23 APRIL 1983, Page 33

Television

Relentless

Richard Ingrams

The BBC's missing God Slot has finally reappeared now that Omnibus has gone off the air. It is called Heart of the Matter and is introduced by David Jessel. Moral Issues', the producer Cohn Cameron is quoted as saying, 'provide just as much meat as the hottest news story, if not more.' But it was difficult to grasp on Sunday what the moral issue was which was Under review in a programme about the Falklands (again). The news bulletins dur- ing the previous week had been full of the visit to the Falklands of the relatives of those soldiers who had died there. If there was any moral issue to discuss it was, in my view, whether it was right for the BBC, well known for its ghoulish obsession with Funerals and death, to film these emotional scenes and in particular to zoom in on peo- ple weeping. Surely they could be allowed at least to cry in peace? The shots were tMade to seem more distasteful by the con- tinued stress put by reporter Nicholas Wit- ehell on the fact that this was a very private occasion for all concerned. The God Slot showed some of this news film again as well as the now familiar mass burial of Paratroopers on the Falklands. No doubt the producer thought it was all pretty hot stuff. The rest of the programme was fairly

predictable: an army padre, who might just

as well have been a social worker, talked about coming to terms with death and the C of E's all purpose Any Questions? bishop, Revd David Sheppard, waffled away about the need for reconciliation with Argentina. On the eve of my own well publicised visit to Venice I was interested to see Terry Wogan on the Orient Express (BBC 1). It turned out to be a terrible disappointment. Perhaps the BBC now think that they've only got to show Terry's cheeky smile for

everyone to swoon with pleasure, but the trick didn't work on this occasion. In fact I

don't remember any programme in recent months made in such a crass and casual way. Wogan wandered up and down the corridors of the moving train telling us again and again how exciting it all was, when the whole thing looked as boring as hell. The programme had in any case already been done some weeks previously

by Alan Whicker, and even he had found it

heavy going. Wogan might have done bet- ter if he could have been bothered to write a

script. As it was, his impromptu remarks

were often just absurd. 'Looks good, doesn't it?' he asked us as he stood in the

kitchen, but all that the viewers could see

was the chef's back. Then there were his lit- tle interviews: 'Here's a French girl from Argentina. Where are you from?' Argen- tina.' And you'd have thought someone might have explained to him that `gore', the French for station, is not a two-syllable word.

Judging by Death of an Expert Witness (Anglia) P. D. James is a detective-story

writer in the traditional mould of Christie

or Allingham. She assembles a large cast, one of whom is destined to be bumped off

and we spend the rest of the time trying to

guess who dunnit. There has been quite a vogue lately for adapting these stories for the cinema and television, with Agatha Christie's proving particularly popular. P. D. James's story is centred on a large pathology laboratory near Cambridge where a number of scientists are engaged in police work. To begin with I thought there were far too many different characters, what with Max Howarth the new Director; Edwin Lorrimer his unpopular Number Two, who may or may not be murdered this week when I'm away; Henry Kerrison and his neurotic wife Nell; Stella Mawson the lesbian novelist living with Dr Lorrimer's cousin etc etc. But the story has been skilfully adapted for Anglia by Robin Chapman, and the cast, led by Barry Foster and Geoffrey Palmer, is first rate. So by the end of Episode Two I was well and truly hooked. One welcome bonus about Death of an Expert Witness is that although the various characters are up to all kinds of naughtiness, we have been spared anything at all explicit. I can't think when I last saw a television love affair, and a pretty torrid one at that, when all we got in the way of physical detail was the couple holding hands.