Call the Midwife, BBC1 Sunday 22 January 2012

This is like a cup of Horlicks, a pair of fluffy slippers and a cuddle all knitted into one lovely bit of Sunday night telly. This is not One Born Every Minute (there seems to be a distinct lack of clueless men in baggy jogging bottoms who can’t string a sentence together) but a nostalgic and crafted look at the lives of a group of midwives in London’s East End during the 1950s, based on the memoirs of Jennifer Worth. Main character Jenny, a newly qualified midwife, could be straight from the pages of a 1950s perfect woman magazine. Demure, reserved and a little naïve, it’s soon clear that she’ll be more likely to be delivering babies from the Bianca Jackson’s of the world rather than a posh yummy mummy in Chelsea. It’s great watching how she has to quickly adapt to dealing with all sorts of women, warts and all (quite literally.)

In episode two, new character Chummy arrives (a shortened version of her very posh name which is long and hyphenated more than 3 times.) On her arrival she tells the Sister ‘I answer to Chummy. My Pa used to say long dogs need short names.’ Chummy (played excellently by Miranda Hart) is gangly and a bit self conscious, and confesses (much to the horror of her fellow baby deliverers) that she cannot ride a bike (a bike was THE way to get to a pregnant lady in this day it seems.) Although, it does appear she can ride a horse (and I bet it’s a fine philly too.) Most of the episode for her was trying to learn to ride a bike, it was all very awkward, but she got there in the end despite the odd narly crash (good old Chummy hurrah!) We also saw her a little out of her depths as she was faced with a breach delivery for the first time (a slightly scary thought considering she had previously only excelled at the London College of Needlework.) The moment she delivered the breach baby (or ‘arse first’ as she so eloquently described it to the poor woman in labour) was both moving and dramatic, and we all said yay for Chummy for doing such a spiffing job. I’m quite glad that Miranda Hart doesn’t do her comedy piece to camera like she does for her show Miranda, that could be quite disconcerting mid labour. No-one likes a comedy midwife mid-contraction. 

Other notables in this Sunday evening treat are the characters Fred, Sister Evangelina and Sister Monica Joan (no, it’s not Sister Act 3 Back in the Habit Again, but they all live together in a convent called Nonnatus House.) Fred is the jovial big hearted handyman (well, every convent needs one) who pops in every now and then with some witty comment (which he thinks is witty, a bit like your Dad used to think he was laugh out loud in front of your friends.) He’s played by the guy who used to be Minty in Eastenders, so in actual fact he’s really just being Minty a few decades earlier and with a whispery bit of facial hair which perches on his top lip like a milk moustache. Likeable all the same though. Sister Evangelina is the very stern matriarchal knowledgeable one, played by Pam Ferris (she of the Ma Larkin fame – who I always picture eating a fry up in the bath with Pa Larkin. All very greasy. All very wrong.) She’s good, though she reminds me of the one person who you sit next to each day who moans about everything. Finally, Sister Monica Joan who is a sweet old dear, but who is as mad as a bag of squirrels. She seems to eat all the convent’s cakes much to the annoyance of the others who desperately try and hide them in unusual places so she can’t find them, but she is smarter than that. A cake thief in a habit. Brilliant.

Call the Midwife is a good chunk of cosy TV with lots of atmosphere to boot, and I’m especially enjoying watching a prime time show based around female characters for once. Girl power and all that.

The Big C, More4 Thursday 19 January 2012

Hit US TV show (as they always insist on telling us prior to something been shown over here – even though they then fail to tell us it was cancelled after one season) The Big C follows relatively normal (they always are at the start) suburban wife and mother Cathy Jameson (played by Laura Linney who I always get mixed up with Julianne Moore) who vows to dramatically change her life when she is diagnosed with terminal cancer. Doesn’t sound particularly punchy or warming viewing does it! But The Big C is a lot more than that. I like a bit of black comedy with elements of drama mixed in for good measure.  

Season two (I’ll go all Americana on you and refer to it as season) starts following Cathy’s decision to finally tell her friends and family about her cancer (they are a heady mix of misfits and emotionally retarded reprobates, so in some way you can understand why she didn’t tell them at first.) Cathy has also now decided she does want to have a clinical trial to try to beat her cancer. Nothing that interesting happens in this first episode, but as usual it is the characters and witty dialogue which carries the 45 minutes along nicely.

