Reviews

This one has them all.

Kline, released from Prison after three years, sets about Birmingham in a kind of Get Carter-ish trail of revenge. Residents of Birmingham won't recognise the place now, particularly the scenes set around the then partly demolished Snow Hill station. Concrete glass and marble have replaced the more venerable buildings in the centre of Britain's second city, but this 'Play for Today' which spawned a not quite so good series, lets you know what it was like in those more colourful times.

Long hair and wide ties abound, as do a fine cast, largely Black and Asian which was unusual for the time. This was written by Philip Martin who also plays a cameo'd Mr Big, and cracks along with a mix of sex, violence and a good slice of humour. Watch out for an early run out for Paul Barber who plays an excellent 'heavy'. He would go on to be better known as 'Denzil' in Only Fools and Horses, and had a brief moment of international fame as 'Horse' in 'The Full Monty'

Pick of the nude scenes goes to Tania Rogers, who performs a strip for Kline when he visits an old acquaintance in a nightclub. She finishes the performance that night when Kline bursts into her room. To her protests of `I told you to contact me only in an emergency' Kline replies `This is. I haven't had a woman in three years' You could only get lines like that in the seventies, and the music for Tania's strip? The theme from 'The good, The Bad, and the Ugly' of course!

..and nobody sold trash like Greg Dyke. Long departed though he might be from the LWT building, Greg's shadow is still cast over this born again TV-am, as it's created in the same mould as his designs for that hapless ex-franchise holder were some 21 years ago.

The show is a mixture of interviews with tired old celebrities pushing their latest book or comeback, mixed in with hard luck stories from the less than glittering members of society. It's all strung together with the same colourful panache as a Sunday Tabloid newspaper.

Divided in to three segments, the first is the best and it's all downhill from there. Bizarrely the only two presenters with real talent, John 'Stapes' Stapleton and Penny Smith are condemned to the graveyard slot between six and seven. They handle the Newshour as it's called comfortably and without descending into the Tabloid Telly that tones the rest of the programme.

The main slot is given over to the smarm'n'silly brigade fronted by Eamonn Holmes who tries to bring a kind of Woganesque Irish charm to the proceedings. He's accompanied by Fiona Philips who seems unable to read more than half a sentence without looking to consult her notes. Finally there's the Lorraine Kelly slot, a 'Wimmins' mixture of fashion, food and frivolity without which the nation clearly couldn't function.

As I said at the start though, trash sells, and this programme's popularity has kept it high in the ratings while Channel Four's offerings have all slipped by the wayside, and the BBC have tried a few permutations without success. If you're looking for something that slips between this puerility and the corporations rigid, overproduced style, try 'Sunrise' the Sky TV offering. It has its faults, but gets the job done.

The BBC briefly nosed ahead in the Breakfast TV ratings war in 1983, more by sleight of hand than anything when they launched their service two weeks or so before the hapless TV-am. By early 1984 however the slide had begun, never to be reversed as their middle class style jarred with a firmly working class audience addicted first to Nick'n'Anne: and then to a collection of similarly 'next door' couples on sofas as offered by TV-am and GMTV.

They've tried various iterations over the years, and the latest has to be close to the poorest. The presenters seem to be caricatures, rather than characters. The show stutters between an over excitable weather girl generally parked outside in the courtyard jumping up and down shouting `It's a GORGEOUS day!' to a Billy Bunteresque Business correspondent, (with his own studio, guests and crew no less) in the London Stock Exchange.

The anchors are no better, seemingly selected for appeal rather than ability with 'Lipstick' Kaplinski's reach seemingly exceeding her grasp on any subject more complex than fashion. Dermot Murnaghan is a little better, and looks like he might even have read the briefing notes before his interviews. Best of the lot is Rob Bonnet, who presents the sport, by the admittedly old fashioned technique of coming along, sitting on the end of the sofa, and reading it. He occasionally subs for Murnaghan who's contract clearly forbids him presenting on Fridays and at least lifts the shows solidity if not its style.

Weekends are better with Bill Turnbull generally partnered with Siân Lloyd or Jules (who, bizarrely, becomes Julia at weekends) Botfield. Exiled to the News 24 set, they manage to keep the 'matey' style going without too much of the self indulgent mannerisms of their weekday opposite numbers.

