Archives for posts with tag: itv

On a recent episode of 8 Out of 10 Cats does Countdown Jimmy Carr made a barb at Fay Ripley, describing Cold Feet as the UK’s answer to Friends if the question was ‘What’s not quite as good as Friends?’ Ripley jumped to the show’s defence, pointing out that at least her show was still going. This does, however, ignore the massive gap between the original series ending and the comeback last year.

Even so, it does seem silly to compare the two shows, longevity aside. Friends was always a sitcom, Cold Feet a comedy-drama, and one of the rare ones that could pull off both at that. Yes, there were six people navigating relationships and careers in both with a significant ‘will they/won’t they’ dynamic’, but that’s where it ends.

I find Cold Feet to be one of the best-plotted shows on TV. It’s a tricky thing giving five (R.I.P. Rachel) central characters enough room for each story to breathe whilst still maintaining a group dynamic and allowing side characters to have their moments. The cleverly demarcated flashback scenes, where some of the group tell the rest what happened whilst we are shown it, is used just the right amount and with both humorous and dramatic effect. Jen and Pete’s sex tape scene was brilliantly comedic and tellingly honest about the gap between expectation and reality in our approach to sex.

I must admit to being nervous when they introduced the teenage pregnancy storyline where Karen and David’s daughter became pregnant by Adam’s son. This is a plot that has been done far too much in soaps and the like and you would struggle to find an original angle. Yet it did. The discussions around abortion were mature and focused on Olivia’s wish to have control over her body and Matt’s naïve belief he could rise to the challenge of fatherhood at just 16. The scene at the clinic was perfection and a lesson in understatement, a young girl facing the reality of her choices an everyone all so quiet and hushed, the fragility of the moment encapsulated merely in a tone of voice.

In truth, all the plots are absorbing. Jen facing the dilemma of reaching the peak of her career just as an ailing parent needs her most. David playing the night in shining armour to trapped Cheshire housewife. Karen risking everything to save her business. And, of course, Adam’s bumpy relationship with new squeeze Tina. I feel a bit sorry for Tina, as much in the centre of things as anyone yet still not given central cast status. Either let her be one of the gang or cut her loose. Otherwise she just becomes a side character who the viewers will never fully accept.

Cold Feet is a brilliant examination of life in your late forties and early fifties and is both funny and honest. Friends may never come back and tell us what happened next, but it doesn’t need to. Cold Feet is doing it better than anyone ever could.


This week I’m not going to talk about why I watch a show. Instead, I want to discuss why I’ve stopped watching a show. This is a big deal for me, to officially give up on something, as it almost never happens. I am psychologically programmed to stay to the end, as horrendous as it may be.

But this year, I’ve decided: no more The X Factor. Thirteen years is enough. But why, you may ask, especially as I’ve spent the last few years vigorously spent the last few years defending its place on our schedules?

Well, the simplest and most honest reason is that I’m just not excited by its return. It felt like investing two nights a week was becoming a millstone round my neck. This was increased by the fact virtually none of my friends watch it, so I couldn’t discuss the highs and lows as a viewer even if I wanted to. I felt a similar relief when I let go of Big Brother when it left Channel 4 – I had got my summer back.

Digging deeper, there are several reasons for my lack of excitement. Firstly, the reduction in live shows and increased audition shows is not something I’m a fan of. I didn’t like how the live shows were hacked away at two years ago, as I felt we saw less of acts ability to demonstrate variety and quality. It also makes it easier to manipulate the results, knowing Cowell now has two shots at ditching acts he doesn’t like with double eliminations.

Another is that, whilst we always knew there were machinations to push viewers to backing the producers preferred choice of winner, we now KNOW these occur. It is very unsubtle. We know the tricks – the bland praise, the props and song choices, the carefully planned running order. The only excitement comes when such plans go wrong, when an act earmarked for an early bath picks up traction.

