Saturday 15 October 2011
Hidden
BBC's new drama Hidden is brilliant. A dark thriller with that blond hunk Philip Glenister and a few mildly attractive ladies falling slowly, darkly into an intricate plot of evil suits and corrupt government. If you liked Luther, you'll like this...not that there's any real similarity, just the quality of the series.
BBC's The Review Show
I love the BBC, don't believe otherwise. If there is anything half-way decent to watch on television, it is either BBC drama or an American series from HBO or similar. The BBC has given us incredible drama over the last fifty years or more. Play for Today was an incredible selection of work from Britain's greatest playwrights. BBC drama has given us the legendary Potter...no, not Harry, I'm talking about the mercurial Dennis.
This is a critique of the BBC's so marvellous The Review Show. Should anyone bother to actually watch, or should I say listen, as their expectancy is that one should definitely listen to their hallowed voices..? I almost forgot that was a question there as my expectation is that no one, or perhaps noone, actually listens to this 'show'. Noone is one of my favourite people.
This is one of the few remnants of the BBC's 'highbrow' brigade. Speakers are highly trained in Oxbridge Speak as they talk over each other in high faluting tones. There is the occasional illbred offspring added to balance the mix: usually the obnoxious but fellating figure of Paul Morley.
The hushed tones, and occasional squabbles, have me reaching for the remote after very few moments, even if it is one of the few programmes that actually features discussion on literature and the arts. The BBC remains the strong hold of Oxbridge in all its arts programming. That isn't necessarily a bad thing; witness the enthusiasm of Mr Alastair Sooke. And you just have to love the Toad-like Waldemar Januszczak, of Polish extraction and dubious education, who earned his stripes as arts critic for the Guardian and the Sunday Times. I always half expect him to leap into an old charabanc and wave happily as he drives off to his family's country estate. Waldemar's incites into painting techniques and the effects of evolution in the painter's tools are fascinating. He may speak slowly and clearly in that arch toad-like manner, but it's his enthusiasm again that is infectious.
The presenters and panelists of The Review Show rarely show enthusiasm, and seem far more interested in sounding...well, the sound of their own voices. Perhaps it is due to the highly subjective nature of an opinion on the latest book or art show; they don't have any authority with which to underline their views, and so resort to the rhetoric of fools, the curdling, irritating opening of the vowels and silent chortling of their inner delight. I won't go into details here as it would be just too painful to point out the cliques and resulting worried looks as one panelist realises the others hate their good friend's new wonder. There is a vague pleasure in witnessing their lack of the same, just as there is a vague pleasure in writing this in their clubby register.
But enough... Noone is listening.
This is a critique of the BBC's so marvellous The Review Show. Should anyone bother to actually watch, or should I say listen, as their expectancy is that one should definitely listen to their hallowed voices..? I almost forgot that was a question there as my expectation is that no one, or perhaps noone, actually listens to this 'show'. Noone is one of my favourite people.
This is one of the few remnants of the BBC's 'highbrow' brigade. Speakers are highly trained in Oxbridge Speak as they talk over each other in high faluting tones. There is the occasional illbred offspring added to balance the mix: usually the obnoxious but fellating figure of Paul Morley.
The hushed tones, and occasional squabbles, have me reaching for the remote after very few moments, even if it is one of the few programmes that actually features discussion on literature and the arts. The BBC remains the strong hold of Oxbridge in all its arts programming. That isn't necessarily a bad thing; witness the enthusiasm of Mr Alastair Sooke. And you just have to love the Toad-like Waldemar Januszczak, of Polish extraction and dubious education, who earned his stripes as arts critic for the Guardian and the Sunday Times. I always half expect him to leap into an old charabanc and wave happily as he drives off to his family's country estate. Waldemar's incites into painting techniques and the effects of evolution in the painter's tools are fascinating. He may speak slowly and clearly in that arch toad-like manner, but it's his enthusiasm again that is infectious.
The presenters and panelists of The Review Show rarely show enthusiasm, and seem far more interested in sounding...well, the sound of their own voices. Perhaps it is due to the highly subjective nature of an opinion on the latest book or art show; they don't have any authority with which to underline their views, and so resort to the rhetoric of fools, the curdling, irritating opening of the vowels and silent chortling of their inner delight. I won't go into details here as it would be just too painful to point out the cliques and resulting worried looks as one panelist realises the others hate their good friend's new wonder. There is a vague pleasure in witnessing their lack of the same, just as there is a vague pleasure in writing this in their clubby register.
But enough... Noone is listening.
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