews were sniffy, not because those writing them didn't seem to like it but, rather, because they didn't see why it was necessary to remake The Ipcress File in the first place. They entirely missed the point - not for the first time with many of The Usual Suspects writing such abject drivel. As The Spectator noted, The Ipcress File 'spared no effort in its quest to show us that the Britain of 1963 was on the Brink of Social Change. And yet, neither of these things really got in the way of its main aim: to be as cool and stylish as the 1960s films and TV it was paying tribute to.' Yeah. They got it.
7. Doctor Who: The Power Of The Doctor
'A wise person once said to me, "Goodbyes only hurt because what came before was so special."' The two Doctor Who episodes shown earlier in the year had been okay, but Chris Chibnall and Jodie Whittaker's departure from the TARDIS was a thing of rare and well-constructed beauty, broadcast in October as part of the celebrations surrounding the BBC's Centenary. A fistful of enemies ('The Master's Dalek Plan' indeed!), lots of returning old friends (some very surprising and including one for the first time in fifty seven years, four months and three days) and a wonderful climactic regeneration, what The Power Of The Doctor most resembled was a kind of updated version of 1983's The Five Doctors. Ninety minutes of throwing everything at the wall. And then, watching a surprising amount of it stick! If ever the term 'fanwank' deserved to be used in the way in which the late and much-missed Craig Hinton always intended it to be, this was it (not as a pejorative but a positive because, after all, who doesn't enjoy a good wank every now and then?) The critics (mostly) loved it, a lot of fans who been somewhat on the fence over the last few years fell under its magical spell (although, inevitably, there were more than a few cheerless sour-faced feks in various dark corners of the Interweb happy to suck all of the joy out of life with their crass, inelegant whinging). This blogger, big surprise, thought it was great. Next, a Sixtieth anniversary in 2023, the return of Big Rusty, three hour-long episodes featuring national heartthrob David Tennant and then, Ncuti Gawta and a, hopefully exciting, future yet to be written. Will that be great? Probably. Time will tell, dear blog reader. It usually does where Doctor Who is concerned.
Fifty Two Extra-Primo-Rad Highlights Of Yer Actual Television In 2022:-
1. The Sandman
'We begin in The Waking World ...' It was received wisdom that Neil Gaiman's acclaimed early-1990s horror-fantasy comic (of which this blogger was a huge fan) was 'unfilmable.' A lengthy series of attempted movie and TV adaptations in the ensuing thirty years failed to get anywhere near off-the-ground. Because, as Gaiman himself noted, how can you compress a three thousand page story into a couple of hours? After yet another false start in development as a movie, Netflix did what Netflix does and turned The Sandman into a really big-budget TV series (reportedly spending somewhere in the region of one hundred and fifty million dollars on the eleven episodes). This blogger doesn't intend to spend too much time explaining the whys and wherefores of The Sandman's quintessential brilliance; after all, he previously used an entire - massive - From The North update to do that back in August. Which you can read here if you have the stamina. Plus, there was further coverage of the bonus eleventh episode of the ten-part series(!) a couple of weeks later. Let's just say that The Sandman was pretty much perfect in every imaginable way - taking all of its best bits (dialogue and visuals) from Gaiman's template but having the courage to change things where necessary. Much to a chagrin of various - no doubt perfect - specimens of fandom. Dolts who objected, loudly, to anyone that would listen (and, indeed, anyone that wouldn't) about the casting of a woman as Lucifer Morningstar, a woman as Johanna Constantine and (shock, horror) a black woman as Death. That hateful scumbag reaction, alone, justified The Sandman's existence. But, irking the purists was just the first of many reasons behind The Sandman's lustre. It was superbly acted, admirably diverse, touching, thrilling and often breathtakingly daring. The best of the episodes (A Hope In Hell, Dream A Little Dream Of Me, the magnificent The Sound Of Her Wings, Collectors, Dream Of A Thousand Cats/Calliope) showed dozens of previous would-be adaptors exactly where they had been going wrong all these years - just film the bloody comic, guys. 'A triumph that lands what counts and looks good doing it,' according to Forbes. Confirmation of a second series took a long time to arrive and many fans were starting to get more than a bit worried that the series' budget might count against it despite The Sandman being a major audience hit. But, eventually the news we'd been waiting for arrived. Often there isn't much justice in the world (particular in the world of compromise that is television) and for a while the best advice this blogger could offer was to cherish what we'd already had and wait, patiently, to see if we'd be given any more. Thankfully, it seems that we are. The best TV show of the year? God, yes. The best TV show of the Century so far? Quite possibly. It certainly pushes 2017's From The North favourite Twin Peaks: The Return close.
'Tell my wife I love her very much.' 'She knows.' Until The Sandman came along, Showtime's The Man Who Fell To Earth had appeared to be running away with the From The North 'Best Of 2022' award. And, the fact that it took something genuinely remarkable to beat it is a tribute to both of these fine adaptations. Created by Jenny Lumet and Alex Kurtzman, this was based on the 1963 novel by Walter Tevis and acted as a broad sequel to Nic Roeg's cult 1976 movie. The series starred Chiwetel Ejiofor as an alien who arrives on Earth, Naomie Harris and Bill Nighy, in the role of Thomas Newton, originally played by David Bowie in the film, of course. And it was fantastic. 'A commanding Chiwetel Ejiofor gives this space oddity an Earthy gravitas,' according to Rotten Tomatoes. The Man Who Fell To Earth had 'a lot to say about everything from technology and science to faith, social media and more. This is a dramatic tale that will make you laugh as much as it will make you think about the world around you,' wrote the JoBlo Movie Network. Sadly, a recent announcement has confirmed what many of us suspected earlier in the year, that this was always viewed as a one-off and we won't be getting further series. A shame, though at least what was got was superb.
'We're pissed off. We're bored. Maybe that should be our image?' Danny Boyle's fierce, fidgety, spittle-flecked mini-series dramatising the rapid rise and equally rapid fall of the UK's most iconic punk band, The Sex Pistols. Toby Wallace delivered a gutsy performance as Steve Jones, whose memoir, Lonely Boy, the drama was based on. Thomas Brodie-Sangster's flamboyantly over-the-top Malcolm McLaren was a real scene-stealer and Sydney Chandler's soulful Chrissie Hynde was the emotional heart of the six episodes. John Lydon, vocally, didn't want the series to be made and went out of his way to cast his trademark sneering nastiness towards it before, during and after it was broadcast. Oddly, Anson Boon's performance as the actual Mister Rotten was both thoughtful and sympathetic, portraying the Young Johnny as the one in the band who actually understood McLaren was manipulating the Hell out of them and tried (unsuccessfully) to fight against it. A man who, despite his ever-present cynicism, had his heart in the right place. Maybe that was why his older, real-life, Trump-supporting counterpart got so narked? Or, maybe it was the fact that the series was broadcast on Disney+ ('the home of punk rock!') that made Lydon so snarlingly indignant? Either way, he was missing out on something properly worthwhile. The fourth episode Pretty Vaaaycunt was the pick of the series, with brilliant recreations of the band's desperate early tours and the Bill Grundy incident (and its comedic aftermath). 'The performances vary in strength - but the collective scrappy energy of the ensemble under the director's guidance is undeniable,' said Empire. To suggest, as a few critics with an agenda (and John Lydon) did, that Boyle was flogging a dead horse was, of course, a right load of old bollocks. Never mind. A-haha. Ever get the feeling you've been treated?
'If this was 1919, you would have come through my front door carrying a revolver and a Molotov cocktail and would happily have blown off my head.' It takes more than being metaphorically beaten to a bloodied pulp by that terrible old fascist stinker Baronet Oswald Ernald Mosley to rob From The North favourite Thomas Shelby MP (Cillian Murphy) of his swagger, judging by the confident final series of Steven Knight's period BBC Birmingham gangster drama. It opened with a feature-length episode packed with bar brawls, funeral pyres and double-dealings, with the series rocketing towards an explosive final couple of episodes which saw Tommy rampage through near enough every loose end he needed to tie-up before heading to his final resting place: the world of cinema! Even the Tommy-lite third episode, Gold, dominated by sister Ada (the great Sophie Rundle), was a twenty four carat blinder. S'cuse the pun. True, there was an Aunt Polly-sized hole at the core of the series caused by the horribly untimely death of Helen McCrory but there aren't many TV series which manage to maintain such a furious pace all the way to the end like this one. 'While it seems the right time to retire Peaky Blinders it still has that heavy, clunking stamp of quality, the unique mix of early Twentieth-Century gangsterism set against modern music and reassuringly uncorny dialogue,' wrote The Times. Correctly. So, when's this movie coming out, then, Steven?
'There are moments that make murderers of us all.' The Lord Thy God Steven Moffat (OBE) reunited with one of his former Doctors, national heartthrob David Tennant, for this highly-regarded BBC mini-series which also featured Stanley Tucci, Lydia West and Dolly Wells. The criss-crossing narrative followed a vicar in a quiet English town, a prisoner on death row in America and a maths teacher locked in a cellar. It was a brave, thrilling, occasionally troubling narrative which asked a genuinely fascinating question; how bad does a day have to get before it ends with someone in a bodybag? In the Gruniad Morning Star, That Awful Mangan Woman claimed it was a 'funny and typically meaty mystery from Steven Moffat.' The series also featured The Moff's son, Louis Oliver, whose performance was described by Radio Times as 'show stealing.' We didn't, of course, actually need any further proof that Steven Moffat is a master of writing effortlessly complex, thrilling, multi-layered, humane dramas. But, we got it anyway.
'We have an operation in Berlin. It's the retrieval of a missing person.' ITV's 1960s Cold War espionage thriller, based on the novel by Len Deighton, followed British army sergeant-turned-thief-turned-spy Harry Palmer (Joe Cole) as he was forced into an undercover mission to avoid a stint in The Slammer. Which led to a continent-spanning adventure involving kidnapped scientists, treason and a solid supporting cast including Lucy Boynton, Shireen Farkhoy and Tom Hollander. Whilst The Ipcress File was always going to have a tough time avoiding comparisons with Sidney Furie's 1965 big-screen adaptation (Michael Caine seducing Sue Lloyd whilst whipping up a fluffy mushroom omelette!) it managed, thanks to being played out over six episodes, to add more subtlety and depth to the action. Beautifully directed (by James Watkins), with loads of memorable set-pieces and a fine cast, it didn't beat the movie version of course but it did, at least, push hard for a late equaliser. Many of the reviews were sniffy, not because those writing them didn't seem to like it but, rather, because they didn't see why it was necessary to remake The Ipcress File in the first place. They entirely missed the point - not for the first time with many of The Usual Suspects writing such abject drivel. As The Spectator noted, The Ipcress File 'spared no effort in its quest to show us that the Britain of 1963 was on the Brink of Social Change. And yet, neither of these things really got in the way of its main aim: to be as cool and stylish as the 1960s films and TV it was paying tribute to.' Yeah. They got it.
'A wise person once said to me, "Goodbyes only hurt because what came before was so special."' The two Doctor Who episodes shown earlier in the year had been okay, but Chris Chibnall and Jodie Whittaker's departure from the TARDIS was a thing of rare and well-constructed beauty, broadcast in October as part of the celebrations surrounding the BBC's Centenary. A fistful of enemies ('The Master's Dalek Plan' indeed!), lots of returning old friends (some very surprising and including one for the first time in fifty seven years, four months and three days) and a wonderful climactic regeneration, what The Power Of The Doctor most resembled was a kind of updated version of 1983's The Five Doctors. Ninety minutes of throwing everything at the wall. And then, watching a surprising amount of it stick! If ever the term 'fanwank' deserved to be used in the way in which the late and much-missed Craig Hinton always intended it to be, this was it (not as a pejorative but a positive because, after all, who doesn't enjoy a good wank every now and then?) The critics (mostly) loved it, a lot of fans who been somewhat on the fence over the last few years fell under its magical spell (although, inevitably, there were more than a few cheerless sour-faced feks in various dark corners of the Interweb happy to suck all of the joy out of life with their crass, inelegant whinging). This blogger, big surprise, thought it was great. Next, a Sixtieth anniversary in 2023, the return of Big Rusty, three hour-long episodes featuring national heartthrob David Tennant and then, Ncuti Gawta and a, hopefully exciting, future yet to be written. Will that be great? Probably. Time will tell, dear blog reader. It usually does where Doctor Who is concerned.
'It is in the nature of power that it can also lead to abuse.' Ten years since the third series of From The North favourite Borgen had, seemingly, closed the book on Birgitte Nyborg's rise, fall, rise and rise, proof arrived that good things do come to those that wait. If you've got Netflix, that is. Borgen: Power & Glory again followed Birgitte (the always brilliant Sidse Babett Knudsen), her staff and the media tasked with covering her, this time in her role as Denmark's Foreign Minister. Borgen returned after its extended hiatus 'with its emotional heft and political intelligence wholly intact, reasserting itself as the best kind of brainy escapism,' noted Rotten Tomatoes. Birgitte is newly appointed Minister for Foreign Affairs when a drilling company suddenly discovers oil in Greenland. An event that marks the beginning of an international power struggle and one in which Brigitte, the otherwise so experienced politician, must repeatedly accept that despite Denmark's 'big brother' relationship with Greenland, when it comes to the international superpowers, it is Denmark that is the minor player - and a somewhat unruly one at that. 'It's always a risk getting the band back together,' wrote the Torygraph. 'Will fans want only the old tunes? Borgen ... has returned with a new title and theme tune and the first thing to say is that, as played by Sidse Babett Knudsen, ex-statsminister Birgitte Nyborg is still a stellar centrist fantasy figure deploying fire, ice and a podium-topping smile.' Correctly correctington (for once). It was, dear blog reader, so good to have Borgen back.
