Programmes whose names begin with The Secret Life of invariably disappoint. We've had The Secret Life of Cats, which involved a lot of roaming around and licking themselves, not plotting world domination or knitting jumpers, and The Secret Life of Dogs, which was more show-offy, because while some dogs chew the furniture others detect cancer by sniffing people.
But it's also because Secret Life of programmes are so niche. Could you really be bothered watching, especially if your idea of heaven isn't hours of YouTube videos of cats or getting your face licked by your slobbering mutt? So The Secret Life of 4 Year Olds (Channel 4, Tuesday) is probably fascinating only to parents of similarly aged children. In it, 10 four-year-olds are filmed at a creche for a week of chatting, playing, picking their noses and being adorable. I'm not sure four-year-olds actually have a secret life: they are pretty much what they are.
To give the experiment a scientific gloss two psychologists are watching, occasionally pointing out the obvious about the kids’ characters. At one point a trio stand around awkwardly asking each other to be “best friends”. “Here we’ve got a great little love triangle,” comments the psychologist, a statement with more yuck factor than any number of digits jammed up nostrils.
Inevitably, the programme has a high kids-say-the-darndest-things count, the competitive battle between the girls about who has the most toilets in their houses being the funniest of them. “I’ve a got a toilet upstairs and a toilet downstairs,” brags a budding Kirstie Allsopp. “I’m not listening to you because you give me a headache,” replies her pal, and rightly so.
The psychologist says that the way children interact is a lot like the way people do in the adult world, but I think they say that in the cats and dogs programmes, too, as a way of broadening the audience. “You know the bully boy? If he troubles you, just bite him,” whispers one girl to her friend, which is obviously top advice if you’re four but may result in a summons to HR in the workplace. “The wall can be my boyfriend. Sometimes at my school I kiss the wall,” says one girl. It’s charming, like the programme.
In the adult world, given the way things are going, that could turn into fodder for the same-sex-marriage debate. On Morning Ireland, on RTÉ Radio 1, a campaigner introduced the surreal concept of grandmothers and daughters being allowed to marry. The first episode of Claire Byrne Live (RTÉ One, Monday) brought goats into the conversation. That first instalment of Byrne's much-hyped current-affairs magazine was the strongest so far. Now a month old, it hasn't put enough water between itself and the mothership to seem very different from Prime Time. The guest line-up is often similar, and the moodily lit studio looks not entirely different, either, except perhaps for those strange 1980s-disco pink and purple fluorescent strip lights and the angular desks. The studio audience are squashed on to banks of seats, so from the comfort of your sofa at home their apparent physical discomfort is more distracting than anything they might say.
Byrne has a strong presence, with an engaging, intelligent and incisive interviewing style, so I think this will work once the whole thing stops looking so uncomfortable and the roster of interviewees isn’t quite so familiar.
This week’s programme features an out-of-studio insert – way out, in France – of the football pundit Eamon Dunphy comparing life there with life in Ireland. (He has a holiday home there.) Getting him to present the item is certainly a lateral move. The simple comparisons boil down to childcare and healthcare, and there’s no hold-the-front-page news; by his measure France is great, Ireland rubbish.
I wonder what the four teenagers in After Care: The Story of Ireland’s Care Leavers (RTÉ One, Monday) were like as four-year-olds. I can’t imagine they were ever as carefree as those in that creche.
Sarah Share’s thought-provoking and at times shocking documentary follows four people who had been in the care of the State as teenagers for various family reasons and who, when they turned 18, had to strike out on their own. Each, by their own admission, were not easy to deal with, and they are open about their problems and behaviour.
The care system, as they describe it, is anything but caring. Chantelle talks about being moved 20 times in her five years in the system, and the official provision for their first year in the adult world seems as inconsistent as their care. In Limerick, Darragh has the safety net of a sheltered group house, with care workers to help him. Tony, in and out of the courts for minor offences, slept rough before managing to get admitted to a psychiatric hospital for a few nights, until they realised he wasn’t mentally ill. A hostel was found for him, but that left him roaming the streets during the day.
But anyone who tuned in for the final minutes of After Care would have felt a warm glow. There's a visually stunning scene: an aerial shot of the lush Co Kildare countryside, the sun bouncing off the hedgerows with Tony cycling up the road. He is, the voiceover tells us, back living with his dad, he's dealing with his drug addiction, and his partner is expecting their first child. That's followed by a brief catch-up with the others. Darragh has started catering training and is working at a four-star hotel, Mike is in college, and Chantelle is enjoying her first year at Carlow IT, studying social care.
It is hopeful and positive, and who doesn’t like a film that ends with a triumph over adversity? Throughout the year the four showed how resourceful and determined they are, but those years of adversity seem too big to shrug off, and the sunny ending doesn’t feel as reflective of the reality as all that has gone before.
tvreview@irishtimes.com
