Due to my new regime of watching more tely and without the 590+ channels i had before, this blog will become more frequent.
Dalziel and Pascoe waddled back on Sunday 6th May. So used to having two-parters delivered in consecutive days (cf. Waking The Dead), I am quite upset about having to wait until next Sunday for the closing part. Not as upset as I am with the actual programme.
How can we make a bombastic return to BBC One? I know! Pentangles and tarot crap! So clumsily handled are nearly all Occult Whodunits (O.W.) on TV that it’s a genre all to itself with some or all of the following ingredients to make the cack potion: tarot, dragons, blood rituals, spells, white witches, Hallowe’en, dodgy vicars, swinging, issues over inheritance, dead old women. The D&P O.W. had much of this, including everyone’s favourite Swazilandian Richard E. Grant as a spooky/evil hypnotist. And some absurd stuff about dragons. These aren’t supposed to be Warhammer fans. Groan.
I have it on good authority that Warren Clarke is a knob. On screen he oozes this, but not in a suitably Dalziel way as he used to. Like any programme the longer it runs, the more self-knowing the performances become cf. Johnson in new Peep Show, Frost towards the end of Touch of Frost, Homer. Dalziel now delivers lines that Monkfish from the Fast Show would be embarrassed by: ‘Oi posho stop being so pleased with yourself and make me a cup of tea two sugars!’ The scene with the smoking in the office was dreadful. Dalziel has become a parody of Dalziel, a smoking sexist arsehole but without the subtlety or humanity of previous series, a classic situation.
Pascoe has put on a lot of weight since All Quiet on the Preston Front. Paradox time: as Pascoe has put on more weight, his character has lost any weight it once had: in the beginning he was married (to that pretty fit lady who has now disappeared from our screens, maybe she’s on Doctors); he had marital problems; he was divorced; he had another love interests. His character was relatable-to, a horrible phrase. Without a love interest, and the pangs that we all know that go with this, he is left with his indivisible dislike of Dalziel. And that is all. There was a hint of something-maybe I’m just on heat-between Pascoe and Posho but nothing happened. So Pascoe is a shell of a character, albeit a slightly heavier shell.
A haunting flute is not something you normally relate to D&P. But to go with all good O.W.s it is a must. The imperative remix of the Saint-Saën song that Jonathan Creek snatched is here in abundance, not what you expect from D&P. It was over the top, unleashed when there was a flashback or thunderclap. I’m no Angelo Badalamenti but I know when to turn it up to 11, and The One To Watch on BBC One never needs an 11.
There was also a stupidly savage and unbelievably symbolic death. Has The Da Vinci Code construed to make all secondary deaths on TV be found in a pentangle? Satan has a lot to answer for.
I don’t think I’ll be in next Sunday night when the concluding part will be aired. And I’m not sure that many people who watched the first part will be either. I will put my hands up and say I was intrigued by the One To Watch trailer-what’s Richard E. Grant doing there, why are those toffs drinking each other’s blood?-but I was mightily disappointed. Give me Trevor Eve poking about under a church any day. I wish they hadn’t got rid of Claire ‘FHM’s 100 fittest’ Goose on Waking the Dead.
Celebrity Intruders-The introduction of another celebrity into the house started with Jackie Stallone, an absolute gem of an entrance and quality television. Then there was Jimmy Saville who appeared and disappeared without a hint of hilarity. This year Jade Goody’s clan have already gone in, and there are worrying rumours that everyone’s favourite misogynist David Hasselhoff will appear. The problem with this is that it makes the format look even more staid than the familiar surroundings, the misplaced belief that reinvention makes it more exciting is getting in the way of the good telly, and we all expect it. Moreover, Jade Goody-as a product of BB-makes the cliquey ‘what is a celebrity anyway’ nature of Channel 4′s January spin-off very irritating. Not only did an non-celebrity win it last year, the comment section of The Guardian, and Rob Liddle probably, will start pondering the nature of celebrity again, a theory that’s been done to death and is populist faux-sociology at its peak.
The Secret Room- The restriction of using the same house is that everyone knows there will be a secret house in which some of the celebs will have to live. This year’s couldn’t be less exciting. A servant’s quarter WITH ACTUAL REAL DUST is the home of all but three, where these celebrities have to wait on Jade Goody’s family, but hey she only became a celebrity from Big Brother and these are real celebrities, how crazy is that? Not very, and is made even less kerazzy by the actual level of celebrity they have. The producers were no doubt gutted that neither Jermaine Jackson nor Shilpa Shetty went in, two supposed clean freaks who have their own servants.
But the spin-offs from both shows, the ‘behind-the-scenes’ ITV2/E4 shows are the other way round: BB glues fans in with Dermot O’Leary and Russell Brand; I’m A Celebrity Get Me Out of Here! Now! is less complusive viewing for the family flavour of the principal show.
. TPT quit before the commencement of this new series and producers decided to overhaul the whole thing (not sure which one came first).
In her and MDS’ place stood Kelly Osbourne and Brendon Burns respectively. The new look IACGMOOH!Now! had cabbage patch doll reporting from Oz and Antipodean Brendon Burns reporting from London, complete with Big Brother’s Big Mouth pleb audience-albeit dramatically reduced to about 20 people-and Burns’ none too funny gags about aussies in London (‘shouldn’t i be behind a bar? Or something?!?!?!??!?’).

Why some people are mourning the departure of Desmond Lynam from presenting Countdown is beyond me. He’s not very good at it, much like Richard Whitely wasn’t very good but at least he laughed in all the right places when Richard Digess spoke and thought Barry Norman’s comic soliloquy on tarmac worth a chortle. Lynam sits there looking shifty, the rlection from his glasses shrouding his eyes so as to make them unreadable, his moustache getting in the way of his words.
Benson-Phillips is booked.
A room of people all ages camped round the telly watching Patch Adams, grown-ups smiling at the whimsy, children ensconsed in the moving pictures. For the head of Saturday entertainment on BBC1, this image is for the wank-bank.
Dr. Who was such an alarming success it bred a spin-off and they were even contemplating doing another spin-off as well. It was aimed at getting son/daughter and father together on the sofa, watching something they both love i.e. Billy Piper. The suggestion is that the crapness (cheap sets, poor acting, rubbish scripts, poor acting, cheap sets) is excused by the father-he’s seen how bad it is but peers at his offspring’s saucer like eyes and excuses the crapness as whimsical-and not noticed by the dumb Tweenie-fiddling youngster.
The kick-off of new series ‘Robin Hood’ is in the same vein as the very successful Dr. Who. Starring a nobody as 
