Remembering Michael Collins – A LUCKY man we were LUCKY to have

“Well, I kinda have two moons in my head, I guess, whereas most people just have one moon. I look at the moon, just like everybody else who’s never been there, and, you know, there it is, and I’ve always thought it was interesting, whether it was full or just a sliver, or what have you. But every once in a while I do think of the second moon, you know, the one I that I recall from up close, and it is kinda hard to believe that I was actually up there.”

Michael Collins speaking in the 2007 documentary In the Shadow of the Moon. It remains one of the greatest records of the Apollo programme, not least due to the wit, the poetry, and the sparkle of Collins’ interviews. It is also one of my favourite films, and Collins my favourite Apollo astronaut and a real inspiration, so the news of his death last week from cancer at the age of 90 was particularly sad.

Collins training for Apollo 11. Photo NASA.

There's Only One Sydney Bristow - Why Alias is one of the great TV shows of all time

Recently I watched All The Time In The World, the 105th and final episode of Alias.  It was, by my reckoning, the third time I've done so and, as on the previous occasions, it reduced me to tears.  It was end of a couple of months immersed in the world of Sydney Bristow and Milo Rambaldi, watching every episode in sequence.

Then, a few nights later, I found myself chatting with a friend in the pub who complained that he won't buy TV shows from places like iTunes, in part because he only ever seems to watch episodes once.  This is a slightly baffling view to me, given I regularly return to my favourite shows and watch them all through in sequence, and Alias has been one of them for most of the last decade.  This is why.

Sherlock - A Study in Pink (Or, damn it if Steven Moffat hasn't gone and done it again)

I go to a fair bit of opera and often directors choose to update a classic story to a more modern setting. The upshot of this is that you can't be too surprised when Wagner's Valkyries end up looking like they've been riding motorbikes round the battlefields rather than horses. The downside is that you can all too often find yourself wondering what on earth Handel's Orlando is doing standing stark naked in what looks an awful lot like the holodeck of the starship Enterprise (the one on the NCC-1701-D for readers of a geeky persuasion).



I mention this because the directors who fall into the second camp could learn an awful lot from Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss's Sherlock. At first glance there's a lot to make a fan of Holmes nervous: the action has been relocated to the present day and the title tells us that we're getting an original story rather than a straight adaptation. But right from the outset it is clear that this is the work of fans, lovingly updating the original tales while keeping a tight grip on their spirit, with the result that, despite all the many differences, this is arguably the most faithful screen adaptation I have ever seen.

The title, A Study in Pink, is an obvious play on that of the first novel, A Study in Scarlet, and many of the details are shared - Watson remains an army doctor, invalided home from Afghanistan with an injured leg (conveniently there was a war there in Conan Doyle's time too); Watson's diary is reborn as a blog; there is a mysterious death, the word "rache" at the crime scene; poison pills feature prominently; Watson's trusty service revolver makes an appearance; there is implied drug use and a form of the 'three pipe problem'; Holmes and Watson meet looking for flatmates, the former making his deductions based on the latter's mobile phone rather than his pocket watch, and so on. Yet the core plot is new, a series of unexplained yet connected suicides; gone is the two part narrative, the second half set among Mormons in Utah (no bad thing, since in the book this lopsided structure doesn't entirely work).

Popstar to [anything but] Opera Star, tweet by tweet, part IV - or could someone please buy the producers a copy of Kobbe

Whatever else you might say about Popstar to Opera Star, and there's plenty to be said, you might at least expect the popstars, albeit out of key and with electronic assistance, to sing things that, you know, actually come from operas. You would, however, be mistaken. What ITV are in fact inflicting on us, of a Friday night, is more Popstar to Anything That Sounds Even Vaguely Classical Star.

I mention this because of the five items in Friday's show only one (that's a measly 20%) actually came from an opera. Now, I know not every aria is appropriate to this mess, and, funny though it would be, I don't honestly expect to see anyone tackle Heil Dir, Sonne! or Ariel from Ades' The Tempest, but there's been an awful lot of opera written over the past couple of centuries, enough, surely, to sustain the show without needing to resort to film music. What's next Andrew Lloyd Webber? (Though, actually, they could include him and make a reasonable claim to opera since he shamelessly nicked the Music of the Night from Puccini.) Perhaps someone could give the producers a copy of Kobbe, they might learn something.

But, as ever, I digress. Here, tweet by tweet, as it happened, only a few hours later (once again I was at a concert), is last week's instalment of Popstar to Opera Star. Actually, the tweets being with a few mentions as I caught up with what everyone else had been saying.

As ever, the following may contain traces of irony:

Greatly enjoying catching up on #popstarstooperastars tweets from @Gert @EdibleDormouse @RuthElleson and @eflatmajor_

Apparently the consensus seems to be that Darius has a nice bottom (can't say that's something I've noticed myself)

Forgot to mention @OperaBritannia

Less delayed than last week, I should probably be going to bed, instead I'll start my live-ish tweeting of #popstarstooperastars

Tonight's whisky is a rather fine 18yr old Talisker (though, rather heretically, I think I actually prefer the 10 yr old)

The description of the panel as "our phantoms of the opera" is just loaded with dramatic irony isn't it

Why is Villazon introducing himself with a mime that seems to suggest he wants to grope a woman?

Dear me - Meat Loaf is getting rather friendly with Katherine Jenkins

And Les Filles De Cadix is from which of Delibes operas?

[And that's one nil against actual opera arias.]

@njhamer @EdibleDormouse whisky? never touch the stuff. Well, hardly ever.....

[The whisky that accompanies these tweets is purely for medicinal purposes, you understand. Extra points if you can get the reference in that last tweet.]

Hmm, her pronunciation leaves a little something to be desired

And why, please, is it praise, that she is able to sing it in the original key? Surely that is a minimum requirement in a sane world

Oh, the irony - the voiceover on these silly insets between the add breaks "the standard's really improving"

@EdibleDormouse I'm sure I'd rather hear you sing it that any of these people

God, now we have to put up with the rest of his band messing about and not singing opera properly

[Instead of any insight we had to watch the McFly chap mess around with the rest of his band.]

I know it's week four, so clearly we've exhausted all the well known opera, so the second aria is Funiculi Funicula

[Actual arias now two nil down for those keeping score. What's worse, this horrible song is infuriatingly easy to get caught in your head. Thanks a lot ITV!]

Try as I might I can't place the opera.... Wagner, maybe?

Why would anyone write a song like that? Is it used to interrogate prisoners in Guantanamo?

Katherine Jenkins saw his potential, if that isn't an endorsement to put on your CV I don't know what is!

@benanial I take it it was cut from the final version of Elektra then?