Finally, it seems to me like the show has given up, happy to trundle along until ITV give up on it entirely. Yes, I like the fact they are having another go at letting acts produce their own material, but other than that it feels like decidedly subdued. Don’t get me wrong, the judging line-up is the best since the Minogue/Cole era. But last night I didn’t find myself compelled to watch.

Whether I last all autumn and winter is another question. Dark nights make for poor companionship. But for now, I feel happy in my choice. A new life for me at the weekend beckons. Wish me luck!

Scandi-noir has a lot to answer for, not least the plethora of pale imitations that it generates. Ditto Broadchurch, with its perfect representation of how a horrific crime can disrupt a small town. Combining these two sources is The Loch. It has the macabre deaths of Scandinavia and its dramatic but gloomy scenery with the small community of people with secrets of Broadchurch. Tartan noir mixed with McBroadchurch if you will.

We have the murder of a piano teacher, and now a local teenage tearaway, both dispatched slightly horrifically. Everyone has a reason to look suspicious, including the paedophile doctor and the ex-con living under a new name. A top DCI from the big city (Siobhan Finneran) is shipped in, upsetting local cops and bringing along with her a ‘celebrity forensic psychologist’. Oh, and there’s a man tied to the bottom of the loch that nobody has spotted yet.

It is as barking mad as it sounds. There’s the man being kept in a drugged coma by his mother, locals looking shifty at each other and random wolves popping up all over the place. It is as if the writers were given free rein to do whatever they like, but when it came to filming the budget kicked in and tripping over into the truly surreal Twin Peaks style was put on hold.

Nevertheless, despite (or maybe because of) its ludicrousness it is actually quite enjoyable. With nobody remotely acting guilt free we have a whole village of suspects, although if it is the local sergeant’s husband I will scream in despair. Once you acclimatise to it, the oddness becomes intriguing rather than distracting.

Of course, for me the making and breaking of crime drama is in how it handles the procedural stuff. This is where The Loch falls sadly short. The detectives seem to just barrel along, doing what the hell they like. If this ever makes it to court, the defence will have a field day with procedural errors. The whole case will collapse in the space of an afternoon. It didn’t have to be this way: Broadchurch, Line of Duty and even Scott & Bailey are proof you can talk procedure and keep the drama.

But maybe that’s the point – procedural dramas are already being done so well, why copy? Hang the technicals, forget the rules, and don’t even consider the paperwork. The eccentricities will be a distraction from all this.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to hear a conversation about forms, or an interview of a suspect done with all the quiet suspense of the show’s rivals. It’s what a lot of us like. You don’t need to dial back the odd, just turn up the real.

American viewers would probably find several aspects of British TV strange, not least the fact that we often have to wait a long time for our shows to come back. In America, a series can end in May and be back September/October. Here, due to shorter season lengths, a show can run in January and February not be back until the same time next year, or even longer.

Take Broadchurch. Season one was out in March 2013. We then had to wait until January 2015 for number two, and the third only commenced in February of this year. Our friends over the pond wouldn’t tolerate this. But then, they have shows put together by teams, whilst many British ones are one-man band operations.

Furthermore, it is worth the wait. This series, the focus is on the rape of Trish Winterman. It is actually a good snapshot of the complexities of such a case. The perpetrator is known to the victim. The victim is traumatised and is only regaining her knowledge of what happened slowly. The shame she feels telling others, as if she was to blame. The muddying of the waters by her own recent sexual past – newly divorced and rediscovering single life. The incredulity of some of the officers on the case.

What creator Chris Chibnall does so well is slowly release drips of information and emotion. The tension isn’t created by fast-paced chases, but by the slow enveloping of the fog around people, for it to clear away at a similarly glacial pace. All this is punctuated by small explosions of emotion. Tempers are lost and then steadied. It is often the pushing down of emotion, as opposed to the unleashing of it, that drives the energy.