'Mummy, what have you done?' John Wyndham's legendary 1957 novel, a story from the height of the Cold War about a village which falls pray to a parasitic alien race, already had one outstanding film adaptation (Wolf Rilla's 1960 Village Of The Damned). And a really piss-poor remake. But this was the first time it had been reimagined for TV. Starring From The North favourites Keeley Hawes and Max Beesley, the story started with an entire town falling simultaneously unconscious - only for half of them (and, you can probably guess which half) to wake up inexplicably pregnant. Broadcast on Sky Max throughout June, the series had mostly excellent reviews. Except for one shrill waste-of-space at the Gruniad Morning Star who opined 'women's rights are under attack and this is what they make?' They, in this case, being three women directors, three women writers (working with one man, David Farr), a woman producer and a mostly female cast in a story in which the sex of the hero had been, deliberately, diversified from the source text. Obviously. Now let us talk about someone being shown a point and still managing to miss it. Thankfully, such specious, agenda-smeared claptrap wasn't much in evidence elsewhere. From The North favourite Mark Kermode praised the series' tone, use of horror motifs and performances, saying it was a 'successful' update of the novel. And The Times also gave it a glowing review, finding much to admire in the 'atmospheric' direction and the scripts. Just one more reason, dear blog reader, to loathe the Gruniad Morning Star and all of the Middle Class hippy Communists in it on general principle.
'She was taken for her sins.' 'God will look after her now.' This star-studded Apple TV drama was based on the acclaimed novel by Sarah Perry. It followed newly-widowed Cora (Claire Danes and her somewhat wavering English accent), as she arrives in the Essex village of Aldwinter, ready for a fresh start after her abusive husband's very timely death. She soon becomes intrigued by a local superstition about a mythical creature, the titular Serpent which has, allegedly, returned to the area. Meanwhile, trusted community leader Will Ransom (Tom Hiddleston) has to deal with such rumours as they spread amongst the townsfolk. Described as 'a highly accomplished Gothic romance' (with more than a few horror overtones), The Essex Serpent looked gorgeous (a tribute to director Clio Barnard). 'It's a lot for a TV drama, but it's such an unusual story there's little chance to be anything but enchanted and terrific performances from Danes, Hiddleston and particularly [Frank] Dillane as Doctor Garrett, keep up the pace,' wrote The Age. Visually stunning, whether in its recreation of the London slums or on the Essex marshes, this was a generous, lyrical piece of storytelling.
'I know the potential to inflame divisions in the community.' Part riveting crime drama, part intensely moving rumination on the devastating impact of the 1984 miners' strike on working-class communities, this ambitious six-part BBC drama - written by James Graham - also dived into the scandalous deployment of 'spy cops.' These were police officers sent as undercover infiltrators into 'radical' communities where they sometimes stayed for years, forging relationships with people who had no idea who they really were. With a Rolls Royce ensemble of British acting greats (David Morrissey, Lesley Manville, Adeel Akhtar, Robert Glenister, Joanne Froggatt, Alun Armstrong, Lindsay Duncan, et cetera), this exceptional achievement felt like the spiritual successor to classic series by the likes of Alan Bleasdale and Dennis Potter. It was that good. The Torygraph declared it 'the best BBC drama of the year so far.' The Independent called Graham's writing 'sympathetic, vibrant storytelling.' Of course, the Daily Scum Mail sneered at it as only the Daily Scum Mail can. Which merely solidified exactly why Sherwood was so good and so important.
'This is Obs & Gyni. Also known as Brats and Twats!' Adapted from Adam Kay's best-selling memoir This Is Going To Hurt thrusts the viewer into the chaotic life of a junior doctor in the overworked, under-resourced Obstetrics and Gynaecology department of the NHS. Ben Whishaw giving an outstanding performance as Kay himself, managed to deliver the charm, comedy and (sometimes squirm-inducing) cruelty required of the role and mastered the complex art of fourth-wall-breaking. Ambika Mod shines as a new junior colleague Shruti and Rory Fleck Byrne also provides strong support as boyfriend Harry, both of them often in the firing line when Adam's bombast reaches breaking point. A terrific, tragically comic seven-part BBC drama that sets the bar for material moving from page to screen, as well as painting a vivid picture of healthcare workers' experience across Britain. The Radio Times rated the opening episode highly, writing 'the comedy drama impresses with its strong cast, bolstered by the show's soundtrack of mid-noughties earworms.' Juliet Pearce, the director of nursing midwifery at the Isle of Wight NHS Trust, praised the show. She described it as 'hilarious and heart-breaking' and a 'reminder of the human emotions behind every tired, scared and fallible healthcare professional' and Jess Phillips, the Labour MP for Birmingham Yardley, admired the series for highlighting the pressures of working in the NHS. This blogger, as it happens, spent a week in hospital during the series run and found This Is Going To Hurt's depiction of his heroes working for the National Health to be flawless. Whilst most viewers considered the series an accurate view of life on the wards, a few bleating whingers claimed it was 'misogynistic' with some odious puddle of phlegm at the Gruniad Morning Star alleging that 'some viewers' (ie. half-a-dozen people you've never heard of on Twitter) had 'accused' the series of depicting birth as 'traumatic' and women as 'disempowered, dysfunctional and reduced to slabs of meat.' Because, of course, Twitter is The Sole Arbiter Of The Worth Of All Things these days, is it not? That's according to the Gruniad Morning Star. Although now that Elon Musk has acquired it, how long do we reckon it'll be before the Gruniad's love affair with Twitter develops grounds for divorce? From The North has noted this before, dear blog reader, but just occasionally we get the television that we need. Whether we want (or even deserve) it or not. This I Going To Hurt being, very much, a case in point.
'I can feel it. I'm gonna crack. The job has ruined me.' There are usually an abundance of emergency service dramas on television at any one time, but few have been quite as impactful as The Responder, BBC's five-part series following Martin Freeman's Chris Carson, a police officer pushed closer and closer to the edge every day by the soul-sapping situations he has to deal with. This was Tony Schumacher's screenwriting debut, his past life in Plod lending a bleak authenticity to his remarkably lean script; and Freeman (whose career choices of late have been, as we've previously alluded to on From The North, disastrous) was on impeccable form, putting in a powerful performance as a man worn down by the grim realities of his work. But, one who still wants to do some good in the world. Similarly to This Is Going To Hurt, this was thrilling TV that brought the stark reality of blue-light life into fascinating, often painful focus. The Observer loved it, The New Statesman loved it, Entertainment Weekly really loved it, Christ, even the Daily Scum Mail didn't hate it. 'It's bleak,' the latter said, almost certainly through gritted-teeth. 'So bleak that even though it stars Martin Freeman, it could star John Simm. It's a police procedural via Trainspotting, if you're up for that. It is interesting, at least.' It was, in fact, much more than that damning with faint praise would suggest. If only to remind us that, despite what rubbish like Breeders and StartUp may have led us to believe, Martin Freeman is still a bloody good actor.
'I'm just curious, what brought y'all onto us.' 'Long story. Lot of twists.' While touted as David Simon's follow-up to The Wire, this HBO adaptation of Justin Fenton's non-fiction book was more a postscript to his fictional series about the effect of drugs, crime and policing on the streets of Baltimore. Jon Bernthal starred as Sergeant Wayne Jenkins, the charismatic head of Baltimore PD's corrupt Gun Trace Task Force - think The Shield's Vic Mackey, only somewhat more brazen and considerably less fictional - whose approach to law enforcement involved cracking skulls and lining his own pockets at every opportunity. Set predominantly in the aftermath of the 2015 BPD killing of Freddie Gray, the drama hops back and forth in the timeline of Jenkins' career (Bernthal's increasingly scraggly facial hair acting as a handy temporal guide for viewers), steadily peeling back the layers of institutionalised, endemic corruption which appears to reach every echelon of Baltimore society. And, going far beyond the methods of a handful of brutal cops. It's a fast-moving, take-absolutely-no-prisoners ride which demands acute focus throughout, Simon laying bare the rot at the heart of an American institution which may ultimately be beyond repair. 'Not quite The Wire, but still a grown-up view of a complex situation in all its ugliness,' wrote The Times'. In the same paper, Camilla Long suggested that the series 'wanted to be a thundering state-of-the-nation address on race and policing, but forgot that it also had to be interesting.' But then, Camilla usually has a face resembling someone who has just smelled shit nearby so, she's probably not the best judge of what is and isn't 'interesting.'
'You seem to have a distorted relationship with time.' 'My perception of time is better than anyone's.' Starring From The North favourite Peter Capaldi, From The North favourite Jessica Raine and From The North favourite Meera Syal, The Devil's Hour couldn't really go wrong. And, indeed, it didn't. Debuting in late October on Amazon Prime, Tom Moran's six-part drama (co-produced by Steven Moffat) follows the story of Lucy (Raine), who is woken at exactly 3.33am every night by terrifying visions. Her eight-year-old son is withdrawn and emotionless. Her mother speaks to empty chairs. Her house is haunted by the echoes of a life that isn't her own. When Lucy's name is inexplicably connected to a string of brutal murders in the area, the answers that have evaded her all her life finally come into focus. And then there's Gideon (Capaldi). He is a character that has fallen through the cracks of society and has been responsible for some serious crimes. But he is not what he appears. He belongs to the night. 'There's something intricate and spooky going on - shades of that first series of True Detective ... and even the one-scene supporting actors have been well cast,' said the Gruniad Morning Star. 'Every false lead they interrogate, every blind alley they run up, is fun to watch unfold. People walk carefully into rooms plastered with a man's scribblings while holding a torch up to see a picture of their own face.' The Evening Standard was a bit less complimentary ('watchable but flawed horror'). This blogger, of course, thought it was great. Especially Capaldi's impressive, unnerving stillness.
'The details on this one are sketchy. And a little unusual.' 'Nothing unusual in that!' The eighth series of the From The North favourite and 'Best Of' list regular began in the UK on the Drama Channel in October. As noted in previous years, The Brokenwood Mysteries is a series which, initially at least, rather sneaked under the radar of many British viewers - this blogger very much included. It's a New Zealand crime drama unable to make up its mind whether it wants to be Midsomer Murders or Twin Peaks. So, it ends up as a bit of both, simultaneously. And, trust this blogger, that's a good thing. 'With its "gentle" approach to murders, twisty mysteries and warm, witty and relatively uncomplicated regulars, it's easy to see why Brokenwood has gained such a global following,' noted the Stuff website. The central detective trio of Neill Rea, Fern Sutherland and Jarod Rawiri were on particularly fine form this year, with Cristina Ionda's ghoulish and matter-of-fact pathologist, Gina, throwing in atom bombs of acid wit from the sidelines. Engaging, quirky, with a keen sense of its own ridiculous faux-naïf world (concerning, as it does, a small town full of eccentrics which appears to be the murder capital of the Southern Hemisphere), Brokenwood's charms are gentle, yet remain very rewarding. If you haven't caught this one yet, dear blog reader, do yourself a favour - find some and watch it.
'How do I stop liking someone? Specifically, a straight guy?' 'Ah, a question for The Ages!' This impossibly sweet adaptation of Alice Oseman's online comic for young adults brought something that had long been missing from British TV: an optimism-filled gay romance set in a school. The rapturous reception that greeted Netflix's announcement that it was being renewed for two more series tells you everything you need to know about what a big, lovely televisual cuddle it is. Hopeless romantics beware: This show will make you cry. Bucketloads. This year's breakout love story follows Charlie Spring (Joe Locke) and Nick Nelson (Kit Connor), two students at Truham Grammar School. The show features characters with different queer identities, all with their own stories and heart-pounding romances. It's a celebration of love sprinkled with relatable senior school moments perfect for any nostalgic adult as much as for a longing teen. The final cherry on top? Olivia Colman as the loving mother every child would want. Excellent support from the likes of Yasmin Finney and William Gao, Stephen Fry voicing the Headmatser and beautiful direction from Euros Lyn. Barely any reviewer worth their salt had a bad word to say about it (sample: 'A portrait of adolescence ... teaches us to learn and love freely [and] without prejudice'). 'It's hard to be a human in the year 2022,' wrote Time magazine. 'So we all need our little treats'. 'It's just so full of goodness,' From The North favourite Mark Kermode added. 'The world is a better place for having this in it.' Heartstopping and heartwarming. A gem.