[@benanial had suggested it was composed by Strauss.]

Wow, I only know Ennio Morricone from his film music, I never knew he wrote any operas!

[Of course, he didn't. Opera arias now three nil down.]

Wow, a song so versatile that Russell Watson, Katherine Jenkins, Il Divo, Sarah Brightman and Paul Potts can all all sing it!

A standing ovation from Meat Loaf. That doesn't happen every day. Oh wait, yes it does.

YOU CAN'T CALL IT OPERA IF IT DOESN'T ACTUALLY APPEAR IN ONE YOU STUPID PRESENTER

Please excuse my shouting

@benanial I'd actually term G&S opera, and it takes a lot of talent to sing well. None of this lot could hack it

Good lord, an actual aria, from an actual opera. Good thing I wasn't drinking or I'd have spat out this 18 yr old whisky in surprise

[Figaro's aria from the end of act one of Le Nozze di Figaro - opera pulls one back but is still three one down.]

Someone on the song choosing team is going to be in trouble on Monday!

The audience are being a bit unfair to Darius, trying to throw him off by clapping along like that!

@benanial some Ades perhaps!

[We speculate on how fun it would be to watch them try some 20th century repertoire.]

Well, obviously we couldn't have two actual arias in a row, so we'll have Ave Maria instead

[And it's a whitewash - final score, opera loses four one.]

not that it matters, but in the interests of fairness the voting lines shouldn't open until after the judges have spoken

@benanial that would be so funny

[He had suggested some other interesting 20th century composers.]

"we'll get you your injection soon" Is that Laurence Lewellyn Bowen confirming that Meat Loaf is on something (it would explain a lot)

Make sure your favourite is back singing opera next week? On the basis of this week, there's at best a 20% chance of that, even if they win

And there was I thinking Mika was the string quartet for a moment (though that looked an unlikely pop star!)

Well, Danielle Denise has gone down in my estimation by a fair bit

[See for yourself, if you dare. @ OperaBritannia maintains she was miming. I'm not convinced so far as the solo bit goes.]

Not that I particularly care but why was Meat Loaf holding up a sign saying "Protest" and saying "that's for you Alan"

I mean, sure we all object to Titchmarsh hosting a show ostensibly about opera, but isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?

[If you want to know, see here.]

And that concludes where's Runnicles' live tweeting of last week's instalment of #popstartooperastar


Popstar to Opera Star, tweet by tweet, will return next week. In a shocking development, it may actually be live! The whisky will likely be this rather nice twenty-one year old Islay malt that I received this weekend as a delayed christmas present.

TV review - I Believe In...

I Believe In... BBC Three, three episodes featuring Joe Swash, Danny Dyer and Jodie Kidd, series producer Jacqui Wilson, available on BBC iplayer.

"Is believing in something that most people find ridiculous really that stupid?" asks Danny Dyer, at the start of an hour of breathtaking inanity. After watching this short series of three celebrity poppycockumentaries, you can’t help but answer this question with a definitive and resounding ‘Yes’, before going on to question why the BBC actively sought the three most irritating and ineloquent personalities to front them.

So: Joe Swash believes in ghosts, Danny Dyer believes in UFOs and Jodie Kidd believes in miracles; they are given an hour each, not to discuss why they believe, to engage with the evidence for and against their beliefs or to look into the history of the subject, but instead to travel around meeting a somewhat random selection of other believers, remaining gormless throughout.

Let’s ignore the fact that their beliefs are transparently moronic and that the token skeptics are underused and selectively quoted; this is to be expected. What is unforgiveable is how weakly structured these investigations are. Each programme starts with the fool of the week saying something along the lines of “I know there are a load of cynics, and I’m not a hardcore believer, but I just have a gut feeling that there’s something bigger out there.” Then, after a tedious hour, they look into the lens and say, “At the end of the day, I know there are a load of cynics, and I’m not a hardcore believer, but I just have a gut feeling that there’s something bigger out there.” Swash, Dyer and Kidd learn precisely nothing, haven’t the intellectual curiosity to ask any searching questions, and they never encounter anything convincing or even quirkily interesting. Ghost-believer Joe Swash, for example, tries to spend a night alone in an Edinburgh cave, and runs out not because he sees a ghost, but because he thinks he might be about to meet a ghost. Thrilling TV.

Jodie Kidd: I Believe in Miraclesis probably the worst of the bunch, partly because it doesn’t even discuss miracles for the most part. Instead it turns out be about various con artists (faith healers, crystal therapists, shamans) who offer remedies aimed at promoting a vaguely defined new age sense of wellness. It should have been called Jodie Kidd: I Believe People Who Are in Some Way Ill Sometimes Get Better After a Reasonable Period of Time Has Elapsed. There’s one woman who claims to have experienced a sudden remission from terminal cancer, but the other purported miracles are staggeringly unimpressive.

The very end of the show, for example, includes an autistic boy whose parents think that some time spent riding horses might have a positive effect on his condition. And sure enough, the boy enjoys it, it helps him relax, and opens him up to a new experience; it’s unquestionably therapeutic. But it really doesn’t qualify as a miracle. A miracle is someone walking on water, or coming back from the dead or being respected after doing Celebrity Big Brother. Or Jodie Kidd speaking for thirty seconds without you wanting to punch her in the face.

She really doesn’t come across well in her programme. There’s a hilarious episode in which a Nepalese shaman predicts (by performing an elaborate ritual based on breaking open uncooked eggs and interpreting the contents) that she is about to get ill. Kidd then falls ill with Salmonella – you know, that one famously caused by handling or eating infected raw eggs. Blissfully unaware, she genuinely believes the shaman’s foresight to be miraculous. It’s that level of stupid we’re dealing with here. And it might just be my imagination, but there are times I swear you can hear the production team snigger from behind the camera.

VERDICT: Awful. I firmly believe that the I Believe In... series is part of a nefarious government scheme to so anesthetise us with bad TV that we’ll be too depressed to go out of the house and vote come the next election. The cynics will say there’s no scientific evidence for that claim, but I know it’s true.

The third instalment of our infamous, absurdly time-delayed, tweet by tweet, coverage of Pop Star to Opera Star

There was no live tweeting on Friday (I had been at a colleague's leaving do, and returned a little too merry). Then, over the weekend, between a trip to War and Peace and some DIY not going entirely according to plan, I didn't feel at all in the mood.

However, Monday evening found me full of mushroom risotto and armed with a nice glass of wine. Bed beckoned, but somehow the prospect of being rude about terrible TV was more appealing.

So, here it is, tweet by tweet (albeit absurdly time delayed), as @wheresrunnicles saw it.