All in all it's an expensive white elephant aimed at the middle class, and middle aged commuter belt audience in the Home Counties (hence the inappropriate emphasis on business and London weather) I'll give you one guess as to the demographics of those responsible for this programme.

Thank God for Sky.

This dreary little offering has the same producer, production company, and is even produced at the same Studios as its predecessor 'Kilroy'. Little wonder then that heaps of litigation failed to accompany the well publicised if exaggerated 'split' between Kilroy-Silk and the BBC in January as nothing has apparently changed about this programme except the title and presenter. Depressingly familiar is the tired old formula of seeding the 'rent-an-applause' audience with individuals who's ability to shriek their argument is inversely proportional to their ability to listen to anyone else's.

For the BBC this fills a hole in the schedule, and for Kilroy, it presumably fills a hole in his bank balance. The only losers in the equation are the viewers.

Fairly routine sitcom, more laugh a month than laugh a minute, and even those were generated by the impeccable David Kelly. The only real interest this generated at the time was that Wyatt, who was then married to DJ and recent "I'm a Celebrity get me out of here" winner Tony Blackburn, left him for O'Sullivan in mid run.

Blackburn who's star was very much on the wane at the time (The IMDB chronology illustrating this perfectly) has bounced back from whining about his (debatable) loss in countless tabloids, to relative success on both Radio and TV. Wyatt and O'Sullivan on the other hand, have sunk without much trace. What goes around....

There have been a few Hollywood-star-comes-to-Britain crime series, if that counts as a genre. Walter Pigeon's ‘Bulldog Drummond' being an early and excellent example. ‘Man in a suitcase' ‘The Persuaders' & ‘Dempster and Makepeace' were others of more variable quality. This is the most forgettable of the lot. Inevitably the star soaks up the budget, and everything else looks shabby because of it. At the time us hormone fuelled teenagers were more interested in Nyree Dawn Porter and overlooked the tatty and wobbly interiors, inferior locations and duff direction and editing. These days however it looks dated and weak and even Robert Vaughan cannot lift it. I always let the opening titles run before switching over however, to see that yellow car (an Opal?) rolling lazily over and over almost in time to the theme music.

Watchdog began as a slot focussing on consumer affairs in the famed magazine/current affairs programme 'Nationwide' and was originally presented by Hugh Scully. It was fading in the late 1970's but was eventually revived by Lynn Faulds Wood at TV-am and became one of the most watched segments of the otherwise hapless Breakfast station's output. Lynn, like husband John Stapleton (also a TV-am reporter in the early 1980's) was utterly fearless and would badger, browbeat, and generally harass the bad guys until they gave up or on occasion resorted to violence. Whatever the outcome it was great television and undoubtedly helped dig TV-am out of its various ratings slumps.

Unfortunately Lynn, like many other talented presenters didn't survive Bruce Gyngell's ill judged and ultimately fatal new look for TV-am and left in 1985 to be followed by husband John less than a year later. Bad news for TV-am but good news for the BBC as the pair resurrected 'Watchdog' and got it in to a prime time slot. With the greater resources and professionalism of the BBC, Lynn with John took 'Watchdog' to new heights.

Sadly, both would leave the show in 1993 to pursue other interests, including starting a family, and Lynn's well publicised illnesses which she would overcome showing great courage. Both now can be found on GMTV, John as a main presenter with Lynn still plugging away at consumer affairs, and doing a better job than her replacements at Watchdog.

Anne Robinson took the helm and the whole show drifted into a kind of poor man's 'That's life.' In place of the solid investigative journalism the whole thing took on a campy air with Robinson and cronies seemingly being the main attraction and the consumer gripes a vehicle for them to display their dubious talents. By the new millennium Robinson was making far too much money on 'Weakest Link' to be bothered and so left to be replaced by radio jock Nicky Campbell and debutant newsreader Kate Sanderson.