'I can't believe we're having an argument about jacket potatoes!' We all love a drama that gives us a stark reflection of what modern love looks like dear blog reader and BBC's Marriage fitted the bill perfectly. The four-part drama was 'an up-close portrait of a marriage - sometimes funny, sometimes moving, always revealing.' The series saw Ian (From The North favourite Sean Bean) and Emma (From The North Goddess The Divine Nicola Walker) negotiate the turbulent highs and lows of their twenty seven-year marriage. We saw them dealing with the insecurities, the ambiguities, the hopes and the fears that are part of all marriages, as the drama also explored the risks and the gifts of a long-term intimate relationship. To say that Sean and Nicola were always reliably watchable isn't really necessary - Sean Bean and Nicola Walker would be always reliably watchable if they were reading the Telephone Directory. Nevertheless, you throw James Bolam into the mix (as Ian's cantankerous dad) and Stefan Golaszewski's drama was hitting all the right notes. The reviews were, mostly, good including from many of The Usual Suspects like the Torygraph ('raw and relatable'), the Grunaid ('sparse and deeply affecting') and Metro (not a real newspaper). Which said the duo delivered 'a masterclass in authentic relationship study.' One notable dissenter from this wall-to-wall praise, however, was some prick of no importance at the Independent (so, again, not a real newspaper) who claimed the series would 'bore you to tears.' A perfect description, in fact, for the average issue of the Independent. Very meta.
'The universe finally found something worse than death. I broke time!' Minutes into the first episode of the second series of Natasha Lyonne's time-hopping drama, all scepticism as to how they would follow the climax of series one had gone. Swaggering down the streets, quipping and smoking her way through a Century's worth of drama across seven episodes, Nadia was back to prove that she had more charisma than it was possible to contain in a mere eight episodes of TV. So, we got more. Its plot was a study in generational trauma and the impossibility of outrunning your destiny (even if you can run really fast), but this year was all about Lyonne's mesmerising performance. Another Netflix winner and a comedy drama with a superb supporting cast, Russian Doll managed to move away from the Groundhog Day nature of the - award-winning - first series. Nadia is now ten days away from celebrating her fortieth birthday when the train journey sends her back in time to 1982. She soon discovers that she is trapped inside the body of her mother, Lenora, who is currently pregnant. With her. Nadia decides to pursue the gold Krugerrands her mother lost that same year, in order to change the course of her family's history. The Gruniad, described it as 'a truly gorgeous series, from its aesthetic to its script and it feels incredibly rich.' A Los Angeles Times review added: 'It's helpful to regard the series, especially in the whipsaw transitions of its beautiful last movements, as musical or poetic.' News on any potential third series is still awaited.
'Not getting answers to your questions is a really hard thing.' The BBC/Amazon co-production Chloe was a six-parter about obsession, deceit, identity and grief, created and written by Sex Education director Alice Seabright. It followed Becky (Erin Doherty), a young woman living with her mum and working as a temp, who can't help comparing herself to the picture-perfect lives of people on Instagram. And there's one account that she compulsively returns to: That of Chloe Fairbourne (Poppy Gilbert). When Chloe dies suddenly, Becky's need to find out how and why leads her to assume a new identity and engineer a 'chance' meeting with Chloe's best friend, Livia (Pippa Bennett-Warner) and infiltrate Chloe's group of close-knit friends. Watching this will, several commentators suggested, make lots of people want to re-think everything they believe about social media - the sign of any good psychological thriller. With a score by Goldfrapp, location filming in Burnham-on-Sea and an excellent - mostly young and upcoming - cast, Chloe really struck a nerve with this blogger (a soon-to-be-Sixtysomething who never goes near Instagram or Twitter and thinks that people who do should, probably, stop doing so). 'There is not one false note in this fierce, fresh murder mystery,' suggested the Gruniad (whose frequent slurping-up of social media this blogger finds sickening). 'It's an absolute feast of a show ... It is a fierce, fresh sort-of-murder-mystery that is as keenly scripted as it is paced and whose many threads are held firmly together by an outstanding performance from Erin Doherty.' As more than one reviewers noted, Becky is actually a deeply unlikeable girl. We wonder what outrages will she play around with to 'soothe her aching psyche.' 'I think this may be the first time social media and its attendant ills have been fully and convincingly incorporated into a TV drama and that Doherty is indeed the real thing,' added The New Statesman. Indeed.
'She's either a rich German heiress or ... she's flat broke!' Netflix's Inventing Anna brought the remarkable real-life story of the so-called 'fake heiress,' Anna Delvey, to life. Her crimes of high-level fraud - and time in The Joint - had already drummed up its fair share of audacious drama via documentaries, so it was inevitable that it ended up as a biopic. And, quite a good one as it happens. With the help of Julia Garner, the viewer really does get a good sense of Delvey's duplicitous character and, via her snobbery and her convincing ways, what a genuinely horrible and yet fascinating person she was (and still is). 'She's everything that's wrong with America right now' one of the prosecutors says and, given that Anna's trial took place in 2018 whilst Donald Trump was President, you may think that's just a shade over-stating matters. Especially as the overwhelming majority of people she swindled were, themselves, over-entitled rich brats who, hopefully, learned some valuable life lessons from the experience. And then signed a, presumably very lucrative, book deal. Inspired by the article How Anna Delvey Tricked New York's Party People by Jessica Pressler, the nine-episode series followed a journalist, Vivian Kent (Anna Chlumsky), as she begins to investigate the case of the mysterious heiress. 'While Inventing Anna is as tonally wobbly as Julia Garner's intentionally daffy accent,' noted Rotten Tomatoes 'her committed performance and the salacious story make for juicy entertainment.'
'She would do anything to please him.' One family, fifty years of scandal, the rise and fall of a media mogul and the tribulations (and trials) of his deeply troubled offspring. We were promised 'a staggering tale of money, sex, privacy and power.' And, indeed, we got it. Colin Barr's forensic three-part documentary was timed perfectly. When Ghislaine Maxwell was extremely convicted of grooming and trafficking underage girls and sent to The Federal Joint For Naughty Ladies in Tallahassee for decades, she became a household name with her mush on front pages of newspapers all over the world. But she wasn't always the most notorious member of the notorious Maxwell family. 'It's Succession on steroids,' noted the Sydney Morning Herald. 'A media empire, billions at stake, a controlling father, sons battling for station and a daughter who doesn't see the ordinary people struggling beneath her.' The Gruniad's Stuart Jeffries seemingly shared this blogger's favourite moment of the series, starting his review with a paragraph on the revelation from Robert Maxwell's long-suffering secretary, Carol Bragoli, that Maxwell and his daughter used to 'miaow' at each other on the telephone! There were several far more tabloidesque documentaries about convicted, disgraceful sex offender Ghislaine Maxwell and her sick and sordid crimes both before and in the aftermath of her trial (Netflix's Filthy Rich, Channel 4's The Making Of A Monster, Sky's Epstein's Shadow et al). None of them, however, were as disturbingly damning as this one.
'Can you tell me your name?' 'I have no idea.' BBC's The Tourist throws its audience straight into the Australian outback where Jamie Dornan starred as a British man being pursued by a vast truck trying to drive him off the road. It's an epic - Duel-style - cat-and-mouse chase that ends with the man waking up in hospital, alive, but sans his memory. With merciless figures from his past pursuing him, The Man's search for answers propels him through the vast and unforgiving outback. Will he unlock the secrets of his identify before those who are trying to kill him catch up with him? That would be telling, but it's a white-knuckle ride watching things play out. Harry and Jack Williams' six-part thriller debuted on New Year's Day and, by the end of the series it was pulling in consolidated audiences of nine million plus (unusual in this multi-channel, multi-format age). With fine supporting performances from the likes of Danielle Macdonald, Shalom Brune-Franklin and Ólafur Darri Ólafsson, The Tourist received deserved critical praise. 'This can be very funny at times a traffic jam caused by two turtles rooting in the middle of the road is an early highlight,' noted ScreenHub. But the focus remains the two-fold mystery: who exactly is our hero and why does at least one somebody want him dead?'
'What do you do to deal?' 'I wrap bad guys in plastic and kill them!' Debuting in the UK (on Sky Atlantic) during the final days of December 2021, the sequel to From The North favourite Dexter (2006 to 2013) returned the wonderful Michael C Hall to his most famous role a decade on from the original series. Set ten years after the events of Remember The Monsters?, Showtime's New Blood helped to restore some of the luster which had been lost by the drama's contentious finale. The New Blood finale - Sins Of The Father - by contrast, felt absolutely right, ethically, morally and dramatically. 'Familiar habits are a comfort, even the bloody ones, which mean it's probably sufficient that Dexter Morgan's limited series misadventures are at least as entertaining and those driving better past arcs,' wrote the Salon reviewer. Meeting an old friend can often be rewarding, dear blog reader. Even if they are likely to kill you.
'The system doesn't work so we create our own.' Screw focuses on Leigh, a female prison officer played by Nina Sosanya and her working life on C-Wing in an all-male prison, Long Marsh. Channel 4 described Screw as a series that 'depicts prison as never seen before - the uncensored, terrifying and often darkly funny reality of life as a prison officer in an all-male prison in Twenty First Century Britain.' Although she has dedicated her life to the job, it seems as though Leigh has some secrets of her own that she's been trying to hide from her colleagues. The Gruniad said Screw 'settles somewhere between soap and Sunday night blockbuster and I mean that as a compliment. This is broad and warm and welcoming, with enough of a sharp side to make it worth sticking with.' If you enjoyed the first series as much as this blogger did, you'll be pleased to know it has been renewed for a second.
'The story starts with him. Me and him.' Exploding with attitude from start to finish, this dynamite seventy-minute drama - written by Jack Thorne and Genevieve Barr - told the story of real-life disability rights activist Barbara Lisicki (Ruth Madeley) and her partner Alan Holdsworth (Arthur Hughes). Cleverly mixed with archive footage to show the real impact of the story, it followed their campaign to get the 1995 Disability Discrimination Act passed. The final scene on a bus, in which the actors and their real-life counterparts get together, was one of the most joyous moments on-screen this year. In an article for the Gruniad Morning Star, disability activist and author Frances Ryan extolled the programme's highlighting of an under-celebrated part of civil rights history, as well as its handling of disabled representation on television. 'As much a moving love story and wryly amusing sitcom as it is an emotionally charged chronicle of a small revolution,' suggested the Independent.
'Why didn't you trademark your own pseudonym?' Created by Jessica Gao for Disney+ and based on the Marvel Comic featuring the character of Jennifer Walters (a breathtakingly fabulous performance by Tatiana Maslany), She-Hulk is fast, funny, warm, funny, inclusive, funny ... This blogger mentioned funny, yes? The moment that the first teaser appeared in late 2021 ending with Maslany telling the audience, 'Don't make me angry; you wouldn't like me when I'm angry' alongside Mark Ruffalo as Bruce Banner, that was game over, basically. 'Broad, bright and eager to serve the audience with a wink and a nudge,' according to The Hollywood Reporter, The Wrap called the series 'a delightful break from the cutesy family fun and intense heroic introspection' of the previous Marvel series, praising Maslany's performance and noting it was 'incredibly rewarding as a long-time fan of the franchise' as well as those who enjoy legal television series. Of course, a number of obese men with body odour, acne, halitosis and a singular lack of a girlfriend felt threatened by a portrayal of a smart, funny, green woman and said so, loudly. Which is, therefore, merely one additional reason to admire She-Hulk: Attorney At Law. That and a memorable guest role for From The North favourite Tim Roth, obviously.
'This is an inspiring step forward.' In TV terms, 2022 seemed to the year of the girl-boss scammer, with Hulu's The Dropout serving as the latest example in this emerging true-crime sub-genre. The series was based on the ABC News podcast of the same name which investigated the spectacular rise and even more spectacular fall of Elizabeth Holmes and her company, Theranos, following her from her acceptance to Stanford University to her corporate ruination. According to The New York Times, the case 'came to symbolize [sic] the pitfalls of Silicon Valley's culture of hustle, hype and greed.' Already the subject of one From The North favourite, Alex Gibney's acclaimed 2019 HBO documentary The Inventor: Out For Blood In Silicon Valley (which almost made this blog's 2019 awards list), Holmes is currently on bail pending sentencing to (one presumes) a Ghislaine Maxwell-length spell in The Slammer due to her extremely fraudulent naughtiness. In The Dropout, Holmes (played by an EMMY-winning Amanda Seyfried) is quickly defined as someone who wants to be one of The Cool (Filthy Rich) Kids. Her ambition is intertwined with her awkwardness, something which she is so self-aware of that she is constantly trying to create an alternative personality to get her what she wants. Her attempts at self-reinvention quickly go from endearing to unsettling, which is not only a testament to Seyfried's talent but to the direction and editing. The gradual deepening of Holmes's voice and her over-practiced corporate reassurances paint a fascinating portrait of a woman perpetually on the edge of unravelling in public. Ultimately, The Dropout does an excellent job of depicting a runaway train that thoroughly deserved to get derailed. Holmes is painted as a textbook example of why simply having an idea - especially if it isn't a workable one - is not a justification for dropping out of a prestigious educational establishment and the drama's portrayal of her, like Icarus, flying too close to the sun is captivating. 'A maddening, gripping and at times startlingly funny recreation of a story that would feel too absurd to be true if we didn't already know otherwise,' said Rolling Stain. And, From The North favourite Stephen Fry, as the hapless Ian Gibbons, was outstanding in it.