Warning, as with previous instalments, the following may contain traces of irony:

I should be going to bed now, instead I am commencing my much delayed live-ish tweeting of Friday's #popstarstooperastars

Tonight's whisky is, in fact, not whisky but instead a rather nice glass of New Zealand sauvignon blanc

Jimmy is to sing a proper aria - that's a novelty. I wonder where they got the idea to do that

Good grief - who is that with the Marge Simpson tribute hair??!!!

Is Ronaldo Villazon now taking the same medication as Meat Loaf?

I'd say this lady singing Carmen has a slightly thin voice but that would be an understatement

I'm sure everyone said it on Friday, but how the [multiple expletives deleted] can a part possibly belong to someone who's never sung it!!!

Steady on Meat Loaf - there may be children watching (though for the sake of them ever developing a taste for opera I sincerely hope not)

"left him relying on the public to save him" hang on, don't they all?

side note, there's been nary a mention of the show at work (& normally my colleagues don't miss a chance to gas about talent shows)

which is my roundabout way of suggesting I don't think either that ratings can be very good, or this is likely to bring in new audiences

Alan thinks he's just been to the opera does he? Clearly he's never actually been then!

now judging them as opera stars are they - they don't resemble opera stars to my obviously inept ears

She's going to try the Queen of the Night aria - this should be funny

Because, of course, the Queen of the Night only has the one aria.......

Actually, in fairness, she didn't disgrace herself (though it was in the wrong key)

Listen Meat Loaf, pal, don't quote Shakespeare unless you can get it right: he did not say "call out the dogs of war"

Oh my God, they've got Russell Watson to help this guy (I feel rather sorry for him)

[Whichever pop star it was, not Russell Watson.]

Apologies for the delay there - I had to pause as twitter wasn't letting me update my status!

[The beauty of this summary is that, hopefully, there is no apparent delay. Of course, that does mean the last tweet makes precious little sense.]

Hmm - I just can't place what opera this 'Time to Say Goodbye' thing comes from....

Again I'm impressed with their ability to flummox me with obscure repertoire

@mlaffs I clearly have so much to learn from this show!

[@mlaffs had enlightened me to the fact that the Queen of the Night aria is the only thing Mozart ever wrote.]

Grenada - good lord, it's all go tonight, I've no idea which opera this comes from either.

But according to wikipedia that well known opera singer Frank Sinatra sang it, so it must be just another shocking gap in my knowledge

[And here's the wikipedia link if you're remotely curious.]

Darius had the chance to be classically trained, passed it up, but he's apparently making up for it now

Really? Perhaps my classically trained friends can correct me, but I doubt they went through anything much like this

Hmm a 50yr old singing Cherubino. Are they going for the Ian Bostridge/Captain Vere miscasting award?

Well, she tried very hard, and did creditably well, bless her, but it just didn't work

Hey, how come she doesn't get feedback from the judges? That surely isn't fair

Ah sorry, I spoke too soon there (the perils of live tweeting). Well, I say live.....

Wow, Ronaldo Villazon's career finally reaches the dizzy heights of singing amplified on TV - those years in opera houses weren't wasted!

Wow - they didn't bring it down to a tie-break this week. The panel was unanimous but I didn't think there was much to choose

Danielle de Niese is on next week. No, say it ain't so, surely she's better than that! :(

And that concludes tonight's massively time delayed live tweeting of Friday's #popstartooperastar

Don't worry, though, where's Runnicles will return to live tweet next week's [insert appropriate adjective here] instalment. It will not be live, of course (maybe one day, perhaps), instead I'll be at a proper concert, in London no less; but, via the magic of the internet, or by some other means, whisky, or equivalent alcoholic beverage, in hand, there will be tweets. Hopefully you'll not have to wait four days for them. Until then, I hope you had as much fun reading this as I did writing it.

Making it worse? How could it be worse? - Popstar to Opera Star, tweet by tweet, Part II

Making it worse? How could it be worse?

So demands a character in Monty Python's immortal Life of Brian as he's about to get stoned to death for suggesting that the fish his wife prepared for supper was good enough for Jehovah. Those who watched the first instalment of Popstar to Opera Star (I refuse to follow them in conjoining opera star into a new word) might well have asked the same question. Sadly, ITV was ready, willing, and able to demonstrate the foolishness of asking such questions: it was straight over the precipice in top gear as songs, heaven forfend arias, with increasingly tenuous connections to the world of opera were trotted out and, frankly, stoned to death. So, here it is, tweet by tweet (albeit somewhat time delayed, as I was once again at a proper concert), as @wheresrunnicles saw it.

Warning, as with last week's instalment, the following may contain traces of irony:

Commencing my time delayed #popstarstooperastars tweeting

"Today our pop stars are pushed to their limits". To, you say. Hmm, I think they need to look behind them (possibly using the Hubble)

[West Wing fans, spot the reference!]

"To learn a completely new song." Yes, for god's sake let's not challenge the audience by calling it an aria

You can't argue with that, Katherine Jenkins does indeed "have a simply staggering voice"......

What's the challenge of singing in a foreign language? Good question - what Laurence Lewellyn Bowen would know about that is a better one

Incidentally, tonight's whisky is a cask strength Caol Ila (bottle doesn't give an age so presumably less than ten years)

These really seem to be the most unproductive rehearsals I have ever witnessed.

"Is this in French?" he asks after having been rehearsing it for some time - I wonder if this is all really some comic setup

@DrGeoduck well, she tends to sound pretty terrible to me

[DrGeoduck had suggested that Jenkins' voice was simply dull.]

To be filed under: for the love of God why? RT @TimesMusic Viva Forever: Mamma Mia creator creates Spice Girls musical http://bit.ly/7ApuXk

[Oh, sorry, that's a completely unrelated but no less appalling musical travesty, please disregard.]

Good grief - there's a chorus in this number. I know music students are hard up, but surely it's not that bad???

I wonder if Meat Loaf needs to be sedated?

@Kateviola it's certainly easing the pain

[@Kateviola had expressed the view that the Caol Ila was a good choice.]

Are they trying to cut this ironically - if so, the exert that just followed "she's got a beautiful voice" was judged to perfection

Are the people on the panel not allowed to say anything critical to any of these people. I thought that was the point of talent shows

Ah yes, that well known opera aria, the love theme from The Godfather. I don't know that opera - can anyone tell me who wrote it?

But I'm impressed they're ploughing the more obscure parts of the canon amidst all the well known favourites

Ah, I take it back, there is criticism - she was slightly ahead of the orchestra (but that doesn't matter to our Katherine)

RT @STManson @wheresrunnicles It's from the Opera-"The Public Won't Know So Let's Just Sing Opera-Like Things"

[@STManson provides an answer to my question about that obscure opera The Godfather.]