Both bring a histrionic air to the show with Campbell attempting a poor imitation of the Jeremy Paxman interrogational approach, and Sanderson alternating between a giggly schoolgirl and a lip trembling drama queen depending on the tone of the particular item. There are other, better shows for consumer affairs these days, Rogue Traders being just one example. There are also better entertainment shows, but for the BBC, this fills a handy half hour after the news and current affairs, and can't hit the budget too much for them drop it. Until they do, I'll keep the remote handy...

This dreadful piece of Television has blighted the mid morning schedules for nearly 18 years, and has thankfully now been pulled. Ironically not because the BBC have finally realised how awful it is but because of an allegedly racist article recently penned by the host in a Sunday tabloid.

In the furore over the whole affair pundits have been queuing up to offer comment, the best of which was by Ex-newsreader Michael Buerk. He summed up 'Kilroy' as "Trailer Trash Exhibitionism" and who am I to disagree?

The audience would appear to be selected for their ignorance and combativeness rather than their ability to contribute to the debate. The subjects chosen, loosely follow hot topics in news and current affairs but I doubt whether one single minute of the broadcasts has added anything of substance, particularly to the participants who seem beyond help. They have added to Kilroy's income however and his apparent standing. Both might be taking a bit of a knock now, but what's the betting that Sky pick up this show if the BBC finally decides to kick it in to touch.

In the 60's there were literally dozens of these variety entertainment shows. 'Val Doonican', 'Andy Williams', 'Morecambe and Wise', 'Sunday Night at the London Palladium' the list was seemingly endless. Every singer seemed to have their own show, as did every comedy team and they all followed much the same formula. There would be various acts: stand up comedians, singers, magicians (generally either aspiring unknowns, or old farts on their way out) interspaced with the odd monologue by the host. Of course there were also the obligatory dance sequences with overly-enthusiastic dance troupes smiling rather too widely and jumping rather too energetically. Standard 'Music Hall' (Vaudeville) fare, which is where British TV has its roots.

Rolf's wasn't that different except for a number of features which he presented himself, which were uniquely and brilliantly `Rolf.' The first was his musical slot, generally featuring a didgeridoo or wobble board in which he'd either belt out an aboriginal song or a cover of well known hit of the day. Every now and then for variety he'd sing one of own songs, 'Jake the Peg' or 'Two little Boys' were favourites that did well in the charts, and I think 'Tie me Kangaroo down, Sport' might even have topped them.

Then there were his 'Bush Tales' in which he'd gather selected members of the audience around him (in subdued lighting) and tell a tall tale, generally Aboriginal in origin. This would generally lead on to the highlight of the show - indeed Rolf's signature piece - where he'd paint a picture relating to the story he'd just told. Not some sketch or oil painting you understand but a big 'un. A canvas some twenty feet wide by eight or so tall would be wheeled onstage and Rolf would walk over to it still talking about the story.

On the floor by the canvas would be some tins of ordinary emulsion paint - perhaps three or four colours, and a handful of the sort of brushes you would use to whitewash a fence. With these improbable tools and materials Rolf would buzz to and fro dabbing apparently at random while humming or singing some meaningless tune. He had a knack of aspirating rhythmically and would sing while breathing in and out. This was all marvellous stuff for us kids and we lapped it up.

The pictures were crafted like a Murder Mystery as no-one could understand what was happening while he was doing it. The paints would drip, run, and seep into each other but none of this fazed Rolf. He would sweep away, almost painting in reverse as he added detail after detail with no form to the picture at all. This of course was all to add to the suspense as you strained to see what it would be.

Then finally, just near the end, he'd paint a crucial line joining two improbable blobs of colour up and suddenly you'd see it. There would be a mountain, or an old shack or a beautiful tree, it would seemingly appear as just a few extra brushstrokes made everything fall in to place. Every dab of paint after that now made sense as he completed the picture and stood back with lights dimmed except for a spot on the painting, and the studio audience would applaud, and generally we did at home too. With the camera on a wide shot to take in the whole picture you couldn't see the runs or other imperfections, and the picture as a whole was beautiful. I wonder what happened to them, as I can't imagine anyone getting something that size into their home. Marvellous stuff.

This is not the sort of show that would be released on DVD, or repeated on one of the satellite stations, so I guess all you've got is my description - I hope I did Rolf justice.

