Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall thinks it’s time we all went veggie (River Cottage Veg; Channel 4, Sunday). Coming from a man whose…
I caught an intriguing session at the Cheltenham literary festival, titled ‘Secrets of the TV Critics’. As it happened, the…
‘We all need to rendezvous every week. It keeps us all as a community,’ said Jane Copsey on the In…
Whenever I find myself dreaming about how awful things would be under a red/green dictatorship — increasingly often, these days — the one person who gives me a glimmer of hope that I might get out of the hell alive is Stephen Fry.
I imagine there is software that helps you write biopics for television. First you pick the childhood from a drop-down…
‘I don’t suppose the war will leave any of us alone by the time it’s done,’ prophesied one of the…
There are some things television can do which no other medium can manage. Take one of those little-noticed programmes, Hidden…
The Promenaders have excelled themselves this year. I thought initially they were slightly more docile and slightly less dotty than…
When future historians sift through the wreckage of Western Civilisation to try to find out where it all went wrong, I do hope they chance upon at least one episode of The World’s Strictest Parents (BBC3) and one of Deal or No Deal (Channel 4).
Years ago I did some charity gig with Will Self, a sort of Desert Island Books. He had chosen a Raymond Chandler, and I remarked on the similarities between Chandler and P.G. Wodehouse.
I’ve got this idea for a book, when I get the time, called Everything You Know Is Wrong. Its job will be to attack all the idiot received ideas of our age — what my father-in-law calls ‘notions’. High on the list of candidates, most definitely, is the commonly held belief (especially among stand-up comics) that Bill Hicks was the greatest comedian who ever lived.
Prince Charles turned up on TV again this week, in Britain’s Hidden Heritage (BBC1, Sunday), wandering round a country house in Scotland that he had helped to restore.
A rich seam of drama
Why can't we be shown old documentaries in full?
Hold on to your seats, everyone, and grab yourselves a stiff drink.
The latest series of The Apprentice (BBC1, Sunday) had, I gather, its best ratings ever.
Evan Davis clearly has a great sense of humour.
After watching Troubadours (BBC4, Friday) for about ten minutes, I was close to gibbering with rage.
British poverty is normally a subject for comedy, rather than documentary.
I watched Rory McIlroy win the Open Golf last weekend (it was on Sky, so there was no Peter Allis and his reminiscences of clubhouse banter past; to my surprise, I missed him).
A few years ago, my at-the-time-quite-impoverished screenwriter friend Jake Michie told me about this brilliant new children’s TV series he’d dreamed up about the Knights of the Round Table.
Can a documentary ever be as entertaining as a fictional feature film? And, if it can, does that mean it cannot be a serious contribution to public debate?
The Duke at 90 (BBC1) was another engagement in Prince Philip’s ongoing war against the media.
You’ll forgive me, I hope, for coming back so soon to the subject of Adam Curtis, the first part of whose All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace was so ably dissected by Simon Hoggart last week.
For the past few weeks, unnoticed by all but the most sharp-eyed critics, BBC1 has been running a Celebrate Communitarianism season.