And just what the **** (if you'll pardon my French) does this Volare thing have to do with opera?

[That would be this Volare thing. Apparently Pavarotti sang it once.]

I think I need something stiffer than this cask strength whisky. I mean they want him to sing it in an opera way, what next, Iron Maiden?

"You did something with your hand and it was sexy." - okay, now I'm really disturbed

[As if in answer to that unasked question as to whether Meat Loaf could do anything to make his contribution to the programme any more disturbing, he demonstrated that indeed he could.]

Well quite! (Though I can proudly say I have no idea what that sounds like) RT @Gert @wheresrunnicles Or the theme from The One Show?

[@Gert provides a possible answer to my Iron Maiden question.]

15p from each call goes to Music Therapy charity Nordoff-Robbins. That's nice, but give directly and ITV doesn't get 35p http://is.gd/6Q5QG

[Yes, even amidst my mockery there is time for something serious - it's a good cause, and you can give without ITV getting a penny.]

Oh, what a coincidence, once again the judges are tied. If I was cynical, I' d suggest that was contrived, but that would never happen.....

And that concludes the not particularly live tweeting of part two of #popstarstooperastars

[Well, with the exception of a few comments to @karenasoprano while she watched it the next day.]

@karenasoprano oh, just you wait until you get onto some of the later stuff whose connection to opera is beyond tenuous

@karenasoprano i.e. Pavarotti once sung happy birthday, I want you to sing it in an operatic manner (okay, I exaggerate, but barely)

@karenasoprano Indeed. @STManson tells me: It's from the Opera-"The Public Won't Know So Let's Just Sing Opera-Like Things"

@karenasoprano It gets worse.

And that really is it. @wheresrunnicles' live(ish) tweeting may well return next week (though it will not be live - I have a leaving do for a colleague).

The train wreck of a travesty that is Popstar to Opera Star, as it happened, tweet by tweet

If you want a reasoned critique of why this is a outrage, there are plenty to choose from (such as this from Gert, or this from Opera Britannia). I don't want to rehash those same points, instead, find my tweet by tweet account of the action (albeit delayed a few hours as I was at a proper concert during the live broadcast).

Warning, the following may contain traces of irony:

God - the opening titles are not ever over and I fell ill! #popstarstooperastars

"two of the greatest in the business"? I wasn't aware Katherine Jenkins and Rolando Villazon were in the same business...

Someone please put Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen out of my misery

"It's not something people can just say, oh I'll do that today" says Meatloaf. Indeed not. Which does beg a rather obvious question......

There are some things one should never have to see/hear Jimmy Osmond do if one ever wants to sleep again #popstarstooperastars

Thank god for this bottle of 21 year old single malt scotch! #popstarstooperastars

@Kateviola glad to return the favour for everyone's tweets I enjoyed earlier

@STManson You would be right. I think I'd only enjoy Detroit with the sound muted!

"I never thought I'd be singing opera" - dear, you're not now.

Tonight's whisky came from the now defunct Imperial distillery in Speyside, distilled on 2/11/89, aged in a bourbon barrel....

It was bottled on 1/10/08 (bottle number 43 out of 285). Interesting light natural colour and going down rather nicely

@ClassicalReview the girl from hearsay

@OperaBritannia unfortunately I don't own a firearm!

@OperaBritannia which is probably just as well considering

Ah, and I see they've picked the Dies Irae from Verdi's well known opera 'Requiem' as the link music in and out of the add breaks

@benjammin22 ah Talkisker, my favourite, always good (but the bottle is close to finished and I feared the consequences if it ran out!)

Hey, I must not be paying attention. How come I never see an electric keyboard in the orchestra pit normally (well, John Adams aside)

I don't know which is more painful - Danny Jones's voice or that pink jacket with the black lapels - stylish!

@ClassicalReview sorry, I can't help myself!

As Meatloaf stands up and pontificates the whole thing has a quite charming Jerry Springer Show quality to it

"opera is just being on your own". I wonder what all these things I've been going to with the huge casts are?

On a serious note, even amplified, these voice are so weak there's not a one of them who wouldn't get booed in a real performance

"Britain's greatest talent, Katherine". Sorry, come again! I nearly spat out my whisky. Maybe Darius means talent in a non-musical sense

Darn - that's the problem with watching the repeat - I can't spend 50p on the telephone voting. Awww shucks!

I tell a lie - I can still be charged for voting, it just wouldn't count!

Hmmm, I'm not familiar with this lieder singer 'special guest' Camilla Kerslake or her repertoire....

Oh, my digibox has failed to record the last few minutes. Now I'll never know who was kicked off the show. Ah well!

Wow - if I tune in next week Katherine Jenkins will be performing live. How will I sleep between now and then????

Oh no, I've just realised, I won't be able to catch Katherine Jenkins live on #popstartoopera star next week, I have tickets for @RSNO

@mlaffs she wasn't actually singing this week (at least, I assume she wasn't trying to - it is quite hard to tell!)

@Gert thanks (actually I went over to the ITV website to catch the end that way). I think I need help

@mlaffs ah, I see. Well I suppose it would be that she is actually famous for not being able to actually sing opera properly

This concludes @wheresrunnicles' live-tweeting of my time delayed viewing of #popstartooperastar. Catch it here: http://is.gd/6lHUu

Possibly to be repeated next week, if I have any quips left. If you fancy experiencing the car crash for yourself, get out the scotch and head here.

Still, the quality tweeting on display from serious arts fans was a sight to behold (check it out). I'm reminded of something Marcus Brigstocke once said, in reference to David Blaine:

I have never been prouder of the British public... The depth of cynicism that we can stoop to within mere moments of an idiot doing something idiotic that isn't for charity is truly magnificent.

Best left buried - Red Dwarf: Back to Earth

There's a line in Buffy the Vampire Slayer (spoiler alert if you haven't watched season five of the show and might one day want to). Buffy and Dawn's mother has just died and Dawn tried to do a spell to bring her back. Buffy says: "Tara told me that these spells go bad all the time: people come back wrong.". In the end, she breaks the spell at the last minute. It's a shame Doug Naylor didn't learn the lesson here.

This list of great TV shows, many of them sci-fi TV shows, cancelled before their time is long and illustrious: Futurama, Sports Night, Studio 60, Farscape, and, of course, Firefly, to name but a few. (A surprising number of those begin with an F.) Babylon 5 very nearly joined them but was granted a last minute reprieve on another channel, though it did not come through the process unscathed.