As a producer William G. Stewart has been around since the Ark (he is now approaching 70) but only took to presenting in 1988 with this little gem of a show - which of course he also produces.

As its name suggests, from the starting line-up of fifteen contestants only one will win, and three distinct rounds with slightly varying rules are used to provide the necessary eliminations. I think I like this show best for what it doesn't have. No fancy show prizes, no sarcastic put downs from the presenter, no staged or scripted applause or contestant hysteria, and definitely no grand sets with flashing lights and obnoxious sound effects.

Each contestant has three 'lives' and they stand in a semicircle, each lit with an individual spotlight which is turned off with finality when they are eliminated. Stewart ranges around in the ground in front of them asking questions, and occasionally adjudicating in case of doubt. Their lives are shown illuminated in front of them and are extinguished one by one if they answer incorrectly. Contestants are shown in single framed shots with a wide angle elevated camera in case Stewart inadvertently walks into shot (he rarely does)

Through two rounds of questions the 15 are whittled away to three who will compete in the final, which occupies the second half of the show. The questions range from the straightforward to the ridiculously hard, apparently at random, but I suspect Stewart has the latitude to select questions to ease up or bear down to both ensure the show runs to length and adequate numbers of contestants survive for subsequent rounds. Initially it's a straightforward question per contestant, but in later rounds some interactivity comes in with contestants who answer correctly able to then nominate others in the hope that they will be eliminated.

In the final Stewart has a set number of questions to hand, the contestants buzz in and after answering correctly can choose to answer another question or nominate one of their fellow finalists in the hope that they'll fail. Tactics come in at this point, with the brightest and bravest taking more questions, and the not so bright but more cunning nominating to try to eliminate the other two. Eventually one will be left and will have limited lives, and limited questions to try to get a high score. At the end of the show, when the last contestant has run out of lives or questions his score is compared to those winners who have competed in previous shows. The top 15 remain for a series finale. Winners whose score is not good enough to make the grade get the chance to come back on another occasion.

The only two prizes on offer are a 'small' antique for the highest score of the series, and another for the eventual winner of the finale. These antiques however are of the highest order being, for example, Roman, or ancient Greek artefacts in pristine condition.

All in all this show has 'legs' and after 15 years shows no signs of wearing thin. The limiting factor might be Stewart himself, who is past retirement age. Let's hope he doesn't give it all up just yet.

This was the first show ever aired on Channel 4 on its debut afternoon in 1982. I'm not sure whether the fact that it's still being trotted out every weekday some 21 years later says more for it, or Channel 4.

Essentially it is mainly a word game loosely based on, I suppose, 'Scrabble' where contestants have to make the longest word possible from 9 letters selected in a nearly random manner (they can choose between a pile of consonants or vowels, but not see the specific letters beforehand) To add interest they have a couple of rounds of numbers chosen from rows (organised into large and small numbers) of face-down cards that contestants must combine arithmetically to produce another larger number generated by 'the' computer. Contestants range from fairly ordinary folks to the sort of geek that can recite the entire bible backwards - in Latin. The geeks always win of course.

Every five or ten years the producers like to have a anniversary special so they can trot out the original tapes of their younger selves and enjoy a good giggle with the audience. They of course never show old footage of the presenters who have been quietly shelved over the years, including my personal favourite Cathy Hytner who used to select the letters - 'consonant please Cathy.'

It was the numbers sub-contest that Carol Mather (as she was known before reverting to her maiden name Vordeman some years later) used to get her minor starring role. A former propeller-head technician on the Welsh 'Electric Mountain' Hydro project she had the mental agility to get the numbers game right, most of the time. As her fellow presenters (I mean hostesses of course) were switched and then dispensed with she gradually took over the entire stand up role, moving from area to area as required. Richard Whitely, the host, remained sitting behind his desk and the lack of exercise appears to have doubled his body weight since 1982.

But while Whitely simply loosens the cut of his bizarre jackets every year, Vordeman has undergone a selection of makeovers testing stylists skills to the limits. It seems to have achieved the desired effect as she managed to present and appear on shows of unrelated genre, and adverts promoting a wide variety of products from low cholesterol spreads to loan sharks.