'Memories are fragile. I want us to sketch out the right man.' From Apple TV+, this enveloping serial killer chiller (apologies) delivers on a grand scale. Adapted from the Lauren Beukes novel by Silka Luisa, it starred the always-outstanding Elisabeth Moss as newspaper archivist, Kirby, who still carries the scars (both literal and metaphorical) from being violently attacked some years previously. With the help of journalist, Dan (Wagner Moura) she begins an investigation to track down her assailant, hindered by the fact that neither he, nor she, nor the fabric of reality itself, appears to be firmly anchored. Far from a straight up re-telling, Luisa's adaptation passes over some of the novel's more formulaic aspects, while dialling up the weirdness, leaning into the inconstancy and strangeness of Kirby's narrative in a way that is both effective and highly unsettling. Moss, meanwhile adds another role to her CV collection of traumatised women, proving definitively that no one can encapsulate that cocktail of bone-deep pain, steely defiance and barely-restrained righteous fury quite as effectively as she. Described as 'dark and grim' by Australian critic Wenlai Ma, she concluded Shining Girls 'has moments that are hard to stomach - you may also have filled your quota on violence perpetrated against female characters - but the plotting, performances and vibe are crafted so well, it is compelling to watch.'
'You were with Mister Pritchard at the moment of his demise. Were there words exchanged?' Agatha Christie's classic 1934 whodunit had already been been adapted for television twice; a rather good and faithful version in 1980 with Francesca Annis and James Warwick as Frankie and Bobby and a very unfaithful 2011 attempt which shoehorned an ill-fitting Jane Marple into the story. Huge Laurie's two-part adaptation, for BritBox, had a superb cast (including Will Poulter, Lucy Boynton, Jim Broadbent, Emma Thompson, Miles Jupp and Paul Whitehouse) and was filmed at Three Cliffs Bay in Swansea. It looked stunning, the correct period feel being effortlessly created. 'It's exceptionally well made ... the script has a sprightly spring in its step,' said The Times. 'Why Didn't They Ask Evans? is what TV ought to be but so rarely is these days: honest entertainment that neither tries to hector you with indignant politics nor to drag you through the emotional wringer leaving you distraught and unsettled,' added someone with an agenda at The Spectator. As the son of a Christie devotee mother, who read the novel when he was eight, this blogger was rather enchanted by this version; the jokes were all present and correct ('Bassington-ffrench. With two small effs!'), Poulter and Boynton were enjoyable, energetic leads in the sleuthing and Huge's script was witty, sharp and very Christie-like. A little bijou pearl.
'Forty four year old guys do occasionally drop dead jogging. But, we have so many dead people, anybody who comes too close gets killed.' A Sky documentary exploring fourteen mysterious deaths in the UK with alleged connections to Russia over the course of two decades. Based on BuzzFeed's From Russia With Blood investigation by Heidi Blake and her team, this not only set out to 'lift the lid' on a scandalous international mystery, but it was also incredibly topical, given the current goings-on in Ukraine. Blake received a tip-off about the death of a multi-millionaire property tycoon, which then unfolded into a convoluted web of oligarch deaths and general John Le Carre-style doings. It led to Downing Street and Washington and, throughout the investigation, roads of intrigue kept leading back to Moscow and Vladimir Putin's twenty year reign of terror. The Gruniad Morning Star suggested it was 'a blazing fireball that could topple our democracy.' It didn't do that (or, indeed, anything remotely like it) but it was a fascinating, murky, sinister tale of odd coincidences and even odder deaths. Two men fell in front of tube trains; one died in a helicopter crash. A man collapsed whilst jogging, another stabbed himself many times using two knives. Scottish property developer Scot Young fell to his death from his fourth floor Marylebone window. In 2010, the MI6 analyst Gareth Williams was found crammed into a holdall that was zipped, padlocked and placed in the bath in his Pimlico flat. That made the headlines. In most cases, the official verdict was suicide (Young), accidents or natural causes (the exception was Williams whose death, a coroner found, was 'unnatural and likely to have been criminally mediated'). In statements given to the programme-makers by both the police and the British government, it was reiterated that no direct proof of Russian involvement has been found. One or two people even believed them. Jed Rothstein's six-part series was, admittedly, somewhat keen to get from A to B via X in terms of actually proving who might have been behind all this malarkey. Exiled oligarch Boris Berezovsky was the main witness for the prosecution. Whether Vlad The Small actually ordered some or all of these deaths is, legitimately, debateable. In the vast majority of cases, though, as the series makes clear, if anyone benefitted from them, Vlad The Small did. Not proof, clearly. But, compellingly, if not entirely persuasively, told.
'So, you can use it to go back to London in the 1800s?' 'I'm a brown woman, why the fuck would I want to?' Time travel stories have been around since stories (and time) began, but it's extremely rare to find one with a genuinely fresh idea at its heart. Such is the case with Joe Barton's The Lazarus Project, broadcast on Sky Max, which postulates that the presence of a convenient singularity creates a checkpoint in time every 1 July. For the next twelve months, a covert government agency can turn the clock back to that same summer morning in order to avert extinction level events. Paapa Essiedu (so good in From The North favourite I May Destroy You) plays app designer George, whose innate ability to 'remember' the resets gets him recruited and hastily inducted into a world of espionage and government-sponsored temporal tinkering. Not only is the drama packed with terrific performances (both Anjli Mohindra and Tom Burke are on top form) but Barton's story morphs and shifts along with its looping timeline, wrong-footing the audience just when they think they have the plot figured out. Throw in exploration of morality, consequence (and a lack thereof) and weighing personal need with the greater good and you have a thrilling, slickly produced SF drama that is as clever and thought-provoking as it is fiendishly addictive. A 'fun, stylish brain-scrambler' according to the Gruniad Morning Star. Who, like a broken clock it would seem, can be right twice a day.
'There are about twenty thousand flowers on each tree. And one hundred and forty million trees. That is billions of flowers, all calling out at once!' The latest two additions to the fullest CV on television, that belonging to Sir David Attenborough. So much of a national treasure he ought to have railings around him. Both are, of course, the work of the BBC's world-admired National History Department, the latter in co-production with Apple TV. Filming of The Green Planet took three years to complete and spanned twenty seven countries. Producer Paul Williams hired engineer Chris Field to develop new filmmaking technology for the series based on a prototype of the 'Triffid' camera system in a Kickstarter video. The original music was composed by Benji Merrison and Will Slater. Prehistoric Planet followed dinosaurs and pterosaurs recreated with computer-generated imagery living around the globe in the Late Cretaceous period, sixty six million years ago, just before the extinction event. It set out to depict prehistoric life using current paleontological research by including accurately feathered dinosaurs and probable speculative animal behavior. Hans Zimmer, Kara Talve and Anže Rozman composed the soundtrack. It was the first major dinosaur-focused documentary series produced by the BBC since Planet Dinosaur in 2011. And, through both, the comforting, knowledgeable and wise presence of Attenborough was there to guide the viewers through the beguiling, bewildering and beautiful imagery. Both series were, of course, major ratings hits in the UK and sold, massively, around the world. They were also, just as importantly, critical successes too; the Independent praised The Green Planet for bringing 'an incredible level of drama, insight and imaginative presentation' to its subject matter. The series was also admired by Greenpeace for raising awareness of environmental issues and climate change. 'It is so breathtaking that I often had to pinch myself to remember it wasn't real,' said the Daily Scum Mail about Prehistoric Planet whilst The Times added it was 'every bit as amazing as it promised to be.'
'Music is a resilient thing. It's the only thing we've got that we can trust!' The BBC's tribute to a significant milestone in the career of a hard-working R&B club band from South London, My Life As A Rolling Stone was an unsurprisingly frank, but unexpectedly candid and serious look at the world as seen through the eyes of Sir Mick, Saint Keef and Rockin' Ronnie who decided to, if you will, grow old disgracefully. And the late, much-loved, Charlie. Who most definitely didn't. The series was, in fact, viewed by the band themselves as a tribute to their late drummer whose episode concluded the quartet. Of course, The Stones have been doing documentaries about themselves for nearly as long as they've been a band. The first, Charlie Is My Darling (1966), was shelved for decades due to legal fights as was The Rolling Stones Rock & Roll Circus (1968). Jean Luc-Godard's up-its-own-arse docufiction One Plus One (Sympathy For The Devil) got consigned to the arthouse circuit, while Robert Frank's cinema verité Cocksucker Blues (1972) was just too revealing for anyone's comfort and barely saw the light of day. Gimme Shelter (1970), of course, turned out to be more the document of a tragedy than the triumph of a band at its peak. And 1990's Twenty Five By Five disappeared shortly after it was broadcast and hasn't been seen for years. The opening episode, on Mick The Jag (of course) was, if you like, the 'official' version of Stones history (and was criticised by some prick of no importance at the Grunaid for exactly that reason). Something of a beggar's banquet for fans, Keef's episode was, as expected, both the funniest and, at times, the most revealing. Ronnie's was the most surprisingly, the on-looker to the Brian Jones/Mick Taylor years rather than the participant. (Some commentators with an agenda whinged about Rockin' Ronnie getting an entire episode to himself oblivious, seemingly, to the fact that he's been a Stone three times as long as Jones and Taylor put together). Charlie's was, for many reasons, the most affecting. 'What's the point of yet another film about this band?,' asked the magazine that took its name from the group. 'The generous answer is: Who needs a point to savor [sic] the world's self-proclaimed greatest rock 'n' roll band defending that assertion in vintage performance clips?' 'There are significant and painful memories that are given scant attention,' added the Financial Times. 'But you can't always get what you want and as a diamond anniversary celebration of their magnetism, craft and endurance, the documentary makes for a thoroughly enjoyable viewing.' Satisfaction? Guaranteed.
'If this was an accident, then it was man-made.' In the opening moments of this four-part drama about the Hillsborough tragedy, Anne Williams (Maxine Peake) waves off her excited teenage son and his friend to go and watch Liverpool play Nottingham Forest in an FA Cup Semi-Final. Knowing how the day in 1989 ends requires the audience to brace for the downpour of devastation and horrifying injustice ahead. Peake gives a fine, trembling performance as a grieving mother who spent twenty three years campaigning for the truth (the real truth, not the Sun's version of it) about her son's death and, those of the other ninety six victims. Against a blame-covering police force, couldn't-care-less politicians, a scornful, full-of-its-own-importance media with a sick agenda and many people who believed the lies, simply regarded Liverpool as the capital city of Self-Pityland and couldn't accept that, in fact, the families had been right all along. More than just an excellently executed mini-series (we've had several of those about this horrible event over the years, some very good indeed), it is an essay on how one should never back down in the fight for justice. 'This is a relentlessly sad and horrifying story and the past thirty years have not softened it,' noted the Daily Scum Mail. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the Sun does not appear to have reviewed Anne (unless they did it really quietly, whilst no one was watching). Maybe that's just as well for all concerned.
Sky History's Curse Of The Ancients spans the period 6200BC and the global Neolithic migrations sparked by rising sea levels, to 1486AD, with the advent of the age of exploration and the rise of the nations and societies we recognise today. In each episode, From The North favourite, the Goddess that is Professor Alice Roberts took viewers on a journey of discovery, to epic sites and landmarks which punctuated the rise and fall of the greatest civilisations in human history. These included a lost Roman palace in Serbia, the mysterious abandoned city of Shivta in Israel and the epic Spanish Iron Age hill fort of Mount Bernorio. Along the way Alice revealed the latest archaeological evidence of civilisation-ending calamities, including the devastating tsunami that changed the fate of ten thousand Ancient Britons, the volcanic eruption which sparked the beginning of the end for an entire Mediterranean civilisation, the results of the world's most deadly pandemic - as well as the scene of Europe's earliest and bloodiest battle, some three-and-a-half thousand years ago. Dangerous telly, this - in the style of Time Team, Alice's own Digging For Britain and the documentaries of From The North's other favourite TV historians, Lucy Worsley, Janina Ramirez, Mary Beard and Scottish Neil Oliver (and his lovely hair), all previously featured in these annual awards. Fulfilling the classic Reithian education strand of British TV, those who prefer BBC3 to BBC4 and ITV2 to ITV4 are advised to give this one a miss. Because, shockingly, you might just learn something. That would never do, would it?
'Our mission? To charts the stars. To push the boundaries of what is known. And what is possible.' There was a time when the future of Star Trek was a film franchise, all bold action and JJ Abrams lens flare. But unsurprisingly, the final frontier now seems to be right where we have traditionally found it: back on TV. And in a time where we're more inundated with new Trek TV than ever (at least, assuming you have a Paramount+ subscription), Strange New Worlds stands as the best of the crop. The cast of this prequel is dynamic, but that's not the only reason SNW has earned its place right at the top of the Star Trek franchise 'it got good the quickest' list alongside this blogger's beloved Deep Space Nine. (Whether, like the latter, it will 'stay good the longest' is a matter for the future.) Rather, it's in the way Strange New Worlds inventively imagines a new universe out of one that we are intimately familiar with, using the Star Trek blueprint as a way to boldly go into new formats, questions and forehead prosthetics. They weren't all as outstanding as the opening half-dozen, but Strange New Worlds' episodic format made it easy to place your trust in those being the exception, rather than the rule.
'What if we could come back and live it all over again. And again and again.' The combination of a very strong cast, a hit novel as source material and an intriguing premise made this BBC drama a true gem. The story - from author Kate Atkinson - revolves around Ursula Todd (From The North favourite Thomasin McKenzie), who dies as a baby in 1910 only to keep being reborn into different iterations of the same life. The potential is huge, the supporting cast (which includes Sian Clifford, Jessica Brown Findlay and Jessica Hynes) is strong and the fact the novel was adapted by Boardwalk Empire writer Bash Doran certainly didn't hurt, either. A review in the Gruniad Morning Star described the series as 'an appealing, emotional drama' but somewhat lacking in overall narrative and resolution commenting that 'the show's main priority is apparent from the start: making people cry. If you like the feeling of being overwhelmed by vicarious trauma and grief then you're in for a treat. And the anguish is thoroughly addictive. It's what makes Life After Life incredibly compelling, binge-worthy even, despite being practically plotless from one episode to the next.'