For me, Red Dwarf doesn't really fall into this category, doubtless some will take issue with that. It had a decent run of eight series and around fifty episodes. It has been said that quality declined after the split of the creative partnership of Rob Grant and Doug Naylor, certainly the final two series, where Naylor went it alone, didn't have quite the same sparkle. The BBC decided not to renew it for a ninth and, despite rumours of a movie that have refused to die, nothing materialised for the following decade. Until, that is, the end of last year when it emerged that digital channel Dave (best known for its endless reruns of BBC shows such as Top Gear and Red Dwarf itself) was resurrecting it for a multi-part special to air over the Easter weekend.

It's not clear if the three part script that is the result, entitled Back to Earth, was the basis for the movie script that Doug Naylor has been pitching in the intervening years; however, if it is, it provides a depressingly simply explanation why nobody has made it: to call it terrible would to be kind. They should have left it in the grave, with its reputation more or less in tact. Instead, Doug Naylor appears to have decided the try for the George Lucas award for defecating on the memories of a once fine franchise.

First things first: any other annoyances would be rendered nil if the thing was funny. After all, it was always a sitcom. But it wasn't. Indeed, the extent to which it was unfunny in the first episode was quite painful: the Cat's pun confusing the words testicle and tentacle (which Lister promptly explained, just in case the viewer only had an IQ in single digits) was a case in point. Similarly, Rimmer listening to music, oblivious, as the crew battled for their lives. Of course, Rimmer's cowardice is nothing new, but it used to be very, very funny: compare Back to Earth with the genius of him demanding that Kryten go at both the front and the rear so that he is safe. The Cat's purple wetsuit was funny, so too were Kryten's inflatable arm bands (though if memory serves, we've seen those before), but it wasn't enough. Episodes two and three are a little funnier, but not by much. The car converted to look like Starbug is reasonably amusing - but how come the crew know how to drive it?

Too many of the jokes were metafictional in jokes. Indeed, the episodes as a whole were one great exercise in metafiction: examples include a joke at the sci-scanner's expense, and how it always knows everything, or the Cat describing something as worse than Rimmerworld.

Any show, and particularly any sci-fi show, requires a degree of suspension of disbelief on the part of the audience. When you take away the humour, this audience member becomes less forgiving. Aside from a line on the screen indicating the time passed, not a mentioned is made of how Red Dwarf was saved from imminent destruction at the end of series eight (though apparently the DVD contained an alternate non-cliffhanger ending), or how Rimmer is a hologram again, or why the crew is all dead again, or what's happened to Kochanski (this last is actually explained in the end), or, well, I won't go on, you get the idea. Some in online forums maintain the show has done this before (Lister's pregnancy was never explained). I don't remember clearly enough, but I suspect I was forgiving of that because the show was still funny.

So what actually is the plot? (If you don't want spoilers, skip the next two paragraphs.) Well, a monster has moved into the last remaining water tank and the crew go down to fight it. It seems to be a dimension jumping squid and a new holographic science officer, who has randomly shown up, posits using it to take Lister home so that he can repopulate the species. This she does and episode two begins, and begins with a wholesale tearing down of the fourth wall. Our crew are transported into our world, where a new three part special of Red Dwarf is about to air. They accept their fate as fictional characters pretty blithely and set off in search of their creators to beg for more time, or rather not to die.

It then all gets a little Blade Runner - rather too Blade Runner actually. The trouble is, Doug Naylor is no Ridley Scott; indeed, it's been a while since I last saw it, but Scott's film was probably funnier too. They visit their creator in a pyramid structure reminiscent of the film that's appeared next to the Houses of Parliament, calling into question whether they have, in fact, crossed over into our world after all. Of course, Red Dwarf has spoofed before - the Casablanca spoof that is Camile being among the most prominent examples, but it wasn't quite so rammed down your throat. It's also worth noting that the Casablanca spoof was actually funny. It's worth noting that the 'characters tracking down their creators' thing has been done before. Indeed, the Fantastic Four did it in issue 511 (by Mark Waid), which remains one of my favourites, but that isn't the plot in and of itself: it is a means of expressing how far the family will go for their fallen comrade. In Blade Runner it says something profound about the relationship between man and god. Here, frankly, it's just embarrassing. Naylor resolves all this with the laziest get out in all of writing: it was all just a dream. Worse than that, exactly the same get out as they used at the end of series five in Back to Reality: the suicide squid (though in this case we are told it is a female squid that provides elation, although the only person for whom it's done that is Lister, and then only at the very end). Needless to say, this plot was infinitely funnier the first time round.

The absence of Holly, in either the Norman Lovett or Hattie Hayridge flavours, is notable. Perhaps those two had the sense to request a script before signing on. I'm sure it was fun for the cast to get back together for a reunion, but they could just have gone out for a meal, it would have been cheaper and it wouldn't have tarnished their reputations.

As I said, the list of great shows cancelled before their time is long, but the list of shows that went on too long is, well, longer. Red Dwarf now firmly joins it (if it hadn't already with series eight). Apparently Naylor wants to do a 10th series (no - not ninth, the episodes are replete with references to a ninth series, which was allegedly the funniest, perhaps it had a fictional co-writer, which doubtless would have explained the inconsistencies). I've loved the show for many years and would count myself as a fan, which means I take little pleasure in writing this. I hope they leave it there. I hope everyone else will know better and won't try to flog this horse any deader. I hope to still remember the show for its good times. If you missed it on Dave and are considering the DVDs, you'd be well advised to save your money and thereby your memories.

The Thirty-Nine mis-Steps

Well, since the major part of this review is going to be a sustained and furious assault on the integrity of another writer (and a questioning of the intelligence of a production team), I suppose I should make sure that I am beyond reproach. I can't be sure there are precisely thirty-nine instances where the BBC's latest addition to the series of adaptions of this classic departs from the original novel, to be honest I lost count; however, there are certainly an awful lot, and very probably many more than thirty-nine.

So, why so much vitriol? It's true that, even at the best of times, I don't like to see a good novel getting ripped to shreds on the screen by people who are under the mistaken impression that they can do better. However, I seriously object when someone implies they're going to be faithful and then defecates all over it. And that's roughly what Lizzie Mickery does in this quote from the Guardian:

But screenwriter Lizzie Mickery insists she has done the right thing in going back to the original plot of John Buchan's 1915 novel for her inspiration. 'People ask me, "Where are you going to have your memory man scene?",' said Mickery. 'They think they know the story, but they are not talking about the book, they are talking about the films.'

Well, Ms Mickery, anyone who watched your film and thought they knew the story would be similarly wide of the mark.

Lastly, I should note that if you haven't seen it and are going to want to, you should probably watch it first, since this is going to completely spoil the plot for you. That said, even putting aside the inconsistencies and dishonesties, it's a pretty poor piece of drama and rather a waste of ninety minutes. If, on the other hand, you enjoy a good rant, then read on.