Cathy’s brother Sean, is a hermit and manic depressive. He definitely has some of the best lines of the show and is very quick for a man who is a bit of a soap dodger. He has handily inherited Darelene’s old house across the street from Cathy. Talking of Darlene, I might as well give you a quick summary of her character. Darlene was the batty, perpetually grumpy neighbour of Cathy, and they became good mates after Cathy confessed to Darlene that she had cancer. Darlene (unbeknown to everyone) had dementia and at the end of the last season shot herself (see I told you about those drama elements.) Thankfully we are not long without the dry wit of this character as she comes back to haunt Cathy (but not in a Rentaghost way.) Cathy tells Marlene she keeps on seeing her cause ‘You’re trying to drag me to the other side.’ 

Anyway, the brother who despises the thought of being inside a house because he feels it’s incarcerating and not consistent with his anti-establishment lifestyle, still sleeps outside in a tent in Darlene’s front yard (you can imagine he probably slept in it during the St Paul’s cathedral anti-capitalist protests.) Meanwhile his pregnant girlfriend (played by Sex and the City’s Miranda) lives inside the house (well, if it causes less arguments I’m all for that.)

Cathy’s doctor (I wish my doctor looked like that) tells her she is not reacting well to her treatment, but offers some help by advising her that some patients appreciate a bit of marijuana to ease the pain.  Cue obvious scene with 40+ year old Mum smoking pot as Cathy and husband Paul indulge. Paul gets a great line: ‘I can’t believe the same guy I was buying pot from 20 years ago still has the same pager. I had him stored in my old address book under bicycle parts!’

Cathy’s son Adam, a typical teenager who screws his face up all the time (it’s the equivalent of a Ron Weasley face), is being sent to a therapist to discuss his feelings about his Mum’s cancer (which you can guess was not his choice of afternoon recreation.) Once Adam is out of the room, the therapist asks Cathy and her husband Paul if they are worried about anything in particular with Adam. Without hesitation, Paul answers ‘Yes. He’s been aggressively farting. He even fart-framed Cathy!’ Fart-framed, what a brilliant excuse to use a hyphen. Put it in the English dictionary I say.

Darlene’s dog Thomas (who looks like a bloodhound but then I was never good at naming breed of dogs) eats some of Cathy’s muscle relaxers. He’s later found by Paul dead on the patio. Though this is black comedy, we can’t kill the dopey doggy off in the first episode can we?! Luckily, Thomas comes mooching back into the room much later all long faced, but generally very alive to the relief of Cathy and Paul. Cathy says ‘Ok, if you ever think I’m dead, do me a favour and get a second opinion!’ Yay the dappy dog lives (see I told you nothing that exciting happens in this opening episode.)

Christmas TV Review 2011

Christmas – a time of excessive eating, Trivial Pursuit (and sore losers), ridiculously expensive Heston puddings sold on Ebay, highly stressed shoppers and telly! I’m going to do a quick (ok, I know I’m not the best when it comes to paraphrasing, so admittedly it will be long and flowing and full of opened and closed brackets) review of some of the twinkly gems (and polished poohs) of the Christmas TV schedule.

The Good (yay)

Great Expectations: I never thought Scully in an old wedding dress with her lipbalm starved lips and whispery voice could make for such compelling viewing. Nor did I think I could get past the way-too-beautiful-for-TV face of the actor who played Pip (not convinced a blacksmiths boy from the forge could grow up to have such lovely cheekbones), but together Scully and captain pretty boy were brilliant. Ray Winstone as escaped convict Magwitch, was well, Ray Winstone being Ray Winstone. Gravelly cockney geezer with a jowley snarl and his customary sniff at the end of each line. He cut a terrifying figure as he emerged in the opening titles all handcuffed and dangerous looking. Brilliant. It was an atmospheric trip into Dickensian England done exceptionally well, both haunting and true to the book (even with pretty actors and slightly questionable lampchops.) To boot, we had Poirot looking a bit evil as well with a strange case of OCD. Three hours of truly classy telly from the BBC, good on the eyes and with a dashing script. My favourite line was without doubt: “Pip? What sort of name is that for a gentleman? Pippity pip pip pip!” The said sneering rich bastard baddie in his burgundy velvet attire then rightly met his end by being kicked to death by the unfortunate horse he was beating with a whip. Have that, you nasty man for poking fun at a wonderful name like Pip.