'You know everyone's talking about you, don't you? They're all worried you're going to learn to walk like Miss Lister. And be like her!' From The North favourite Sally Wainwright's beautifully saucy period drama - a feature of From The North's 2019 awards - returned even bolder in an exquisitely scripted second series. From The North favourite Suranne Jones's portrayal of the real-life Yorkshire figure - and Britain's 'first modern lesbian' - Anne Lister turned the dial up to eleven, putting in a performance packed with charisma and delightfully sly humour. This time round, we even got a documentary dedicated to the many lives this show has changed. The Hollywood Reporter described Gentleman Jack as a 'funny, smart and touching story' which at times has the main character talk to the camera to explain her inner thoughts, allowing aspects of Lister's diary to be used. And, what a splendid support cast - Sophie Rundle, Joe Armstrong, Amelia Bullmore, Rosie Cavaliero, Gemma Whelan, Gemma Jones, Timothy West, Stephanie Cole, Peter Davison, Shaun Dooley. Quality like that costs, of course. And that, sadly, became a problem. A co-production between the BBC and HBO, the show's failure to find much of an audience in the US ultimately led to the latter partner deciding cut their losses. The BBC, reportedly, want to continue with the drama. But, given that they barely have a pot to piss in these days, they will need to find a production partner with pretty deep pockets to make any potential third series.
'What's this?' 'It's a list of things to talk about in case there are any awkward silences!' A sweet BBC comedy-drama based on Dolly Alderton's fictionalised, 'shockingly intimate' memoir, adapted by Alderton herself and produced by Working Title. The seven-part series premiered in June 2022 and starred Emma Appleton, Bel Powley and Marli Siu. 'Frothy and a tad bit frivolous, Everything I Know About Love is less about lessons learned than the joy of the journey - and it's an absolute blast in[to] the bargain,' considered Rotten Tomatoes whilst Variety added: 'With its photogenic cast, pyjama-party vibe and commitment to steering its characters towards better things, this ... London-set miniseries should provide superior comfort TV.' They also compared the series to Fleabag. 'It veers from being light and watchable to being lazy and quite clichéd,' whinged Camilla Faceache in The Times. 'Filled with superficial, Maureen Lipman-style Jewish mother stereotypes and black characters who only talk about being black.' That's Camilla Faceache, dear blog reader. Being 'arch.' Because that's what she does. The Times (for whom Alderton was, famously, a Sunday columnist), was generally rather up-its-own-arse about Everything I know About Love. 'What a joy to learn that stunning girls in flatshares really do spend their spare time staging giggling dance routines, often in hotpants but sometimes in nothing at all. Just as we always suspected,' sneered another louse of no importance. Inner-office scores being settled? You decide, dear blog reader. The New Statesman thought the series was 'brilliant' because, they added, like the book it never pretended to be about anything other than figuring out your twenties as a young woman.
'At 9.07 this morning they experienced a partial shutdown impacting as far as we can tell about fifty five per cent of Internet provision. All in all, quite cleverly targeted to cause significant disruption without putting that many lives at risk.' A near-future cyber-thriller from Channel 4, written by Peter Kosminsky and starring Hannah Khalique-Brown, Simon Pegg, Maisie Richardson-Sellers, Adrian Lester, Alex Jennings and Mark Rylance. The drama's trailers were inspired by Orson Welles's panic-provoking 1938 radio adaption of The War Of The Worlds and, like the template, were subject to complaints to Ofcom (a politically appointed quango, elected by no one) due to their being made to suggest they were live emergency broadcasts. Adrian Lester, who made the announcements in-character, tweeted: 'I'm not actually the Prime Minster, I'm an actor!' 'It isn't a must-watch,' claimed the BBC's Scot Bryan. 'But I still find it very informative. Peter has worked on this for years researching it and of course GCHQ is quite a cryptic organisation. To provide us a bit of insight he did a lot of research.' This blogger thought it was great.
'I'm bomb disposal, I need you to stay still for me, okay?' At this point, all you have to do is mention From The North favourite Vicky McClure's involvement and many dear blog readers are guaranteed to be interested, but the premise of Trigger Point was also deeply enthralling. Daniel Brierley's drama saw McClure in the role of Lana Washington, a bomb disposal officer in The Met. Produced by Line Of Duty and Bodyguard creator Jed Mercurio and starring that Adrian Lester again, Trigger Point followed McClure's character as she worked to keep London safe in the midst of a 'terrorist summer campaign.' The Gruniad described the series as 'great fun as long as you set your preposterousness levels to "high." Go in thinking CSI: Peckham or Line Of Bomb Duty or Bomby McBombface, rather than The Wire But With Actual Wires ... and you'll enjoy yourself a lot more.' A big ratings hit early in the year for ITV, a second series has been confirmed for 2023.
'It's not a superpower, it's a disability. It's what's wrong with me.' It has been a jolly good year for The Lord Thy God Steven Moffat (OBE). His adaptation of Audrey Niffenegger's best selling novel starred Theo James and Rose Leslie. The series tells the story of a couple whose marriage is complicated by time travel and was previously adapted as a (not very good) 2009 film with Rachel McAdams and Eric Bana. Unlike the movie, it was heartbreaking, romantic and the perfect kind of emotional watch to wile away a weekend with, glass of wine in hand. That's if you're a Gruniad-reader, obviously, most of us 'normal people' make do with a bottle of water and a bag of crisps. Blending romance and science fiction, it follows the relationship between Henry, a man with a genetic disorder which causes him to sporadically travel through time for short periods and Clare, a woman who met an older version of Henry when she was a girl who told her they were married in the future. Much like the novel, the series raised questions about determinism, free will and identity. It got some Hellishly bad reviews, particularly one from That Awful Singh Woman at the Torygraph who, frankly, wouldn't know a decent TV drama if it gave her a haircut. The Financial Times, at least, seemed to get it, writing: 'The show is buoyed by the charisma of the two lovers and it succeeds in mining its conceit for some gentle humour and reflections on love and loss.' This.
'This is a psychotic break. A twelve-year-old version of yourself broke into your house with her punk friends?' Amazon's SF drama, adapted from Brian Vaughan's popular comic, follows four teenage girls who, whilst delivering papers after Hallow'een in 1988, become unwittingly caught in a conflict between warring factions of time-travellers, sending them on an adventure through time and, if you will, space to save the world. Hopefully. As they travel between time periods, they encounter future versions of themselves and must choose to embrace or reject their fate(s). Sofia Rosinsky, Camryn Jones, Riley Lai Nelet and Fina Strazza played the four lead roles. 'While comparisons will be made to Stranger Things, Paper Girls stands on its own and isn't a clone,' said the San Jose Mercury News. 'Effortlessly diverse and filled with authentic moments depicting the experience of girlhood (there's a whole scene about tampons!), Paper Girls is an adventurous, important and entertaining entry in the Young Adult canon,' added the Hazel & Kartniss & Harry & Starr podcast. 'What's smart about Paper Girls (even as end-of-the-world stakes loom in the background) is that it tends to keep things small and personal,' noted National World. Of course, the history of American television is full of series which started well but were never allowed to fulfill their potentials by nervous, trigger-happy network executives (think From The North favourites Studio Sixty On The Sunset Strip, Firefly, Pushing Daisies and dozens of other examples) whilst we get ten effing series of CSI: Miami. No justice. Sadly, despite an overwhelmingly positive response from both viewers and critics, Paper Girls became the latest victim of this ruthless, finance-driven system and the series was cancelled after a mere eight episodes. Again, no justice.
'I didn't mean to kill him.' 'If you meant to kill him, he'd still be alive!' Apple TV's brisk six-episode spy thriller was adapted from a 2010 novel and brings the kind of layered mystery and effectively twisty plot one would expect from the genre. Slow Horses concerns a group of lovable losers from the world of espionage who have all been punished for past failures or transgressions by being sent to Slough House, a dead-end assignment filled with boring paperwork and a general sense of uselessness. They are led by Jackson Lamb (Gary Oldman, on magnificently growly form), their cantankerous boss whose only moments of joy seem to come via letting rip a good brutal fart with some regularity. When a kidnapping plot captivates the whole nation, the rejects of Slough House take it upon themselves to save the day. With hilarious consequences. Slow Horses comes from an effective and unconventional combination of creatives: veteran action and drama directors James Hawes and Jeremy Lovering were paired with a group of writers that have largely worked on comedies (including Paddington 2 and Veep). The result was a spy thriller that nailed all the notes you'd want from the genre, while also delivering sitcom-style laughs and characters. A lovely support cast includes Kristin Scott Thomas, Jonathan Pryce and Saskia Reeves. 'The action and violence, when it does happen, is fast, brutal and efficient,' said the Chicago Tribune. 'And just as quickly, the show is back to something that occasionally resembles a bleak workplace comedy. It’s an expert juggling of tones.' A second series is scheduled to begin in late December.
'Hello, Satan!' 'You bastard!' Sarah Phelps' mini-series, starring From The North favourite Claire Foy as the Duchess of Argyll and From The North favourite Paul Bettany as the Duke. The production company, Blueprint Pictures, had previously made the first, acclaimed A Very English Scandal, about The Thorpe Affair. Which, of course, featured, bigly, in 2018's From The North awards. The new three-episode series dramatised the marriage of Margaret and Ian Campbell and the media frenzy surrounding their 1963 divorce case. That became a notorious and scandalous cause célèbre, featuring accusations of adultery, forgery, theft, violence, drug use and bribery. The series explored the social and political climate of post-war Britain and attitudes toward women in the 1960s. Foy, whom this blogger cannot recall ever giving a performance that he found less than impressive, won Best Actress at the Broadcasting Press Guild Awards. The series premiered in the UK on Boxing Day 2021. Wildly acclaimed by just about every critic (except That Ghastly Singh Woman in the Torygraph), the Globe & Mail said: 'In three parts, it is taut and fraught, with a good blend of high comedy and low morals on show and it sticks to the core story of the marriage that went, spectacularly, awry.' A handsome production (beautifully directed by Anne Sewitsky), the series was also a decent-sized ratings hit.
'Our focus groups show people will support a lockdown. If we support them financially.' Originally titled This Sceptered Isle, This England was a Sky Atlantic docudrama written by Michael Winterbottom and Kieron Quirke. It depicted the first wave of the COVID pandemic in the UK based on testimonies of people in the Boris Johnson administration, on the various intergovernmental advisory groups and in other affected British institutions such as care homes and the NHS. Kenneth Branagh (unrecognisably) played Bashing Boris and Ophelia Lovibond was Carrie Johnson. The series received mixed reviews, almost inevitably split along political lines. To wit, the Torygraph and the Daily Scum Mail hated it and everything it stood for. The Gruniad Morning Star and The New Statesman, on the other hand, thought it was great! Sky actually made something of a virtue out of such dichotomy, running trailers highlighting both opposing views which concluded telling the audience 'you decide.' Some critics appeared to feel that it was 'too soon' for such a drama. The Independent said: 'Here comes the show that precisely nobody was asking for.' Mind you, that was the same prick who claimed Marriage was 'boring' so, you know, his opinions are worth less than a Matt Hancock assurance that everything was going to be all right. One thing everyone was agreed on was that Brannah was 'mesmerising.' The NME praised the series, but said that the format 'takes some getting used to' as it oscillates between harrowing scenes in hospitals to events that resemble The Thick Of It. It got a somewhat more nuanced reception away from the British political landscape, particularly the review in The New York Times. This blogger enjoyed it and thought it worthy of praise, despite some of its more outré conceits. And, often seeming unable to make its own mind up what, exactly, it wanted to say.
'The Gods have yet to make a man who has the patience for absolute power.' Starring three of this blogger's favourite actors - Paddy Considine, Rhys Ifans and, of course, Matt Smith - this prequel to From The North favourite Game Of Thrones is attempting to do the impossible and please the most stroppily self-entitled fandom in the history of fandoms. Good luck with that, chaps. If they get anywhere close to succeeding that will be, in and of itself, a bloody miracle. Set around two centuries before the events of Game Of Thrones, the first series' ten episodes covered a couple of decades in the lives of the ruling Targaryan family. The day after the series premiere, HBO said the episode had been viewed by an estimated 9.99 million viewers in the US on its first night of availability - including linear viewers and streams on HBO Max - which HBO claimed was the largest single-day viewership for a series debut in the service's history. Everyone, of course, had a view on it ranging from the really impressed to the scathing and every shade of grey in-between. This blogger's view? It's still not, quite, rocking it like Keith Telly Topping had hoped it would. It's mostly fine - it's full of very good actors, for a start - but, by this stage in Game Of Thrones (when he eventually started watching it) this blogger was hooked. With this, Keith Telly Topping's emotional investment is still in the waiting room hoping the train will show up shortly. But, yer man Smudger is, of course, great in it. And that alone covers a lot of the cracks!