We open with Richard Hannay sitting in is club, bored rigid by the London world and yearning for the adventure of the African veldt, or perhaps his years as a mining engineer, all but resolved to quit London for good if something exciting does not happen to him soon. So far, so good, or, rather, so faithful. Good is a slightly problematic word since the woodenness of Rupert Perry-Jones's performance (narration sadly included) is not a million miles from Keaunu Reeves, and many of the less talented planks of timber in existence could out-act both of them without breaking a sweat.

Immediately we run into trouble though: Hannay has taken to staying out all night (which he didn't in the book). He returns to his apartment where Scudder, being chased by persons unknown, forces entry. Actually, the first digression came much sooner when, for reasons that were not initially apparent, the action had been moved forward a month or so to the 28th June 1914.

Scudder and Hannay face off with pistols, another invention. It further turns out that this Scudder is a British spy rather than being of American extraction, as in the book. He tells Hannay a very abridged version of the plot, which I suppose it could be argued is faithful, and immediately hands over the notebook (which isn't faithful). Similarly, Scudder's rather nasty anti-semitism has been exercised. I can see why, but it's in the book and, if you are trying to return to the spirit of that, you should include it (it receives adverse comment from other characters in the novel and this could easily be toned up; such sentiment was more common then and history shouldn't be airbrushed just because we find it uncomfortable). Then the milkman shows up, a German spy, and kills Scudder in front of Hannay. This is wrong on any number of grounds. In the book Scudder fakes his death and hides out with Hannay for several weeks before the latter returns home to find him dead one night, giving him time to plan his escape.

I can't see the logic for the change. Hannay's escape in the book is wonderfully clever: bribing the milkman for his uniform and leaving him to take the rap initially. Here, he merely hangs from the fire escape and chats up a maid. That he makes a go of this escape, despite all the blood on his shirt, is not convincing. Unlike in the book he does not run to Scotland, but instead to his club, despite the blood on his shirt, which must surely violate the dress code of such places. He tries unsuccessfully to phone the contact Scudder named (which he didn't in the book) and then decides to go to Scotland on the grounds that that's where the Germans are, according to Scudder, holed up (rather than because he has Scottish blood, he feels he will be able to hide in such an environment, and can fake a Scottish accent, as in the book).

Despite Scudder managing to convey various bits of superfluous information in their conversation, he does not mention that Julia Czechenyi has something to do with it. This could cause problems, since her name is the cypher by which the notebook can be decrypted. Not to worry: as the train puffs its way north it becomes clear why the date has been moved as we learn that Archduke Ferdinand has been assassinated, rather than the fictional Greek Karolides of the novel. Bizarrely Ferdinand's name is the cypher. Scudder, therefore, hardly appears to be a terribly crack spy, since anyone with any sense knows you shouldn't choose a cypher that is linked to what you are encoding, it should be something utterly unrelated. The other thing Scudder doesn't mention is his fear of the man who can "hood his eyes like a hawk". In earlier films, doubtless due to the difficultly of achieving this, it was replaced by someone with a missing finger. Still, with today's make-up and CGI, it should be easy. Easier, than, say, a U-boat (to pick a not entirely random example, of which more later).

The police are hot on our hero's trail, fortunately the ventriloquist on the train aides his escape. The what? Indeed, you may well ask. That said, after his departure from the train, we are not a million miles from the book. Well, except that the literary innkeeper absents himself. Still, the Hannay does flee across the glens in similar manner, and is spotted by an aeroplane. He is then strafed by said plane in the manner of North by Northwest. Why? Well, ask Perry-Jones. According to the Radio Times:

"I said said I wouldn't do it if the aeroplane wasn't in it!" He says, referring to the picture on the cover of his edition of the book. "I've always wanted to be chased by a plane like Cary Grant in North by Northwest."

On one level, who can blame him. Which of us hasn't fantasised about being Cary Grant? And I suppose we should be glad he's at least got a copy of the book. Nonetheless the producers should have saved themselves the bother and hired a finer actor since it's far from clear he's actually read it: the scene is not only a pale shadow of Hitchcock, it is also not in the book (all the plane does there is spot him and fly off). More learned posters responding to the Guardian's review also note that plane is from 1916 and features a synchronised machine gun (i.e. one that could safely be placed behind the propellor, with the firing timed so as not to destroy it) which had yet to be invented in 1914.

Still, he soon falls in with the radical candidate of chapter four... and his sister! Sir Harry keeps his name, but becomes a thousand times more a mindless fool. The parliamentary candidate meeting at which Hannay is forced to speak is replicated, if the sense Hannay's speech is utterly changed and the whole thing is massively truncated. However, the police bursting in at the end is not correct. For reasons that are not remotely convincing Victoria, the sister, becomes caught up with Hannay as he flees. There is nothing even remotely approaching a love interest in the original, it has been a great and successful novel without it, so why on earth do all these people feel they have to stick one in?

I wouldn't mind the fact that so many great scenes have been cut from the novel, such as Hannay's impersonation of the road mender, even from a book as short as this things will need to be cut to get it into ninety minutes, but for the most part they have been crowbarred out so that we can have Victoria rub oil into Hannay's back or spout feminist rants (she has to be a spunky suffraget, of course). Not that I have anything against spunky suffragettes mind (or people rubbing oil into Rupert Perry-Jones's back, I'm sure plenty of people love that), but I don't think it's better than what Buchan wrote.

She also seems to have inherited the brains, and one wonders if this is still a Richard Hannay story in anything but name, since, for example, stealing a car becomes her idea not his. This gives rise to the car chase. The what? To be sure, in the book he drives several cars and at one point dramatically escapes a crash, but there is never really anything approaching a chase. The Radio Times article is full of guff about the wonderfully authentic 1924 cars used. Readers could be given to wonder how these can be authentic in a 1914 setting but producer Lynn Horsford tells us:

"They're rather more modern than they should be, but the models from the 1910s, when the novel is set, just weren't fast enough."

Come again! Doubtless she would have said to Charlton Heston: "Well, it's not that we don't like the chariots, and they certainly look very nice, but you can't argue that motorbikes are faster.". I don't doubt that the battle of Agincourt would be more dramatic with atomic weapons too. Moron. How do people like this get jobs in television (or have I just answered my own question).