For example, the sub-plot of the aftermath of the events of the previous two seasons is handled beautifully. The parents of murdered Danny Latimer have gone down separate paths. Beth has rebuilt her life as a counsellor for sexual abuse victims, being the emotional pillar she so needed those years ago. Mark is on a path to destruction, angry at the lack of justice and wanting revenge. The scene where he is confronted by Beth is harrowing, not least the end where Beth walks away, denying she still dreams of their son. Her ‘no’ is almost choked, because of course she does, but she cannot carry on grieving.

In lesser hands, the ‘guess the rapist’ plot at the centre of this could be tacky. But it is the realness of it all, the fact that everyone is given convincing light and shade, that none of the men under suspicion are without darkness but also not pure monsters, that makes this show rise above it.

It goes without saying that the interplay between David Tennant and Olivia Coleman is as good as chemistry can get. Both playing out their own domestic dramas as they tackle the case. He, fearing his daughter’s every contact with a man, she, scared of her son following his father’s violent past. It’s telling how good this show is that, even with these two in it, plus the likes of Sarah Parish and Lenny Henry, star power never detracts from the strength of the stories.

This is to be the last series, which is sad. But also, it is the right thing to do. After a ropey second series, it is back on a high, and can bow it with its reputation of being a show that is both mainstream and challenging intact.

The coarser end of the humour spectrum is rarely my bag. I am not one for fart jokes, and innuendo really needs to be delivered pitch perfect to raise a smile. I often find that shows like South Park, that at their best offer the most biting satire on TV, let themselves down by filling a gap in the plot with toilet humour.

So it’s a surprise to everyone, including myself, that I make time for Benidorm. There are so many reasons why I wouldn’t watch it. There not one, but two, jokes, that revolved around a character farting and leaving a bad smell, another around urination, and another about that well-worn trope of kissing your mate’s grandma.

Yet somehow, I find something to laugh at. This week’s biggest laugh revolved around a character resorting to wearing a multi-coloured kaftan. Base, I know, but the sheer daftness of the entire show allows your guard to drop. Nobody tunes in expecting something deep anyway.

This series seems to have learnt from its previous dip in form. Last series saw many established characters missing – Madge Garvey and Liam the most missed – whilst those that were still around looked lost. The only saving grace was Johnny Vegas and Elsie Kelly reprising their mother and son double act of The Oracle and Noreen. No signs of them this series so far, but I’m hopeful.

Even if they are missing, there is enough to compensate. The Dawson’s, new and slightly underused additions last series, are being bolstered by the arrival of Loretta, the aforementioned lascivious nan. I’m expecting plenty of scenery chewing from her. Also, Liam is back, giving Kenneth, one the strongest characters, his sparring partner. Their odd couple dynamic – Kenneth all flamboyant and crude homosexuality with minimal morality but a fantastically sharp tongue, Liam slightly camp but straight with a rigid moral compass and work ethic but without the intellect to match – fizzes.

I’m still not sold on Joey, however. The dumb youngster character is overused in shows like this. Perhaps it’s just me and my paranoia that we are living in a society that celebrates stupidity, but I cannot find him funny at all. I would much prefer Tiger to be paired off with Robbie and allow those two characters to really develop, rather than have an odd friendship triangle.

As I said before, don’t watch this expecting clever, erudite humour. It knows its audience and plays to it. Something must be working anyway, it’s on its ninth series. Not many other comedies get to say that.

Sunday night TV is, broadly speaking, an unchallenging affair. The BBC have gone against that recently, with both Apple Tree Yard and now SS-GB in the ‘last thing you watch before you face the strain of being back at work’ slot. Even Call the Midwife isn’t as full of rose-tinted nostalgic whimsy as people expect.

ITV, on the other hand, has gone full ‘comfort TV’ for its Sunday night slot. The Good Karma Hospital taps into the current fascination with India sparked by The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. Presumably, there is some kind of pseudo-nostalgia at play, watching a culture where family and community are still key and spiritual enlightenment away from a smartphone is just around the corner.