'I killed two people last night after I tried really hard not to!' From The North favourite Killing Eve's appearance in this blog's 2020 'Best Of' list brought forth a howl of rage from this blogger in relation to sneering flavour-of-the-month TV critics who practice Britain's favourite game, 'arse-lick-'em-up-and-then-slap-'em-down-hard.' This blogger stands by his criticism of their criticism; that fact that some arrogant smear of no consequence at the Torygraph considers liking any TV show to be 'a novelty' (which can 'wear off') tells you everything that you need to know about them and nothing about the TV show they are, in theory, critiquing. The fourth and final series of Killing Eve wasn't, admittedly, as good as the first two (though it was a marginal improvement on the third). The classic cat-and-mouse game between Eve (Sandra Oh) and Villanelle (Jodie Comer) levelled up in its final episodes. But, of course, with the kind of twist not many were expecting and which more than a few people with scowls on their faces took issue with. Take this butt-reaming asshole at The New Statesman for one. 'Season four ignores some of the emotional progress made in its predecessor and theres [sic] no indication in the first few episodes as to why Eve and Villanelle are once again at odds with each other, or what happened to the tenderness displayed on the bridge,' noted The Playlist in a much more nuanced review than any of the broadsheets could manage in their rush to spit on something which used to be their most favourite TV show in all the land. Until it was no longer 'fashionable' to say so. Scum.
'One night. One game ... The loser goes home unhappy. The winner goes home very happy.' A Sky three-part documentary about Allen Stanford, the American former financier, crass self-publicist, alleged 'benefactor' of sport and extremely convicted fraudster. Who is currently serving a one hundred and ten-year federal prison sentence, having been convicted on charges that his investment company was the vehicle for a massive Ponzi scheme. With good behaviour, he may be out of The Joint early next Century. Stanford's most infamous stunt was turning up at Lord's in a helicopter (with his name emblazoned on the side) and then strutting about like he owned the place. Which, for a few weeks at least, he effectively did. In June 2008, Stanford and the England and Wales Cricket Board signed a deal for a Twenty20 international between England and a West Indies XI, with a prize of twenty million dollars for the winners. 'It's not cricket' suggested the purists. And, for once, the purists were correct. (Nine months later, when news of FBI fraud investigations into Stanford's business became public, the ECB withdrew from Stanford's sponsorship deal like a scalded cat.) No one comes out of this utter shambles very well - the cricket authorities, happy to get into bed with a flash chancer who dangled lots of lovely wonga in their faces; several cricket legends - like Mister Iron Bottom and Sir Viv Richards, for example - who were, seemingly, delighted to have their photos taken promoting the Stanford Circus whilst standing next to a big plastic box containing the twenty million notes; Sky themselves, who slurped Stanford's arse big-style to acquire the TV rights. But, that said, the most annoying thing about this, otherwise laudable, documentary series was the presence as a talking head of that smug plank Jonathan Agnew, popping up at regular intervals to sneer and ask wise-after-the-event questions like, for instance, why didn't anyone 'do a bit of due diligence' on Stanford before getting their greed on? A good question with the benefit of hindsight. Someone, perhaps, such as Aggers himself - the then BBC Cricket Correspondent who is, reportedly, paid over a hundred grand a year of licence fee payers money specifically so he can ask those sort of questions. What a pity he wasn't doing his Sherlock Holmes bit back in 2008. Ironically, the people who came out of the fiasco best were the players - crassly abused by some for having 'sold their soul.' Stuart Broad and Luke Wright, members of the England team, were the real victims here; describing how they felt as they quickly realised that there was something potentially criminal going on. Stuart Bernard's series was patient, rewarding and - with the exception of Agnew - non-judgemental, presenting Stanford's dirty dealings in the context of the world just pre the financial crash (and, interestingly, finding plenty of people in the Caribbean who still have admiration for the man). With testimony from FBI agents, journalists, former Stanford employees (including Laura Pendergest Holt who found herself doing a three-stretch for obstructing justice) and Nassar Hussain (representing Sky), The Man Who Bought Cricket ultimately proved that, when the greed takes over, no one wins. And that definitely isn't cricket.
'Shouldn't we go with someone with a more camera-friendly look and a less distinctive sound?' Sarah Lancashire was the very embodiment of Julia Child, the tenacious cookbook author who revolutionised US television - and the diets of ordinary Americans - with her nascent cookery show, The French Chef (which also showcased her love of a coq pun). For British dear blog readers who will be unfamiliar with Ms Child and her oeuvre, think Fannie Craddock but (marginally) less hoity-toity. Only marginally, mind you. In HBO's biopic, we watch Child's programme transform lives and bring pleasure to many, even as the network - and feminists like Betty Friedan - will Julia to fail. Vulture, called the show a 'bracing, comforting hit of competence porn: people who care, doing their jobs well.' The review highlighted that 'the effort to loop Child into the cultural and historical context of her time makes Julia a better show than it could otherwise have been ... Julia has some flaws, but its good qualities outweigh the missteps.' Never has such fun been had while watching a mushroom omelette being made. Well, not since The Ipcress File, anyway. In May, Julia was renewed for a second series.
Because this is, after all, the latest From The North annual 'Best Of' list and some things, dear blog reader, never change when it comes to this blogger's top telly tastes.
American Rust, Sharks Of The British Isles, Rules Of The Game, The Kings, Red Elvis, Around The World In Eighty Days, Derry Girls, Digging For Britain, Toast Of Tinseltown, Yellowjackets, Anatomy Of A Scandal, Supergreed: The Fight For Football, The Thief, His Wife & The Canoe, The Flight Attendant, Murderville, Night Sky, Conversations With Fiends, The Gilded Age, Trom, Loot, Under The Banner Of Heaven, No Return, DI Ray, Atlanta, The Girl From Plainville, The Staircase, The Marvelous Mrs Maisel, Single Drunk Female, Minx, Bad Vegan, Black Bird, We Need To Talk About Crosby, Somebody Somewhere, Hacks, Only Murders In The Building, The Offer, The Bear, The Lord Of The Rings: The Rings Of Power, The Old Man, Never Have I Ever, The Rising, Severance, Royal Mob, SAS Rogue Heroes, RRR, Pretty Little Liars, Big Boys, Better Call Saul, Girl In The Picture, When The World Watched.
Followed, inevitably, by: Thirty Programmes Which Were Neither Use Nor Ornament And Should, In A Sane World, Have Been Shovelled Into The Nearest Gutter With All The Other Turds -
1. Mel Gedroyc: Unforgiveable
As this blog noted last year the opening episode of Dave's Mel Giedroyc: Unforgiveable was, as this blogger had confidently expected in advance from the avalanche of trailers, shite. And by that, this blogger means offensively shite with terminal potential. You would have to be a brain-damaged moron, or the victim of a cruel medical experiment not to consider it thus, dear blog reader. And, contrary to occasional appearances, this blogger is many things but he is neither of those two. As previously discussed in both the 2020 and 2019 From The North Worst Of lists, Dave's 'original' comedy output is, for the most part, a bleeding disaster area. Loaded with the usual parade of loud, unfunny, 'very popular with students', obnoxious, full-of-their-own-importance planks masquerading as comedians. Ben Wicks, who is the Executive Producer (so, for those taking names, this fiasco is his fault and that's properly unforgivable), suggested that Giedroyc - whom this blogger did have a bit of time for, even if her post-Bake Off CV has been a parade of one flop format after another - would be performing 'a vital public service: deciding which of Britain's funniest and most entertaining people are the biggest wrong uns.' And, if you replace the words 'Britain's funniest and most entertaining people' with 'a troupe of annoying smears like Ed Gamble, Phil Wang and Lou Sanders' and the words 'vital public service' with 'something which no member of the public actually asked for,' that's a slightly more accurate description of what Unforgiveable is all about. One just couldn't escape it, either. Viewing the end of a Whitehouse & Mortimer: Gone Fishing repeat, this blogger was wholly unprepared for the sudden, unwelcome appearance across the credits of the voice of Ms Giedroyc. She was plugging a forthcoming episode of Unforgivable. 'Join me on Tuesday where my guest will be Tom Allen, Gemma Collins and Darren Harriott' begged Mel in her perky, 'will you come and get it like a big funky sex machine?' voice that we all know so well from Bake Off. This blogger merely had time to bellow at The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House widescreen tellybox 'no thanks, Mel, I'd sooner poke me own eyes out with toasting forks' before he found the remote control. As the Chortle website noted, Giedroyc 'has been saddled with a format that she doesn't even have much confidence in, the needlessly complex negative scoring, unnecessary gong and convoluted rounds becoming a running joke even from episode one.' 'Everyone involved in this should be thoroughly ashamed of themselves' is a phrase, possibly the most damning imaginable for any movie or TV show, which was used by From The North favourite Mark Kermode to describe the 2005 movie Hide & Seek, in which Robert de Niro delivered one of his most 'just give me the cheque' performances. It's also a useful phrase to describe the majority of '[allegedly] original comedy' formats which appears on the Dave channel. And, the overwhelming majority of the awful people who feature in them. Like Comedians Giving Lectures, Unforgiveable is unbearably obnoxious and full of itself. Like Big Zuu's Big Eats is it loud and shouty and, at times, unwatchable. Like Outsiders, it's stuffed with people you would not want to find yourself stuck in the woods with if you weren't packing heat. This blogger says all of this not as a professional comedian himself - Keith Telly Topping wouldn't know one end of a joke from another if it presented itself to him on a bed of curry, boiled rice and chips looking all delicious - but, rather, as a licence fee payer (Dave's parent company, UKTV, is wholly owned by BBC Studios). You know, one of those annoying 'little people' that pays your - one presumes, grossly inflated - wages, Mel. This is the sort of programme which encourages self-harm as a way of avoiding watching it (admittedly, just switching channels is a much less painful alternative) and, therefore, should carry government health warnings at the beginning suggesting that viewers may wish to put any sharp objects they have to hand in a safe place. You can have that idea for free, Dave.
As this blog said last year (part 2) This ... thing features the titular Big Zuu, who is a large chap with a strange haircut and who is a chef - probably quite a good one judging by some of the dishes he is shown cooking. He certainly seems to think so. He is, also, apparently a popular beat combo who is 'massive' on 'The Grime Scene.' Or so this blogger is led to understand. Big Zuu also speaks in a language which this blogger did not, initially, recognise as English or anything even remotely like it. In this programme his - self-appointed, please note - task is to whip up meals for a several of those bloody awful, wholly unfunny twonks who stink up the majority of Dave's 'original [alleged] comedy output.' So, if the thought of spending an hour in the company of the likes of James Acaster or Desiree Burch is your idea of genital torture, dear blog reader, this might not be the programme for you. But, as painfully bad as this blogger has made it sound already, there is one further element which makes Big Zuu's Big Eats effectively unwatchable. Everybody shouts. Big Zuu shouts. All the time. He shouts at his 'boyz' - Tubsey and Hyder. Tubsey and Hyder shout back at him. He shouts at his guests (who do, sad to report, include a couple of people whom this blogger used to have a bit of respect for, like Jimmy Carr and Josh Widdicombe). They all shout back at Big Zuu. Everybody shouts, dear blog reader. Until you just wish they would all shut the fek up and eat their - to repeat, really quite good-looking - nosh. To be completely fair to Dave, Big Zuu and the rest of those taking part in this woeful example of celebrity-by-non-entity, the various trailers for this programme were a pretty accurate reflection of their content. Including all of the shouting. So, this blogger really can't say that he was taken unawares. Suffice to say that this blogger has largely avoided this loud, brash exercise in hideous self-aggrandisement ever since first encountering it. For the sake of his eardrums as much as anything else. As a general rule of thumb with regard to shows on Dave, if they were originally made by the BBC - or, if they weren't but feature Dave Gorman or Jon Richardson - then, chances are, they'll be pretty good. If not, this blogger's advice is to avoid them like the plague.
As this blog said in 2019 it really should not have been possible - an alleged 'comedy' format fronted by From The North favourite Sara Pascoe which features barely a joke worthy of the name. Sadly, Sara's contributions to the programme in question largely consisted of a few - halfway amusing - one-liners before introducing a parade of those abject same non-entities that constitute the detritus of British comedy which Dave could afford (see, also, Mel Gedroyc: Unforgiveable, Big Zuu's Big Eats, Outsiders, Argumental, Question Team et cetera). Most of them with names like Lolly, apparently. And, almost all of whom about as funny as a good, hard eye-watering knee to the nadgers. Now, admittedly, dear blog reader, comedy is an entirely subjective thing and some people may, indeed, have found this conceit - 'some of the funniest people in British comedy deliver[ing] a hilarious stand-up presentation in the guise of a lecture' according to the series' own dubious publicity - worthy of a titter or two. This blogger was not one of them, however. Which may mean he has turned into a grumpy old sod in his declining years (hey, this blogger is open to extreme possibilities). Or it may mean that he's not as easily pleased as some Dave viewers, seemingly, are. Despite the occasional appearance of someone with genuine comic skill (Katherine Ryan in one episode, Miles Jupp in another), Comedians Giving Lectures was a classic example of everything that is wrong with comedy in the 2020s. Many of these people are, apparently, 'very popular with students.' Which, given the truly appalling state of education in this country, is a far bigger joke than anything found in - or anywhere near - this series.
