Review 55 – Derek on Channel 4

Ricky Gervais seems to spend as much time on David Letterman’s couch as he does his own. So there’s something quite sweet about him returning to Channel 4 to create, write, direct and star in Derek (Wednesdays 10pm).

Following last year’s pilot episode, the show is about the staff of a care home for the elderly. Making a low budget show, largely set in the one room for a British TV channel reminds us that Gervais has not forgotten his roots.

Unfortunately, this also proves to be the programme’s biggest flaw; nothing about Derek feels new.

For example, it’s still shot in the style of a fly-on-the-wall documentary. Still. As many before me have asked, why are these documentaries being made? Who is making them? Who are we supposed to believe is watching these? Every time Derek cuts to a talking head it’s like being transported back to The Office. Except, back in 2001 it was a novelty and slightly believable.

Arguably the best thing about the show is Karl Pilkington’s performance as Dougie, the janitor. Yet Dougie’s character appears to be entirely based on the actor’s public persona and his conversations with Derek are lifted wholesale from old radio shows and podcasts.

Finally, the show tries a little too hard to be both moving and funny at the same time (see The Office, Extras). The lingering shots of the care home’s elderly residents and the gentle piano music in the background felt incredibly forced. And, bar Pilkington’s performance, the jokes are thin on the ground.

Gervais acknowledges this to a degree and about an hour before the first episode was broadcast, he tweeted:

Derek is not really a sitcom. It’s a heartwarming drama with funny bits. Also it has a series arch & ep 6 is the best thing I’ve ever done

— Ricky Gervais (@rickygervais) January 30, 2013

For those who like a series arc that builds gradually, you’ll be disappointed to know the whole thing was pretty much outlined in the opening few minutes when council inspectors visited the care home.

Of course, whilst Derek is a Gervais solo project, many of the things I’ve compared it to were jointly credited to Stephen Merchant. Over the years people have asked whether Merchant was always the more creative of the two. Perhaps. However, I’d argue neither of them has equalled – much less bettered – The Office or their XFM shows and the under-rated Cemetery Junction was their next best project.

All that said, Derek certainly isn’t down there with Life’s Too Short. I really do hope it turns out to be great and that come episode 6, I’ll be in agreement with Gervais.

Review 53 – DVDs

You read that correctly. This isn’t a review of the latest releases or a fancy pants box set. I’ve decided to cut to the chase and review them all.

From Transformers the Movie to Geri Halliwell’s Fitness Workout and everything in between.

Every. Last. One.

I recently decided to ditch the packaging for my DVD collection and put them all in a big ringbinder-come-wallet contraption.

(The ringbinder-come-wallet actually claims to be for CDs. I could barely keep a straight face as I paid at the till knowing full well I would be using it for DVDs. “Suckers!” I shouted as I’d snatched my change and ran into the street waving my arms.)

Once upon a time, I enjoyed watching DVD cases colonise empty shelves; inching further and further along before creeping on to the next one. However, I recently reached the point I was now sick of the sight of them.

As I plucked the discs from their cases and moved them to their new home, I found the whole experience quite depressing. Not because I was breaking up a collection nearly a decade in the making, but because I realised two things.

1. How rarely I’d watched any of these discs.

2. How unlikely I was to watch any of them ever again.

I wondered what was the point of them and why I had spent so much money over the years amassing them.

Most of my DVDs were things I’d already seen and were bought so I could re-watch them. As my life got increasingly time-poor, the reason changed; now owning them meant I could re-watch them should I wish.

It had long since ceased to be a collection of hours of entertainment and had become just a stack of objects that I owned.

What starts as an attempt to amass things you derive pleasure from morphs into an eternal quest to own things for the sake of it. Whether it’s stamps, commemorative plates or beanie babies, chances are a time will come when you feel you should keep collecting, rather than you want to.

So, having ages carefully removing each disc and gently sliding it into a plastic sleeve, I’m now inclined to just give them away.

Not only will it take me an eternity to find the right cases to return them to, I’ve spent money on a ringbinder-come-wallet that I don’t actually need.

Perhaps, after a slice of humble pie, I’ll use it for my CD collection.

Review 52 – Time Out

I wonder how many people can remember the poster for the 1995 film Assassins starring Sylvester Stallone and Antonio Banderas? Or Beyond Rangoon? What about Four Rooms?

Perhaps rightly, none of the above made it into cinema’s hall of fame. But they’ll always bring back happy memories for me.

In the mid 1990’s, to coincide with my becoming a teenager, I got into films in a big way. However, being barely pubescent I couldn’t actually watch many of the films I was interested in. Furthermore, growing up in a single parent household, I didn’t have a middle-aged father’s wardrobe to call upon.

What I could do, was tear out the full page film ads from Time Out and blu tack them to my bedroom walls. With the arrival of each issue I’d eagerly scour the pages for the latest ads, after a week had passed and the listings were redundant, I could take my free posters.

As well as going some way to satisfy my appetite for cinema, this weekly ritual introduced me to London’s famous listings magazine and started an on/off relationship that is itself in its teens.