Lapland: Which was on way too late in the Christmas Eve schedule for BBC1, for what was a brilliant piece of festive comedy drama with a very clever script. The Lewis’, a recently bereaved family from Birkenhead, set off in search of Santa, the Northern Lights and their first Christmas without their Dad/Grandad. A stellar cast led by Sue Johnston (Mum in The Royal Family) gave a brilliant performance as a dysfunctional family trying to enjoy Christmas and make the most of their Christmas holiday. One of the highlights of the programme was the hilarious tour guide ‘Jingle Jill.’ She had applied to work as a 18-30 tour guide at Val Desire but had landed the job as a tour guide for a bunch of Brit middle agers and kids in search of Santa. Her disappointment was plain to see: “I should have been snuggling up to fit snowboarders in Val-Desire, not singing carols in the frigging pudding bus!” She was tackless and coarse throughout, and had no sales panache when it came to trying to encourage her guests to sign up for local excursions. One of her finest moments came when she revealed to the unsuspecting children that the sausages that they had been devouring at breakfast were made of reindeer: “Yeah, that’s right kids, you’ve been eating nothing but Rudolph for the past two days!” The children, not surprisingly were very disturbed. Despite all their issues, a botched quad bike trip, and the two oldest grandchildren rearranging the words visit Santa to visit Satan on the hotels noticeboard, in the end they got to see the Northern Lights and visit Santa. They flew back to Birkinhead, full of reindeer and all the happier for braving the Lapland experience. I love a happy ending.

  

Sherlock: Ok. We know Sherlock is amazing stuff. So say 9 million viewers and a googleplex of TV critics. The BBC does also, at any given opportunity remind us so, labelling it ‘Original British Drama.’ The first episode of this new series was splattered in fast talking, big words, a jumbo jet of rotting corpses and a dominatrix. What a start to 2012. Benedict Cumberbatch is an odd looking fellow, but that is what makes him so appealing as Sherlock. His trip to Buckingham Palace (almost in nothing but a double sheet to hide his modesty) was a classic. More so for his casual goodbye as he left the room: “laters.” Mycroft was not amused, though I’m sure Conan Doyle was looking down from above and wishing he had been privy to such dialect for his novels. I’m definitely much happier sitting on my sofa watching this version of Sherlock than spending loads of money at a charmless multi-plex cinema  and watching Guy Ritchie’s filmic version (which should be named Lock, Stock and one smoking Holmes.) 

 

The Bad (boo)

This can be categorised as mainly most of the other pap on the small screen. Although, I must pay a fleeting mention to Downton Abbey for this (or Downton as everyone now calls it – is it that cool we have to shorten it?!) In categorising this highly adored Sunday night viewing gem I might offend you dear readers, but come on, did we really need to wait two blooming hours (and plentiful ad breaks) for Matthew (who was lost then found then could walk then couldn’t walk etc etc) to propose to Lady Mary!? (love the snow scene at the end though, like a little Downton snowglobe – now available in all branches of Past Times (oops wait they went bust)) And besides this, what was the point of Nigel Havers? Nigel Havers?! (obviously him eating kangaroo balls in I’m a Celebrity didn’t turn Julian Fellows off.) Could do better. However, Maggie Smith did seem to like her nut cracker (“It’s for cracking nuts granny” smirked the daughter who never has any good storylines.) 

The Ugly (hiss)

The Only Way is Essex Christmas special. Need I say more. Go and play Wham down the Sugar Hut. Also, I love cooking, but do we need sooooo many TV chefs and their tedious Christmas specials? Rick Stein, yes I’m talking to you when I use the word tedious. No I don’t want Spanish octopus served on a bed of pan fried chorizo and smoked paprika for my Christmas lunch, thanks all the same.