I've never felt the need to rush home to watch this, preferring instead the show which immediately precedes it on the schedule, the excellent 15-1, presented by William G. Stewart. I wonder how much the viewing figures for countdown are inflated by folks who like me are too damned lazy to switch channels after 15-1 has finished...

...but surely not as dreadful as this, one of the worst of all sitcoms.

Mimicking accents - particularly French - for laughs is neither novel nor particularly well done in this lame effort. Even if it were, the repetition of the same gags (spoken in a French accent that would have made Maurice Chevalier blush) "I shall say this only 'wernce'" and "Good Moaning" in every episode would have worn thin long before the ten-year run was up.

The curious viewer tuning in for the last episode would have great difficulty in distinguishing it from the first episode as regards lack of style, talent and humour. They would however have no difficulty in recognising it as another BBC 'formula' run for far too long in an attempt to compete with the commercial channels churning out similar rubbish at the time.

Bizarrely, while working in Paris in the late 1980's I saw an episode dubbed into French and was told the series was incredibly popular there. Quite how you could persuade them to laugh at a fake French accent dubbed into French was, and remains beyond me. Particularly when after a series of complaints the Civil Aviation Authority had been forced to issue a NOTAM (Notice to Airmen) to all commercial pilots in the U.K. ordering them to stop greeting French Air Traffic Controllers with a cheery "Good Moaning!"

Thankfully, eleven years after the final episode you only have to dodge this one on Satellite and Cable. I suggest keeping the remote control handy.

I actually watched parts of this film being made. I was living near Cambridge (UK) at the time, only a couple of miles from Duxford airdrome (home of the Imperial War Museum, and base for all the aircraft during shooting - they also have their own flying B17)

The ground sequences and the airfield were filmed in another location, but the flying scenes were shot - seemingly right over my back garden - in the bright but sporadic sunshine of that summer. The whole village was woken up one night as four or five 'forts' flew over on their way back to Duxford at what felt like less than 1000 feet. My windows actually shook with the noise.

I also remember the actors - and David Puttnam - doing the rounds of interview shows, along with some of the surviving original crew. His original intention had been to shoot a movie about the British bombing effort, but was turned down by the studios. It was felt the domestic US market wouldn't respond to anything other than images of Americans winning the war.

It was acknowledged that although the movie characters were based largely on the actual crewmembers that this was a film, intended to convey a sense of what it was like on a mission and not a faithful reproduction of that actual mission. For me, it succeeded in that. A quarter of a million young men died in the skies over Europe during that campaign, simply re-hashing the 1944 Wyler documentary as a drama would not have given true justice to any of them, or the filmmakers craft.

For those of you looking for historical accuracy you need to look elsewhere than Hollywood. The reality is that the first casualty of war films is the truth. U571, Pearl Harbour and Saving Private Ryan are but recent examples but in 1953 Operation Burma also raised a few eyebrows.

Indeed, not that well publicised, but also fact is that the Memphis Belle's crew were not actually the first to complete 25 missions - actually something quite difficult to determine with crew members coming and going due to injuries and deaths. A number of individuals on a number of crews were approaching the magic number and rather than rushing around at the last minute, the choice was made to put Wyler on the 'Belle.'

None of this really matters.

Memphis Belle was a well-made drama labouring under a limited budget, which portrayed the kind of life that the young men of that time had to endure. Let's not forget that it also had to be entertaining and in both aspects I think it did its job.

If you've ever watched an England vs. Germany football match and wondered why the Brits were all standing with their arms outstretched waving gently up and down singing 'that' song at their teutonic counterparts, then watch this film.

As a military action its aims were bold, and its results questionable: its losses to all sides were undeniably terrible. As a movie it is simply superb, with the energetic, but erratic Barnes Wallis (played superbly by Michael Redgrave) struggling against the Whitehall establishment who's seeming enthusiasm to see England lose the war seems only second to the third reich's.

If we accept all of the criticisms posted on this page about the lack of plot, originality, mis-casting and the rest, and take them all away - what are we actually left with? Answer: A simple movie that gives music, wit, action, and laughs at a pace that we can all enjoy.

I don't remember the original movie ever pretending to be anything more than that, why should the sequel?