Television
Monstrous
Richard Ingrams
by Weighell? The question reverber- ated in my mind after the latest of Dr Anthony Clare's Motives on BBC2. If a trade unionist is to be interviewed in depth by the BBC's resident psychiatrist why pick on old Sid in preference to Ray Buckton, Clive Jenkins or Arthur Scargill? There seems not much to distinguish between any of them. The cynical explanation for the choice of Sid, which I'm fairly sure is also the true explanation, is that unlike the others he has suffered a personal tragedy in that his wife and daugher were both killed in a car crash some years ago. if it were not for that misfortune I doubt if the BBC would have selected Weighell to appear. It is another case, like the funerals, of the Corporation seeking to turn personal misfortunes into popular entertainment. Dr Clare's questions are in essence no different from the man on the news who this week asked the mother of the six-year-old victim of homosexual rape 'What were your feel- ings when you heard . . .?' (I ought to ad- mit that in fact I missed the car-crash bit, having become so bored by the opening ex- changes that I went off to have a bath.)
Unlike his fellow Irishman John Cole, Dr Clare is at least perfectly intelligible. I am beginning to think there is a strong case for using sub-titles when Cole is on, or for that matter any other Ulsterman. A BBC2
documentary on Tuesday called Old Scores
was almost entirely spoiled for me because of the difficulty in understanding what
anyone was saying. As the Daily Telegraph
critic pointed out, it is jolly confusing when someone says 'I feel bitter' when what he really means is 'I feel better'. Apart from the language barrier this programme, which followed the fortunes of a Belfast youth club soccer team, was very illuminating about the terrible way in which the so-called 'Northern Ireland situation' has destroyed all the normal relationships which hold society together. The team, which included Catholics and Protestants, had been the basis of many friendships but once the 'troubles' began the two religious groups polarised and the friendships broke up. One player, whose name was Bobby Sands, achieved worldwide fame as an IRA mar- tyr, another Protestant player was im- prisoned for terrorist offences. Three or four had emigrated. One languished on the dole. Only one man, who had been inspired by a bombing incident to become a doctor, was upheld by some form of hope. As so often when watching programmes about Northern Ireland I felt enraged by the fact that. Mrs Thatcher and her Cabinet are quite resigned to allowing this horrible state of affairs to continue indefinitely. It is their official indifference that gives the lie to the silly notion that Northern Ireland is an in- tegral part of the United Kingdom.
The curious programme Writers and Places which last week featured the bearded Canadian comedian W. Robertson Davies, this week changed tack completely and con- sisted of a little lecture on Gustave Flaubert by the TV critic of the Observer, Julian Barnes. I thought this might prove in- teresting, if only because Flaubert was so good at describing places. What one remembers from Madame Bovary is the at- mosphere of France, especially that of the small provincial town, the description of which still seems so familiar. But Mr Barnes was not especially interested in this aspect of Flaubert, and confined himself more to biographical gossip, some of which was in- teresting and some not so much. It is always a great mistake when trying to bring an author to life on the screen to dress up an actor in the role and make him recite ex- tracts to the camera. In this case an actor with a large false moustache, slightly resembling William Rushton, came on speaking in an affected club-bore drawl and giving an impression of the old boy which I'm sure was totally false.
Flaubert was followed by a rare television appearance by the Romanian pianist Radu Lupu playing on this occasion Schubert's Moments Musicaux. This was a welcome bonus especially during the arid Promenade season. Mr Lupu played the short pieces very expressively, though, as so often happens, there were too many close-ups of his face. I always find it rather embarrassing to watch the contorted features of musicians grappl- ing with their interpretation.
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