Having started out reading the family copy, I later became a subscriber and eventually – whilst working in PR – found myself badgering various section editors pleading for coverage.

In September of last year, Time Out switched to the ‘free sheet model’. Every week hundreds of thousands of copies are handed out gratis to bleary-eyed commuters at the capital’s railway and tube stations.

So is this free magazine the same product that sold for £3.25 in newsagents?

Unfortunately not.

Although the magazine is divided into familiar sections (film, music, art, theatre etc…), each now carry only a handful of reviews and no general listings. Whereas you could once see at a glance which exhibitions were taking place across London, now you’ll find only reviews of the newest shows and a handful of other ‘top picks’.

The TV listings have gone too, though these always sat a little awkwardly with the rest of Time Out’s content – ‘out’ being the operative word.

Of course, all this missing information is available online, but the beauty of Time Out was that they’d done the hard work of compiling everything in one place. Despite having owned a smartphone for several years, I still liked carrying a copy of Time Out to act as my guide on a day out.

It’s still early days, and I’ll see how things go, but my first impression is one of disappointment and genuine sadness at the wonderful treasures hiding in London that I may well miss out on.

Review 49 – Getting On

In a TV schedule overrun with procedural crime dramas, reality shows and Jack Whitehall, Getting On was all too easy to miss. But for those who did catch the third series on BBC Four last year, they’ll have enjoyed a superbly dark and very funny sitcom.

I’ll pause while the blogosphere shouts in unison “there’s a BBC Four?!?” and goes to dig out an old TV guide from the recycling bin.

Are you back? Good.

I’m just teasing of course, but when flicking through the channels it’s very easy to lose all will to live when you reach BBC Three and decide your TV would be better off buried in the back garden alongside Gnasher the hamster. With your ex-flat screen pushing up the daisies, you’ll miss out on all of BBC Four’s gems.

Set in an NHS hospital, Getting On revolves around the staff and patients in a care of the elderly – geriatric – ward. It’s primarily told from the point of view of the nurses and ward sisters, which is quite refreshing given how often TV shows set in the medical world focus on doctors.

Much of the humour arrives from the bureaucracy and politics of the NHS where new initiatives are constantly being dreamt up to distract the staff from patient care. And yet whilst this could make for a very cynical show, it can be incredibly warm and tender.

This is largely due to the interplay between the excellent leads; Jo Brand, Joanna Scanlan and Vicki Pepperdine – who also share the writing credits. There are some heart-wrenching scenes, though as I mentioned earlier, the sadness is often played to darkly coming effect – perhaps inevitable given the setting.

Yet, there are two potential barriers to getting on with Getting On.

One: it’s so blue.

In appearance that is, not language. Whilst the colour palette of washed out blues does mirror the aging population of the ward, I’d prefer it if things looked a little brighter.

Two: shakey-cam.

Shot with handheld cameras there are lots of jump-cuts and random zooms. I watched an episode after an evening in the pub and the two pints of ale resting in my stomach suddenly felt like half a bottle of whiskey.

Having said that, whilst it does take me a moment to get used to the above as I sit down to each episode, I soon forgot and become totally engrossed. What’s more, Getting On is further proof that Jo Brand is a national treasure.

Whilst the series isn’t on the box at present, you can pick up DVDs or download episodes from the usual suspects.

Review 48 – The Magistrate at the National Theatre

I’m still haunted by John Lithgow’s performance in Santa Clause: The Movie. Playing the greedy head of a toy company, he corrupts one of Santa’s elves and vies to replace the big man as the face of Christmas.

When he tries to escape his eventual comeuppance, he is pure evil maniac. At least, that’s how I remember it. It may simply have been scene-chewing maniac. Regardless. John Lithgow, I decided, was not a man I’d like to meet in an alley (dark or otherwise).

The next time I came across him was as the far more likable Dick in 3^rd Rock From the Sun, a harmless 90’s sitcom that launched the career of thinking person’s action man, Joseph Gordon-Levitt.

Unsurprisingly, given it took place thousands of miles away in his native USA, Lithgow’s acclaimed theatre career completely passed me by. Nevertheless, I resolved to do something about this and fortunately saved a packet on airfares when I noticed he was appearing at the National this winter.

Lithgow takes the title role in Pinero’s Victorian farce, The Magistrate at the National Theatre. You know the drill; outrageous secrets, frequent misunderstandings and several doors leading off the same room. So far, so farce…

What lifts this above your average production is a fantastic set-design that looks as though it’s lifted from the pages of a pop-up book and strong comic performances.

Lithgow does a great job of being pulled in all directions at once, though the real star of the show is Joshua McGuire who plays the older-than-his-years Cis. Kids doing grownup things is inherently funny though no credit should be taken away from McGuire, whose portrayal of a port-drinking, cigar-smoking 14 year old is joyful to watch.

I’m afraid this review comes a little late in the day as there are only a dozen or so performances left. Though there is also the chance to catch it in cinemas courtesy of National Theatre Live on 17th January.