They are forced undramatically off the road by the Germans, but the notebook has been lost. The Germans whisk them back to their lair. Again, this is a departure. In the more dramatic book, Hannay staggers desperately into a farm house and throws himself on the mercy of the owner who wards off the police but then turns out to be the man who can hood his eyes like a hawk. Hannay cleverly plays the innocent and pretends to be someone else. Here he owns up straight away. This creates problems. In the book they lock him away (giving him the chance to escape) while they can get someone who can positively identify him, here they do so to allow him to contemplate that they may pull out Victoria's finger nails. Why delay, if it really is that urgent to learn the location of the notebook?

The escape is in the same manner. Well, similar. The farmhouse has become a castle. Still, they locate explosives and blast their way out. Though, given it's a castle, this doesn't burn it to the ground. They are not, however, particularly badly injured. In the book Hannay spends the rest of the day lying on a roof and then two further weeks being nursed back to health.

The quantity of explosives also makes for bolder German schemes: not simply are they going to steal British naval plans, but then use the explosives to dynamite our ports (quite why they need the plans to dynamite our ports isn't clear, since I can't think they moving terribly often). It also turns out that Victoria picked his pocket and hid the notebook. It also seems that Scudder's notebook doesn't contain the full plan (and we have had no mention yet of the eponymous steps, indeed, one begins to wonder if we will see them anywhere but the title).

They return to Victoria's house and her and Sir Harry's uncle sort of takes the place of his godfather in the book (who is the permanent secretary at the Foreign Office and exonerates Hannay - or so it seems). Doubtless for convenience, the secret meeting which the Germans plan to infiltrate is relocated to Stirling Castle (and by this point what little remains of the of the book has vanished). Hannay struggles at the castle to avoid arrest, by this point in the book he had sufficient skill to get himself cleared of the murder charges. It then turns out that Victoria is actually a spy, that the secret service knew he was innocent all along, but wanted him chased so they could watch the Germans. Of course, why they didn't just swoop in and arrest the Germans after they ran around firing guns from yet to be invented aeroplanes is never made entirely clear, doubtless these are spies of similar intelligence to those who cobbled together the dossiers on Iraq's weapons of mass destruction.

Finally, the thirty-nine steps make their appearance: they were written in invisible ink, something Hannay was able to deduce from the fact that Scudder dipped his finger in his tea. Now, in many ways this is the most implausible part of the adaptation. Well, perhaps not, but still. That he remembers such a small detail days later and, what's more, comes to that conclusion rather than, say, assuming that a little bit of something had got into his guest's tea and that he was trying to fish it out. After all, I do that every now and again, and it never signifies that I've been using invisible ink.

The thirty-nine steps turn out to be located at the villains' castle, so quite how they help (presumably because there are lots of staircases there), or why they needed to be written in invisible ink must remain a question only the writer can answer, and oh how I'd love to see her try. In the book, they, and the time of the tide, provide the clues that enable Hannay to deduce the location from which the Germans mean to flee, given this is somewhere entirely unknown to our protagonist it is a vital clue. Here, Hannay could easily have foiled the scheme without it.

But wait, didn't the naval plans need to be stolen first. Quite right, and they were, by the uncle, who it turns out is the traitor who cost Scudder his life. Clearly in these politically correct times we cannot have all the bad guys be German. I can think of no other reason for removing the wonderful scene where a German disguises himself as the First Lord of the Admiralty and Hannay's flash of recognition which allows them all to realise they've been duped, but too late.

So, post haste to the first castle. Down into the dungeon (so just as well they didn't destroy it with the explosives) and looking for thirty-nine steps. Helpfully, the chaps who built the castle wrote the number on the wall next to the staircase. Again, it isn't entirely clear why anyone would do that. Still, they do lead down to the sea, or at least an inlet where the Germans and the uncle are making their escape. Given the gravity of the situation, you would have thought slightly more by way of police and spies would have been mustered to stop them. However, the Germans have moved up in the world and no longer attempt their escape by yacht, so passe, after all. No, for this adaptation they have every 1914 super-villain's transport of choice: a U-boat.

Fortunately for our heroes, this has significant flaw. Apparently, as they shout via a megaphone to the ineptly escaping Germans, it can only stay surfaced for three minutes. Now, while I hold a masters degree in engineering, it is not an aquatic flavour; however, I am reasonably certain that usually the limitation on submarine design is for the length of time they can stay below the water, time above is almost indefinite (subject to food and fuel supplies). Indeed, Wikipedia (not necessarily the surest source, but surely better than the production team) tells us:

Because speed and range were severely limited underwater while running on battery power, U-boats were required to spend most of their time surfaced running on diesel engines, diving only when attacked or for rare daytime torpedo strikes.

An interesting choice of escape craft, then. For anyone wondering, the U-boat did at least exist at the time the story is set, indeed, Wikipedia notes that the Germans had twenty-nine on the eve of war; though whether the U-boat depicted is of the correct period I cannot say, I'd be pleasantly surprised if they'd managed to get this one detail of historical technology correct.

Hannay and company are sufficiently incompetent that they allow at least one German to get aboard before it submerges (in the novel everyone is caught). Then a dying German shoots Victoria. This, as will become apparent, in a way that again defies explanation, is oddly convenient. She falls into the water, and despite his attempts to locate the body, vanishes.

Well, it's deep, after all. Hannay then, in keeping with the book, joins up, since war has broken out, and is at a London station waiting to ship out when he is afforded a glimpse of Victoria (who is about to engage in spy work so secret she must fake her death). Hmmmm. Let's examine this for a moment. Was it just a lucky coincidence that a German happened to shoot her, which she then took full advantage of? Possibly. But, if so, she would have had to deal with a real bullet. Presumably she was wearing a bullet proof vest, though given at the time (credit again to Wikipedia), to be effective required some thirty layers of cotton (silk was also used but only slowed bullets rather than stopping them) this would probably have been quite obvious. It's also worth nothing that they were not cheap (around $800 in 1914, and that was a lot of money then). Even so, lucky he didn't shoot her in the head. And then she falls into the water and what? Bear in mind that even with a bullet proof vest, being shot still knocks the wind out of you. The aqua-lung and other underwater breathing gear had yet to be invented (1943, if you must know), so either she held her breath for an impossibly long time or swam an impressive distance prior to coming up for air out of sight. Or, perhaps it was all planned, and the German didn't really shoot her, but was in fact a British agent. Though given the guy then gets shot several times by Hannay this is also, to say the least, bad planning (though possibly he had a bullet proof vest). Either way, our writer has clearly not thought this one through. I've seen many a spy flick convincingly fake a death: this doesn't come close. Worse, what on earth was the point? She is dead for all of thirty seconds before we get the 'ha, got you' shot (though, Ms Mickery, in case you're reading this, I should note that you didn't).

