TV REVIEW:RIVETING TV, wasn't it? Those of us who dutifully watched every single presidential debate and were mostly turned off by the pointlessness of the soundbite-heavy performances from the candidates and the stiffness of the presenters (Vincent Browne excepted) got our reward on Monday with the Frontlinedebate (RTÉ1).
The camera set it up nicely, showing the candidates coming into the studio, Seán Gallagher notably more confident than the others, striding towards his podium, all poll-topping swagger. For the first 10 minutes it looked like it was going to be more of the same, with Pat Kenny giving the seven the opportunity to set out their stalls, which they did with dreary familiarity. But once that was over and the questions began, it was sit-up-in-your-chair time, because Gallagher was the man in the cross hairs.
The audience asked the questions – that was different from the other debates too – and Kenny was relaxed, up for a bit of banter. The most recent newspaper polls set the tone, and 900,000 tuned in at some point – you can bleat on all you want about Twitter, Facebook and the whole social-media smorgasbord, but this was a triumph for old media. From the off, and with the newspaper polls in mind, it was hard not to look at the seven and divide them into neat categories: the no-hopers (Gay Mitchell, Mary Davis, Dana Rosemary Scallon, David Norris and Martin McGuinness), a just-maybe-if-the-sky-fell-in (Michael D Higgins) and the president-in-waiting (Gallagher).
An awareness of failure was like a nearly visible cloud hovering over the two women, while Mitchell and McGuinness looked like people who still had something to get off their chests. Norris was demob happy, quipping away from what already seemed like the sidelines, injecting a touch of gaiety into the proceedings, which were otherwise combative in a low-key, tetchy way. Even before the ad break, when McGuinness launched into his tale about Gallagher and a Fianna Fáil fundraiser, it seemed like a bit of cut-and-thrust and not the grenade it proved to be. Gallagher denied the claims. In reply, McGuinness, in his spine-chilling way, delivered the most ominous line of the campaign: “I have to say, you’re in deep, deep trouble.” You don’t have to carry a big stick when you can speak softly and sound so menacing.
From then on Gallagher’s increasing levels of stress were visible – and quite mesmerising to watch. The camera closed in on his face as he twisted his head like someone with a nervous tic, gritted his teeth and backtracked on his answer to McGuinness. He also failed to credibly answer a question from the audience about his business dealings. The camera lapped up every minute, turning to the audience to catch their gales of laughter, Gallagher’s mention of the word “envelope” eliciting hoots. It didn’t feel very presidential.
With this the election campaign took what looked like its final twist. It brought to mind John F Kennedy’s comment after his victory in the US presidential race of 1960 that “it was TV more than anything else that turned the tide” – and it was a TV moment of the year.
HAVING HIGH REGARDfor the Dallasscriptwriters who, in the 1980s schlock drama series, had Bobby Ewing leaping out of the shower several episodes after he had been declared quite dead, I'm a big fan of bonkers plot twists. It's a good thing too, because last weekend's episode of Downton Abbey(TV3 and UTV, Sunday) really took the random-plot-events award.
The entire premise of the first series hinged on the loss of Lord Grantham's heir, Patrick, on Titanic. Well, worry no more. This week he turned up, face horribly disfigured and with an American accent – even though an entire iceberg would have to hit an English aristo on the head to make him lose his plummy tones in just six years.
Curiously, no one was particularly interested in quizzing the man who claimed to be their long-lost cousin (and Lady Mary's ex), so he simply went off again. Patrick's story – only Lady Edith listened because she is a character in desperate need of a story line – was that he'd been rescued from Titanicsuffering from amnesia and, not knowing his true posh identity, ended up working in an office in Canada before enlisting in the army and getting his memory back. But then his face melted when he stood too near a bomb in France. That's a thin shower curtain away from ridiculous.
None of it, of course, will stop me from tuning in next week to catch Lord Grantham (will he ever take off that Sam Brown belt?) having a fumble in the airing cupboard with Jane, the new maid (who appeared from nowhere – more ramdomness); to find out exactly where paraplegic Matthew has felt what he calls "stirrings" (ooh, matron); and to see Sir Richard go even more over the top in the dastardly-villain department, grow a large waxed moustache and tie Lady Mary to the nearest train tracks. As the drama slips into a lather of soap, I fear Downton Abbey'swriter, Julian Fellowes, is having far too much fun.
READERS OFChristos Tsiolkas's hugely successful and controversial The Slapwill know what to expect from the TV adaptation (BBC4, Thursday): punchy dialogue, some deeply dislikable characters, aggression, adultery and a bald exploration of the deep ethnic tensions simmering away underneath Australia's apparently sunny, easy-going melting-pot culture.
The story begins at a 40th-birthday party that Hector (Jonathan La Paglia) is having with a group long held together by the friendship of the three women at its core: Aisha (Sophie Okonedo), Rosie (Melissa George) and Anouk (Essie Davis). The group then splits apart when, at the party, obnoxious, flash Harry (a brilliant Alex Dimitriades) loses his temper and slaps an unruly four-year-old – not his son – in the face.
The reverberations from the assault (though not everyone views it as that) play out over the eight-part series. This Australian-made series (it’s been a hit there) is pacier than the book, and, thanks to the powerful performances of the top cast, the characters are more nuanced and layered than Tsiolkas’s on-the-page versions.
'I HAVE INTEGRITY,but when winning gets in the way of integrity, integrity goes out the window," says James McCullagh, a 17-year-old budding entrepreneur and the only Irish candidate in the new series of Young Apprentice(BBC1, Monday).
The Derry boy is not the only one of the 12 teenagers full of a frightening level of self-assurance and a blissful ignorance that when it’s their turn to hear the words “you’re fired” they’ll be heading back to a school yard of teenage slagging (or worse – this level of public humiliation can’t be good for even the most precocious teen).
Alan Sugar, however, is displaying signs of becoming a softie in his old age. In the boardroom, looking across at his dozen wannabes, he told them he was doing the series “because I love you lot” . Expect tears.
Get stuck into ...
The lengths people have to go to – and travel – to get work are featured in
The Commute(RTÉ1, Monday), including Margaret, a mother of seven who commutes from Cork to her nursing job in London.
tvreview@irishtimes.com