Review 41 – This week’s telly

I don’t generally think of myself as a telly addict, but I’ve been incredibly excited ever  since I flicked through the TV listings on Saturday.

Yes, we all know that Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant will be making their return to BBC2 this Thursday with Life’s Too Short, but it was actually the arrival three other shows that caught my eye.

First of all, Masterchef: The Professionals and figuring out when you can watch the next episode doesn’t get tougher than this. The first went out on Monday at 8.30pm. On Tuesday it switched to 7pm before it moves to 8pm for Wednesday and Thursday. Next week’s transmission times are a closely guarded secret but boffins are dusting off the machines at Bletchley Park in the hope of catching Greg Wallace performing unspeakable acts with a spoon.

Watching the first episode proved to be very distressing, and not just because Monica has a stare that could turn stone to stone. For some reason the voiceover who has been making Masterchef her own for the past six years, India Fisher, has been replaced by some bloke. This one small change has – to my mind – changed the programme beyond all recognition. I felt as though I was watching a badly dubbed version Masterchef originally intended for a distant land. It remains to be seen whether this new chap will rise to the occassion or sink like so many souffles.

Returning for a second series on Thursday night is Rev. (BBC2 9pm), the sitcom about an inner-city Church of England parish. The first series was bloody marvelous, though perhaps unsurprisingly given the subject, gained a small (but loyal) audience. However it did receive a good PR boost when the following photo taken during filming went viral. I await the return of Tom Hollander, Olivia Coleman and Miles Jupp with much anticipation.

Last and by no means least, this week saw the return of Gareth Malone with his new series The Choir – Military Wives. I appreciate I’ve already ventured into homoerotic territory this week with my ramblings about my hairdresser, but I make no apology for my adoration of Mr Malone.

The basic premise of every series is that Gareth will form a choir in an unlikely or disjointed community leaving everyone with big smiles on their faces and warm fuzzy feelings inside. This time he has set up camp on a military base and created a choir from  the wives and girlfriends left behind whilst the men are on duty in Afghanistan.

As the episode began, I wondered whether what is basically a well-trodden formula could survive another outing. I became further concerned when I noticed more and more cliches spilling out of Malone’s mouth. Then the narrator started to get on my nerves. By now, I was getting very worried that my love affair with The Choir was reaching an end.

And then the choir sang their first song and all my fears were put to rest. It’s not that they were amazing, but it’s a simply beautiful watching these people coming together to sing. Thank you Mr Malone, once again you’ve made me a very happy man.

For more choir fun…

My favourite choir from The Choir.

Who thought watching loads of youngsters singing about feeling suicidal could be so sweet?

For the record, I’ve just noticed that each one of the programmes I’ve mentioned is on BBC2. That is delivering quality first, not cutting back on creativity.

Review 38 – The Fry Chronicles by Stephen Fry

Quick witted, frightfully intelligent and incredibly talented; does anyone have a bad word to say the national treasure™ that is Stephen Fry? Yes, actually. Stephen Fry does.

For much of the 464 pages of The Fry Chronicles, the author is self-effacing, self-deprecating and incredibly apologetic for all that he is and has acheived. There’s on old joke I love – the original author of which I forget – that goes “I used to think I was my own worst critic, until I heard my friends talking about me”. Well, Mr Fry certainly doesn’t feel the same way.

Perhaps this modest style is necessary for all autobiographies. After all, who wants to read about someone infinitely more talented and successful than themselves for hours on end if they can’t at least seek solace in the fact that the subject is actually deeply unhappy? Then again, maybe you shouldn’t be reading autobiographies at all if this is an issue, as they do tend to be about talented and successful people [insert Shane Ward/Frankie Boyle/Kerry Katona joke here].

Certainly Fry’s achievements in comedy and entertainment over the years are something to admire and stand in awe of. Then again, I can feel a little bit smug knowing that I’ve written more blogs before the age of thirty than he ever did.

I saw Stewart Lee performing at a benefit gig last night and he described Fry as being – and I forget the exact words – “what passes for an intellectual on a panel show” – referring to his work hosting Q.I. I felt this was a little harsh but perhaps in a world where fame is achieved by a five minute appearance on a talent show, we assume Fry’s intelligent and articulate manner is more exceptional than it actually is. Hark back to the time of the Bloomsbury Set and would a man who has written a few passable – but nonetheless enjoyable – novels, plays and TV shows be ranked as the nation’s smartest man?

I’m playing devils advocate here as I really enjoyed The Fry Chronicles just as I did its predecessor Moab is My Washpot and I’m thoroughly looking forward to the next part of his story.

For a bit more Fry…

I begrudginly point you in the direction of his blog.

Bahhhhhhhhh!

For the record, Stephen Fry ends the book with his first dabble in the world of Class A drugs. I’ve always wondered, how do celebrities get their drugs? Do they wander aimlessly through Soho waiting to be offered some by a barely audible street dealer or do they send a lackie to do it? I suppose we’ll find out in volume three of his autobiography.