In summary, unless you find Rupert Perry Jones jawdroppingly handsome, and even then, there is very little reason to watch this train wreck. The plot of the original novel is put through an industrial threshing machine and replace by a markedly inferior creation with no regard for what is possible, plausible or in keeping with history. The principal players involved should not be permitted to work for the BBC for a long time to come.

Perhaps one day someone will come along and produce Buchan's Thirty-Nine Steps for film or television. I suspect, though, that we would be holding our breath even longer than Victoria must have had to.

Saint Aaron Returns

I don't tend to be a big fan of games like "What's the greatest..." and "If you could only have one recording of...", but one of the few exceptions is the sure knowledge that I would take The West Wing to my desert island (if the rules allow the taking of a TV series). Of course, I'd only take the first four seasons, despite the awesome acting talent on display it tailed off after that, and it did so for one reason: Aaron Sorkin, the creator and writing genius behind the show, left.

In fairness, there were two reasons, since his friend, director and co-executive producer Thomas Schlamme left as well. But it was the lack of Sorkin's sparkling dialogue that crippled the show. Gone was the delightful snobbishness about good writing; it had to go really, because those who were left did not write at the standard to carry it off. Yet one of the most impressive things about The West Wing in its heyday was that you genuinely believed that the characters who were writers where at the absolute summit of their profession. Not, as is so often the case, did one sit there thinking, 'If he's a prize winning author, I'm the pontiff'.

So why, though it's not like I need an excuse, the gushing eulogy for Sorkin and his finest creation. Well, finally, his new show has made it out to the UK, for some reason following the bizarre recent practice on the terrestrial channels of debuting hot new shows just as everyone is going away on holiday. Surely March would have been a more sensible time. To make matters worse, we already know the outcome: the show was not renewed for a second season. So, does it join the illustrious list of shows cancelled well before their time (Firefly, Futurama, Farscape, Sports Night and, I'm sure, plenty more besides)? Was it simply that, following The West Wing, expectations were impossibly high?

Sorkin's earlier work was not without its success: A Few Good Men and The American President, the latter containing intriguing hints at what would later come. Or, perhaps more accurately, ideas that would later be recycled. His fingerprints are also on the script of the silly action blockbuster, The Rock, and certainly the explanation for why the dialogue is a cut above the norm for the genre. But he is particularly suited to TV. Before The West Wing, came Sports Night. It's a testament to this writer that he made me love a show about an American cable sports show: I'm far from the world's biggest sports fan and certainly not of the American ones. It too contains its fair share of ideas that later crop up in the Bartlet white house.

Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, to give it its full title, treads familiar ground. Once more, we are behind the scenes, as we were in both Sports Night and The West Wing; and once again there are writers amongst the principle characters. Like Sports Night the behind the scenes in question is a TV show, this time a live comedy spectacular, think Saturday Night Live, but set in Los Angeles rather than New York. But there we part company. At least in this first episode, most of the cast are on the periphery. The central relationship is that of Matt Albie (played by former Friends star Matthew Perry) and Danny Tripp (Bradley Whitford, Josh from The West Wing). Albie is the writer and Tripp the director. And from the start this feels like Sorkin writing about his relationship with Schlamme. The two previously worked on Studio 60 but left amid less than pleasant circumstances and are now invited back to save the show (I wonder what can possibly have been the inspiration, how sad that the show failed then). True, it is not absolutely literal, Tripp gets the drug problem (whereas in real life it is Sorkin who has battled with this).

Off the top of my head, it's difficult to think of when a relationship quite like this has been put front and centre (of course, this may change in coming episodes), but for now it feels like a breath of fresh air. Rather like when, in Firefly, Joss Whedon decided to have one of the central relationships a passionate love (in an entirely appropriate sense) of a brother for his sister. Certainly it isn't unprecedented for a show to built around a strong friendship (though more often it grows out of an 'odd couple' thrown together in the pilot, as with Due South and most cop shows). This feels different, new and is the outstanding feature of the pilot episode.

That's not to detract from the rest of the cast, all of whom are very fine (and at least one is another West Wing veteran), but this isn't really their episode.

So, an unqualified success then? No. It suffers from pilot syndrome: the way that pilots often feel a little bit clunky and you are left a little surprised it was actually commissioned into a series (until things fall into step a few episodes later). In fairness, it doesn't seriously suffer, but this is not The West Wing pilot, arguably one of the finest ever made. It was effortless, the style virtually unchanged when the show went into production. All the hallmarks were there from the beginning: the witty snippets that introduced the characters, Leo (the late, great John Spencer)'s long walk and talk tour through the set (something else that vanished when Sorkin departed, presumably because remaining writers couldn't sustain them) and President Bartlet's taking the religious right down several pegs. Of course, The West Wing had a huge advantage here: it didn't really need to do the standard pilot thing of explaining what everyone was doing in the show, it was pretty self explanatory (unlike, say, Due South, where it wasn't immediately apparent why a Mountie would be helping a Chicago cop solve crimes). Here Sorkin does need to put all his pieces into place, and so we have that pilot feel, but it's not so bad you're left knowing you'll skip it over when you revisit the show again and again on DVD.

The other problem is the comedy. In The West Wing and Sports Night a geekish repository of facts was always enough to save the day. Here the subject is a comedy sketch show and it needs to be, well, funny. Of course, Sorkin can be very funny indeed and there are innumerable examples in The West Wing: Josh sitting on his removed chair (while Charie says "I work in the same building as the smartest people in the world."), Sam forgetting to change the opening line of a speech from "As I look out on this beautiful vista..." after it has been moved indoors and Charlie rousing the President from his slumbers with "I know you told me not to wake you unless the building was on fire....". Indeed, humour was one of the great strengths of The West Wing. It was very funny. As has often been said, it was an office one wished one was witty enough to work in. In this regard, it always felt more real than many dramas, particularly those made in the UK where humour seems to be largely taboo. The result is often wearing and not especially enjoyable. In all the work places I've experienced, people use humour to cope (generally more so the more stressful the environment). However, is Sorkin funny enough to convince on a sketch show as he convinced that Sam Seaborn and Toby Ziegler were great speech writers? In fairness, in this first episode the show within a show, confusingly also called Studio 60, is in the doldrums so it cannot really be judged. Yet the controversial sketch entitled Crazy Christians, the dropping of which, despite its alleged hilarity, precipitates the crisis at the show, remains a mystery. But, on the limited evidence so far, the verdict must be not proven.

Reservations not withstanding, however, this is still a foot smarter, and more delightfully written, than most of the nonsense on TV. As Albie says, you could put on two men masturbating together and it would still be the least embarrassing thing on the National Broadcast System. Channel 4, take note.

In short, you could do a lot worse than tune into More 4 at 10pm for the next twenty-one Thursdays.