In Good Karma, we have British doctor Ruby escaping her relationship woes by starting here career again in a slightly madcap hospital, led by imperious matriarch Lydia Fonseca. Medical mysteries get solved (nothing too taxing, mind, this isn’t House), families get happy endings and everyone, especially Ruby, learns some lovely life lessons. It is, overall, diabetes-inducing sweet.

The big problems lie in its lack of tension and its predictability. The former is neatly represented in episode two, when Dr Varma has to fetch some anti-venom from another clinic, only for a traffic accident to destroy most of it. But what’s this? One small packet of it survived? Oh thank god, the writers must have remembered at the last minute no-one can die in this TV slot without some deep emotional speech before hand.

As for the predictability, if Ruby and Dr Varma aren’t married by series 4 (if it gets that far), I’ll streak through my local town centre naked. Sure, one or the other will briefly be with someone hideously unsuitable, but the giant flashing signs of ‘they need to be together’ are flashing above this couple. No doubt they will teach other things and soften each other’s character flaws – her becoming less of a wet lettuce, him discovering you can smile more than once a month.

There is one bright spot, which is Amanda Redman as Dr Fonseca, who appears to have strong armed the crew into giving her the best lines, which she then delivers with a delicious relish. Shame that she is given little over to do then descend into a scene, issue a bon mots, and then waft back out again. Someone like her deserves a meaty back story. What I have seen so far suggests the writers will be too scared to give it.

Maybe ITV is only doing what it set out to do – provide a jolly, sunny antidote to BBC’s darker edge. But, as Death in Paradise proves, this doesn’t mean you have to be dull and obvious. If you are going to make a drama, give us drama. We are adults, we can cope with it. Even if we are facing work the next day.

The departure of Downton Abbey has left a hole in the schedules. It was an interesting proposition for a show – a period drama that was indented to soap operas whilst providing a, albeit shallow, social commentary. It was easy to watch but damn good as well, the odd duff note buried beneath the warmth of the whole.

ITV are trying to repeat this trick with The Halcyon, a WW2 set drama in a fictional London hotel. Like Downton, social history is played with slightly to stop the audience feeling uncomfortable. For example, Asian and black characters mix into the rest of the cast with barely a slither of racial tension. There’s also the key ingredients of ‘will they/won’t they’ romances, baddies getting their comeuppance and the idea that family isn’t defined by blood.

But is it as good as Downton? Well, no. There are some excellent touches. For example, the gay relationship between Toby and Adil, which at first looked like a desperate attempt to be another diversity box ticked, has been given some life by introducing a blackmail plot, reminding us how vulnerable the love that dare not speak its name was. The horrors of the Blitz are also well drawn, the fear palpable, the sense of loss devastating.

Where the show falls down is that the different bits don’t come together as a whole. So many of the plotlines are dependent on relationships (Betsy/Sonny, Emma/Freddie/Joe, Garland/Peggy etc.) that anyone wanting the broader sweeps of life will be disappointed. Characters cluster round each other and don’t interact much beyond their circle. The joy of Downton was watching a world change but in a controlled way. At The Halcyon, time is frozen in terms of class.

Also, it wouldn’t kill the show, in spite of its setting, to have a bit of humour. The odd waspish comment here and there isn’t enough. It’s isn’t like they haven’t got the talent. Mark Benton is a great comic actor stuck in a secondary role.

Finally, the biggest love story is, sadly, dull. Freddie and Emma are supposed to be star-crossed lovers. What we have instead is two insipid people who have been given ‘depth’ purely based on their love for each other that can never be announced. I can’t help but feel Emma comes alive more around suave and abrasive American journalist Joe. It almost makes you want Freddie’s plane to be shot down somewhere so she can get over him and move on.

With some fine tuning, this show could really work. There are so many of the base elements there that a bit of tinkering is all that is needed – higher stakes, better romances, greater variety of plots. None of this is beyond the scope of a talented team. If there is a second series, I hope some of the changes are made. It would be a shame for us to check out feeling we hadn’t had the best of stays.