As this blog said last year (part 3) at the risk of sounding like a stuck record (that's a Twentieth Century cultural reference for all youngling dear blog readers), Dave's 'surprisingly inadequate' original comedy productions really are an absolute zone of stinking tripe. The Mash Report was originally a BBC production, which was cancelled - in a splurge of publicity - early in 2021. The reasons for the cancellation have been debated at length elsewhere - it was a constant target for various parts of the right-wing media as an example of the BBC's alleged left-wing bias and there were claims that the BBC got cold feet over such an easy target with which to beat them with a stick. This blogger, frankly, doesn't buy that, the show's rating were tiny and it was, from the start, living on borrowed time because of its numbers rather than its content. Nevertheless, in November 2018, the then BBC political presenter Andrew Neil described The Mash Report on Twitter as 'self-satisfied, self-adulatory, unchallenged left-wing propaganda.' Neil, an odious, blustering right-wing oaf who is now, very satisfyingly, out of a job after the colossal failure of his much-trumpeted GB News venture - characterised the series as a 'pathetic imitation' of The Daily Show in America. And, the really annoying thing there was that the loathsome Neil actually had a point. Not the politically-motivated nonsense, Emily Baker of the i rather successfully challenged many of the allegations of imbalance made about The Mash Report, but certainly with regard to Mash's far-too-high opinion of itself. As the TV writer Gareth Roberts noted this series is 'the worst kind of comedy - dull, self-satisfied conformity masquerading as daring and revolutionary; the humour of the clique and, sometimes, the mob. It reveals nothing new. It does not enlighten or surprise. It merely confirms and repeats.' This year Mash lost its host, Nish Kumar, just about the only reason for actually watching it in the first place. His replacement was another regular, Rachel Parris, the Daily Scum Mail's 'woke' (hateful word) poster girl for lambastation on a regular basis. This blogger dislikes the Daily Scum Mail and all it stands for as much as he dislikes cancer but his opinion of the sneering and full-of-her-own-embiggened-importance Ms Parris hasn't changed since he publicly agreed with 'British Big Balls Fifty Seven' back in 2019). Then there's Ellie Taylor, whose comedy is offensively crude. During an appearance on Qi, Taylor noted that her mother doesn't like it when she swears on television. Hopefully, Mrs Taylor will have therefore spent much of the last couple of years - like the majority of viewers - avoiding her daughter's casual f-bombing at every given opportunity. Topical satire can be hilarious, dear blog reader, we've had sixty years of examples of that on British TV. The Mash Report isn't hilarious and that's a major problem for a comedy which, apparently, believes it has its finger on the pulse of the nation.
Remember when ITV's then head, Michael Grade, in 2007 accused his own network of a lack of innovation? 'We have been very quick to copy other people's formats,' Grade said. 'We've stuck the word "celebrity" on the front of a copied format and pretended that's good enough.' Now the BBC have started walking down the same dimly-lit back alley. The Wall is hosted by Danny Dyer which, frankly, should be enough to put anyone off watching it before we've even got to a description. The first series was filmed on the set of a Polish version of the format and the second at Wembley Arena due to travel restrictions as a result of the pandemic. The normal version is lowest-common-denominator enough but it's hardly the worst example of an early Saturday evening game show for the hard-of-thinking in the history of British telly (neither is it the most original). But then, someone had the bright idea of picking up Michael Grade's baton and running with it. Thus we had the likes of Gary Delany, Ronan Keating, Ellie Taylor (yes, her again) and Martin and Shirlie Kemp getting their faces on TV for no adequately explained reason. 'I watched The Wall for the first time and even Danny Dyer couldn't save it' suggested London News. 'Proper nonsense' added the Gruniad. And, those were two of the kinder reviews.
You can still depend, however, on good old ITV to come up with more of the same old crap. Like this turkey of a format presented by Oti Mabuse. Singers have but one song to entice a 'singleton' down from a balcony and meet face-to-face. The newly formed couple will then go on a date to learn a duet, before returning later in the show to perform that number in competition with other couples. The studio audience then votes the winner. The prize is a Virgin Experience Day to go on another date. So this is, again, just like The Wall Versus Celebrities, a format which has cherry-picked a bunch of ideas from half-a-dozen similarly atrocious formats (a signing competition, a voting element, a blind date, a call back, et cetera). 'Viewers all had the same complaint about the show,' claimed the Sun. Yes, that it's unoriginal and ruddy awful, basically. Only the younglings on Twitter whom the newspaper quoted put it slightly differently: 'Romeo & Duet is the worst show I've ever seen holy f*k the cringe' wrote one punter (without bothering to include any of that messy punctuation malarkey). Actually, you know, that is not a bad summation of just how rotten this thing was. 'ITV Romeo & Duet flooded with criticism within minutes of it starting,' added the Brimingham Mail. '"This will be gut-wrenching": Oti Mabuse's new show Romeo & Duet "is facing the axe after just one series" despite "high expectations" as last episode draws just eight hundred and ninety thousand viewers,' sneered the Daily Scum Mail. The axe, when it fell, swiftly and mercilessly, surprised precisely no one.
There's crap game shows, dear blog reader. And then there's crap game shows on Dave, presented by Tom Allen. Talk about A Perfect Storm. Allen took on the role of Captain of the SS Tragically Unsinkable which has run aground. Sadly, there are four undiscovered islands ahead that the passengers can go and live on and Captain Tom is trusting his comic friends - Sara Pascoe, Johnny Vegas, Ninia Benjamin and Ahir Shah - the respective leaders of the islands. They must make their own personal dream desert island and attract the most passengers to win the series. Is it too much to hope that Tom heads for Johnny Vegas's island and Johnny eats him? The Island was devised by James Acaster, Ed Gamble, Lloyd Langford and John Robins. Which, again, is verbal shorthand for 'this will be crap.' And, of course, it was. 'This nautical panel show is so laugh-free it's a wreck,' wrote the Gruniad (one imagines the reviewer gave themselves the rest of the day off after coming up with the nautical puns). 'The Island is proof that lazy podcasts are ruining TV comedy,' said That Awful Singh Woman at the Torygraph. 'Comedians ... are as funny as the format allows, but the show still feels stale,' added the i. No one, it seemed, had a decent word to say for this disaster. Even the Chortle wsebsite, which can often find something worthwhile in even the most lame of comedy formats, came up empty, noting: 'Aptly, this long-winded show is unlikely to really float your boat.' Float it? No. Sink it, on the other hand ...
In which doctors attempt to pry out objects - which have 'invaded' patients' bodies - from places that they should, very clearly, not be stuck in. Along with interviews with the patients involved, who reveal details of how the objects got there in the first place. No, really. If you thought previous programmes about people with weird and humiliating medical-related issues which have featured on From The North's past 'Worst Of' lists had a 'you have to be shitting me?' quality to them, Embarrassing Bodies, Supersize Versus Superskinny and Doctor Pimple Popper have nothing on TLC's Stuck. In the first episode, for example, perky twentysomething Brittany ends up in the ER after losing a sex toy up her rectum. And, if your eyes are watering at this moment, dear blog reader, imagine what poor Brittany was going through trying to walk with that rammed up her Gary Glitter. That said, one may have expected Brittany, on arrival at A&E, to spot the camera crew and say: 'Oh, I see you're making a documentary about people getting things stuck in places that they didn't oughta be? I think I'll come back later. You know, when you're not making a documentary about people getting things stuck in places that they didn't oughta be. Please destroy any records about me which you have taken thus far. You ain't seen me, right?' But, no, she - seemingly happily - agreed to be interviewed whilst the doctor fished around in her ringpiece, removed the tricky item and held it up for all the world (or, at least, all of Stuck's audience) to see. If ever a programme existed which proved the age-old truism that some people will do anything to get the face (and, in this particular case, their colon) on television, this was it.
You kind of knew that ITV's The One Per Cent Club - hosted, unbelievably, by From The North favourite Lee Mack. Lee, mate, what the Hell were you thinking? - was going to be wretched from the first trailers. Which suggested that this was the most lowest-common-denominator Saturday night game show in the long and forgettable history of lowest-common-denominator Saturday night games shows. Front-loaded with some people giving ridiculously stupid answers to straightforward questions (let's face it, who doesn't enjoy laughing at punters with an apparently limited intellectual capacity? It's virtually a national sport in the UK), it was soon being reported that ITV had, allegedly, 'received complaints' about the, allegedly, 'incredibly easy' questions being asked. And that the format had been 'slammed' by viewers. 'Slammed', of course, being Daily Scum Express reader-speak for 'criticised' only with fewer syllables. 'The One Per Cent Club has been ridiculed by ITV viewers, with many making the same complaint about the new game show,' said the Sun. Using, presumably, the same article they'd written for Romeo & Duet and then just cutting and pasting some new comments from Twitter. Yet, somehow, this atrocious piece of crud managed to acquire enough of an audience to warrant a second series. This blogger resigned from the human race in protest but he doesn't think it did much good.
'Are UFOs real?' asked Craig Charles in the trailer for this supposedly 'factual' series. You're asking the wrong question there, mate. Of course 'UFOs' are 'real' - by definition of what the acronym means, anything in the sky that you don't know what it is - from a falling cow to The Coming Of The Lord - must, therefore, be an 'unidentified flying object.' This blogger believes what you actually mean is 'are UFOs alien spacecraft from another planet/solar system/galaxy/universe?' That's a different question entirely. As for the programme, broadcast on Sky History, it was the usual, predictable 'some people believe ...' nonsense which lots of the documentary channels specialise in. Full of the usual parade of wild-eyed certified loons who live in their parents' basement and turn up to be interviewed on these kind of things, alleging a massive government conspiracy to keep 'the truth' from the public. In the case of the UK, this would seem to be the same government which managed to sack a Home Secretary for a potential security breach and then reappoint her six days later because she had, allegedly, 'learned her lesson'? You think they could keep anything secret from anyone? Grow up for Christ's sake. We've all got enough problems of our own down here on Earth without adding The Daleks to them.
God, is this puddle of noxious phlegm still going? More hateful, twee, offensive nonsense made by, for and about Middle Class Gruniad Morning Star readers with children living in some of the nicer suburbs of North London. Who find normal family life too much like hard work, seemingly. As discussed - at length - in last year's From The North Worst Of list (and, indeed, the year before that) it's genuinely hard to work out what the most offensive thing about Breeders is. How many bad career choices can Martin Freeman make before someone had a quiet word in his shell-like and he went off and made The Responder? What was Alun Armstrong thinking taking a role in this shower of horseshat? Who commissioned Breeders in the first place and are they still in gainful employment? And, most importantly of all, who the Hell is watching this rubbish to the extent that we've had three series of it?
Channel 4's DNA guessing game, saw z-list celebrities host dinner parties with a twist, as guests they've never met before try to work out if they are distantly-related to the host to win a share of a thousand smackers. 'Fame In The Family viewers have slammed the "pointless" show - branding the first episode "a load of crap"', according to the Sun. Christ, when an organ of the media as militantly lowest-common-denominator as the Sun turns against a programme like this, you know it's in trouble. Even if the Gruniad Morning Star quite liked it. But imagine, dear blog reader, the abject horror one contestant must've had upon the discovery that they were related to Kerry Katona. That's worse than find out you're related to Pol Pot, surely?
A BBC2 sitcom created, written and directed by Neil and Rob Gibbons, executive produced by Steve Coogan and starring Tim Key and Daisy May Cooper. And, about as funny as an afternoon as a tester at the hacksaw factory. It was commissioned for Patrick Holland and Shane Allen, the Controller of Comedy Commissioning so, if you were wondering, it was their fault. 'A comedy with so much wasted potential it makes you sad,' claimed the Gruniad. 'The actors bring as much as they can to the parts, without ever hamming it up, but lines such as "Scripture, scruples, scrutiny - the three Scr's" are never going to raise much more than a smile even with the most generous-hearted viewers.' 'Some of the finest comedy talents have produced something strangely mediocre,' added the Independent. Keith Telly Topping thought it was shite, dear blog reader.
Another pile of risible self-absorbed, unfunny panel show malarkey from Dave which irks this blogger to the point where those responsible are about to feel the wrath of his considerable bombast. Question Team is about as amusing as leprosy. Hosted by Richard Ayoade - capable of being funny in small doses but here, not so much - it's yet another vehicle for all of those people. Is it as bad as Comedians Giving Lectures? Possibly not, but that's a bit like saying Gonorrhea isn't as bad as Syphilis. Which is true, but you still don't want to catch it.
Once upon a time when this blogger worked in BBC local radio, Ross Kemp visited the station to publicise his series Ross Kemp In Afghanistan. A few of us thought it might be a fun idea to get dressed up as The Taliban and invade the studio whilst he was getting interviewed to see if he really is a hard as he reckons he is. Then - because we were all adults. And cowards - we decided that was a silly idea. Sky History's Ross Kemp: Shipwreck Treasure Hunter, then? Well, it's the same as Ross Kemp In Afghanistan. It's the same as Ross Kemp On Gangs. It's the same as Ross Kemp In Search Of Pirates. It's the same as Ross Kemp: Battle For The Amazon. It's the same as Ross Kemp: Extreme World. In that, it says far more about Ross Kemp than it does about the subject it's supposed to be covering. 'The series highlighted Kemp's strengths and weaknesses as a presenter,' claimed the Torygraph. 'He is at his best when meeting people, chatting easily and asking perceptive questions. As an interviewer, he's really quite good. But, oh Lord, his delivery. He has learned from the master - Jeremy Clarkson - that a voiceover must go up [dramatic pause] and then down [meaningful silence]. He interprets the need to speak slowly and clearly by splitting every sentence into parts. "Next time. I'm diving deeper than ever before. All the way back. To World War One."'
A Discovery series (broadcast on TLC in the UK) in which couples 'confront staunch opposition to their marriage' from their (usually bigoted) families whilst 'trying to organise their dream weddings. Will love prevail?' Who cares? Genuinely - why would anyone with an ounce of dignity or self-respect in them wish to appear on this programme and expose their lives to public scrutiny? 'Why does reality TV continue to disappoint us?' asked some numbskull at the Gruniad Morning Star. Well, stop watching it, then, you moron and then the disappointment with vanish. Like shat stains from porcelain after the application of bleach. As a wise man once said, you're either part of the solution or you're part of the problem. So, quit being part of the problem.
A 'true crime comedy-drama' mini-series (if those terms aren't mostly contradictions) detailing the involvement of Pam Hupp in the 2011 murder of Betsy Faria. It starred Renée Zellweger, Josh Duhamel, Judy Greer, Gideon Adlon, Sean Bridgers, Suanne Spoke, Mac Brandt, Katy Mixon and Glenn Fleshler. The Rotten Tomatoes website's consensus was: 'Renée Zellweger is visibly having fun, but The Thing About Pam's glossy take on a true crime is neither as entertaining or insightful as it aims to be.' 'You don't think of Pam Hupp when you watch it,' suggested the Torygraph. 'You think: look at Renée Zellweger waddling about on-screen, wearing a fake nose and pretending to be fat.' Variety added: 'It'd be a shame if Zellweger's first acting gig after her Oscar-boosted return to Hollywood were, ultimately, little more than NBC cross-promotion.' Perhaps the most damning critique came from Matt Roush's TV Insider: 'The thing about Pam, sadly, is that despite her crimes, she's not all that interesting.'
As if those poor people in Ukraine hadn't suffered enough already what with the Russian invasion and everything. They could probably have done without four hours of the likes of Ed Sheeran using a genuine humanitarian tragedy to sell more records, something which really does set the moral compass a-spinnin' in entirely the wrong direction. Down with this sort of thing, dear blog reader - people should be free to give their money to (genuinely) deserving charity causes without needing to be 'bribed' by naff, self-important nonsense such as this. Hateful.
The Sky trailer for this offal was quite enough for this blogger. Jamie Redknapp (a nice lad, bit thick. Literally), his no-longer-employable-in-football old man, Hapless Harry and That Bloody Jack Bloody Whitehall appear in a further example of the 'look at us, we know lots of famous people, aren't we great?' nonsense which so stank up previous formats featuring any and/or all of these three (A League Of Their Own, Redknapp's Big Night Out, everything with That Bloody Jack Bloody Whitehall in it). In a time of national financial crisis, the fact that these people are alive and getting paid as well is, frankly, a sodding disgrace.
'Unearthing the real Penelope Keith,' according to the pre-publicity, this howlingly awful Channel 5 abomination was just like all of those other wretched vehicles for That Awful Keith Woman which this blog has hated over the years. Like this one. And this one. All of which featured stereotypical population centres - with their cosy cottages, thatched roofs and loud-voiced eccentrics - and representing, That Awful Keith Woman claimed, 'the true England.' Whatever that means. Actually, we all know exactly what that means; some nasty 'UKiP England' which never existed in the first place. In promising to discover 'the true/real' anything, these sort of things do nothing of the kind. As someone who grew up on a council estate in the North, this blogger feels it his job to note that there are many examples of 'the true England' and almost none of them are kind of places That Awful Keith Woman would be seen dead in. Consequently, this ... thing presented a portrait of Lord Snotty's Big Sister, someone with so little relevance to the 'real' lives of the vast majority of any potential audience that it might as well have been about Anne of Cleves. Just like its subject, this programme was risible, arrogant horseshit. And this blogger refuses to have it in The Stately Telly Topping Manor Plague House. Because, its vile nastiness would lower the whole tone of the gaff.
All of the money that NBC wasted on Super Bowl promotions for Bel-Air would, surely, have been better spent if they had merely flung dollar bills from helicopters over random American cities with 'Please watch this turkey' written on them. Bel-Air is a 'dramatic reimagining' of the (mostly highly regarded) 1990s youth comedy The Fresh Prince Of Bel-Air, wherein Philly boy Will moves in with his super rich relatives in Los Angeles. With hilarious consequences. The original, of course, had Will Smith. The remake features someone called Jabari Banks. Who may be many things but, Will, he isn't. 'The missing element here is the camp of a juicy soap,' said the New Yorker. 'If we can't laugh, then we should gasp. Remaking an iconic series is a silly endeavor [sic] - why not lean all the way into that?'
'Such is the ... state of this country that when I first saw the title of this series I assumed it was a euphemism for Britain,' sneered some louse at the Gruniad. 'As in: here's Worst House On The Street, a hard-hitting Channel 4 documentary about the UK housing crisis.' And, for once, the Middle Class hippy Communists were right to sneer. They also described this as, 'another property programme. The Place In The Sun of 2022, if you like ... A warped mirror held up to a broken society' and, in a separate review, 'the most ill-advised property show yet.' And, again, that thing about even a broken clock being right twice a day rears its ugly head. Harry, a public affairs consultant and Yimika, a marketing manager, are in their late Twenties. They recently married and have scraped every penny together to buy the house, paid fifteen grand over the asking price and have been living with Yimika's family for a year to save for renovations. One can only assume they must have cancelled their Netflix subscription and put the kibosh on takeaway flat whites, too. Anyway, they've got 'just' forty thousand knicker ('just', please note) to do up the wreck and plan to move in six weeks. Cue, the majority of the audience leaping off the sofa to scream at the TV 'Where do you find these people?' and 'is it the same place Kirstie and Phil used to find all the numbskulls Location, Location, Location attracted?' Seemingly so. The Sun did their usual trick of scouring social media for - badly spelled - faux outrage. And found plenty, whilst the Daily Scum Mail claimed viewers were 'gobsmacked' by one episode. Another triumph, dear blog reader, for the channel which once produced Spaced, The Tube, Queer As Folk, Brass Eye, This Is England et cetera.
If your idea of TV Heaven, dear blog reader, is watching Corrie's Simon Gregson doing a drag act and toothy Rob Beckett telling him whether he thought it was any good, then this might be the very programme for you. For anyone else, nah, no so much.
Apple TV was basking in the glory of a fine year, thanks to hits like Severance, Pachinko, Black Bird and Bad Sisters. But where there are highs, there must, by elegant Newtonian logic, also be equal and opposite lows. And the streamer delivered a turkey of a psychological thriller with Surface. Despite a fine cast led by Gugu Mbatha-Raw (with Reese Witherspoon as a producer), this drama was exceptionally dull. Tediously dull. Thuddingly dull. It promised torrid affairs, a sexy love triangle and shocking secrets. It delivered bland writing and some really flat one-note performances. Even a melodramatic twist or two, might have worked. But, it never managed to make the audience interested enough in the characters to actually care.
So, Mister Hancock, how did that whole 'reaching out to young people' thing go, then? And how do we imagine the people that actually voted for you to represent them in parliament felt about your trip to the jungle? Or the families of those who died from Covid for that matter?
No, it's shite. Next ...
Too late. Sorry. Next ...
This Channel 4 series was produced in the style of their previous More4 documentaries The Pennines: Backbone Of Britain, The Yorkshire Dales, The Lakes and Devon & Cornwall. After moving the latter series to their main channel with a new voiceover (from John Nettles), the channel decided to commission a series about Wales under the title Epic Wales: Valleys, Mountains & Coast. The opening episode was broadcast in 2021 in a prime Friday night 8pm slot, in the hour before their comedy shows but was dumped by the channel before the series was completed and replaced by repeats. In February of this year, the channel scheduled a new version of the show under the title Wondrous Wales with a Saturday night slot. After one episode, they decided to take this series out of their schedule, replacing it with Matt Baker: Our Farm In The Dales . No one complained.
This Amazon Prime series was co-created and written by Jez Butterworth. Okay, Britannia was mostly good fun. It starred the Goddess that is Sally Hawkins. Terrific, this was all sounding really promising. And James Corden. Yeah. Sorry, those last two are the key words here, this blogger feels. The odious, pointless Corden 'is a loutish manbaby in this lame, risible drama,' suggested the Gruniad, continuing their 'even a broken clock is right twice a day' thing. 'All over the place' added Metro. 'If you really want a new series exploring a chef in the middle of a personal crisis then The Bear should be top of your menu.' And the wretched, full-of-his-own-importance Corden should be 'closed due to violating health regulations.' And for being about as funny as a pair of sore gonads. That said, the fact that within days of the series becoming available for download Corden had been barred from a swanky New York restaurant for 'being ungracious' (his phrase) or 'acting like a complete wanker' (everyone else's) couldn't have been scripted by even someone as talented as Jez Butterworth. When GQ magazine published an article originally entitled The James Corden Restaurant Drama Will Never Ever Die, they weren't talking about Mammals.
In which lots of actors who once appeared in a - very successful, let it be noted - movie franchise indulged in a self-congratulatory anniversary exercise whilst coughing uncomfortably at any mention of the person who created the thing in the first place. Because, JK Rowling is almost entirely absent from this. She appears for under thirty seconds in archival footage from an interview in 2019 and is mentioned by some of Return To Hogwarts's interviewees - though, only in passing. Critics speculated that this was due to her - widely publicised and utterly abhorrent - views on transgender issues and, as the Torygraph's Ed Power put it, consequent 'public rebuke by the series' stars.' Entertainment Weekly alleged that Rowling had been invited to appear but she felt that the archival footage was sufficient, with alleged - though suspiciously anonymous and therefore almost certainly fictitious - 'sources' allegedly 'close to the situation' denying that the author's lack of presence was in any way related to the controversy surrounding her repugnant remarks. One or two people even believed these alleged sources. Sadly, this pretty pointless exercise in 'look at us, we were in some films?' will now, likely be remembered - if it's remembered for anything - for the fact that it featured the final TV appearance of the late and much-missed Robbie Coltrane before his death in October. In the initial release, a childhood image of the actress Emma Roberts taken from Google Images was mistakenly presented as an image of a young Emma Watson. Well, it's an easy mistake to make - they're both called Emma after all. It's not as if anyone connected to the production can actually read.
From The North's TV Curiosities Of The Year -
1. The Proclamation Of The King
Watching The Proclamation Of The King, broadcast on BBC1 on Saturday 10 September (top gig by The Royal Horn Section, by the way), this blogger recalled something said shortly after Mrs Thatcher's funeral took place at Westminster Abbey in 2013. A lot of people - this blogger very much included - were being rather arch, cynical and sneering about all of the somewhat Over-The-Top pomp and ceremony involved in that particular event. But, on that week's episode of Have I Got News For You, the King of the Cynics, Ian Hislop, said something which really struck Keith Telly Topping at the time and which this blogger recalled during the week of the late Her Maj's death and the ascension to the throne of her son, King Chas. Hizza noted that 'ceremony' and 'tradition' are both things that we actually do really well in Britain. We've got all these beautiful buildings and people with spectacular uniforms and daft titles (Gold Stick In Waiting, et cetera) and, it's stupid not to use them once in a while. So, this blogger was, he has to confess, rather moved by the whole proclamation thing - something which he did not expect. Although the fact that it was presided over by, Lord President Of The Small Council, Penny Mordaunt, someone who had once appeared in From The North's bronze medal winner for the worst TV show of 2013, Splash (or Z-List Celebrity Drowning as we called it at the time) was something of a drawback. One was half expecting Vernon Kay to inform the new King, 'now, you've won The Crown, that's your to take home. But, would you like to go for The Divine Right Of Kings as well? If you win, Ultimate Power is yours but, if you lose, like your namesake Chas I, you get get your 'ead chopped off.' Thankfully, that didn't happen. The archaic language of the proclamation ceremony actually helped to make clear this was part of a tradition which goes back centuries. This blogger was, he admits, somewhat surprised that 'Defender Of The Faith' is a still a part of the monarch's official title. No reason why it shouldn't be, of course, the King (or Queen) remains head of The Church Of England. But, that is a tradition which goes back to Henry VIII in, what, the 1530s or something. The confirmation of The Church Of Scotland as a separate entity, was a part of The Act Of Union (Queen Anne, 1707). The language used ('our sole and true Liege-Lord') recalled ... well Game Of Thrones, mainly. But, also, Coronations going right back to the Twelfth Century (maybe, earlier). So, oddly, this blogger found himself with old Hislop on this score. Tradition can be good. Ceremony can be good. Pomp (though, there wasn't much of that on display beside The Royal Horn Section giving it some serious blow) can be good. In the right place. At the right time. And, of course, the BBC's coverage of the event was, as usual, flawless.
Whilst checking out the BBC News Channel's broadcast of 'live-filing-past-the-coffin-cam' on Friday 16 September, at roughly about the time that Phil and Holly jumped the queue to the incandescent fury of millions (allegedly) this blogger found himself a bit startled by something which appeared on the scrolling news bar at the bottom of the screen: 'The government is providing live updates on The Queue on You Tube,' it said. You know, dear blog reader, how sometimes you misread one word in a sentence and it completely changes the intended meaning? This blogger initially read it as 'The government is providing live updates of The Queen on You Tube.' Keith Telly Topping thought, 'that'll be something along the lines of "she's still dead, I'm afraid."' But, it turns out, it didn't say that at all. Which was something of a relief.
