Television
Hooked up to the sky
Nigella Lawson
hat I wish I were really reviewing this week is radio. It's not just the whole VE day bit that Radio Four has been doing so well: it's all been stunning. Radio Four is what I listen to while driving, and it's been one of those weeks when, having reached where I'm meant to be, I can't get out of the car. I have to hear out the pro- gramme. I sit, parked, gazing absorbedly into the middle distance, looking like - or so I fondly imagine - one of those TV women private eyes, waiting for the adul- terous husband I'm tailing to come out of his mistress's flat.
I sit in my car composing effusively grateful letters in my head - to Alan Coren and the producer of the News Quiz, to Derek Cooper, to whoever was responsible for Coupons and Nylons. I'll probably never get round to writing them, and if I do, they'll probably just sit around on my desk, getting more and more ringed with coffee and tea. This small intrusion into my television column is by way of a collective fan letter. The head of programmes at Radio Four should have rose petals thrown before him where ere he walks and hang the expense, £80 million overdraft or not.
Television leaves me in not quite the same tearfully appreciative state this week. I'd been looking forward to the much- vaunted, million-bucks-an-episode The Critic (Bravo, Thursday 9pm) ever since news leaked out from America that this was television so cool you needed to wear shades when watching. Even those of you who are not equipped with cable or satel- lite may already have heard of The Simp- sons (Sky One, Sunday 6pm), whose creators are also responsible for The Critic. For the high court judges among you, in brief I will tell you that both are cartoons for adults. Sounds terrible I know, and I hate cartoons for children, but it's not like that. Indeed, The Simpsons is the best argu- ment for getting hooked up to the satellite: it's witty, clever, quite brilliant, in fact. It's well-written by those who, as Americans say, ' know stuff. References are woven into the narrative gently: you're made to laugh not applaud its cleverness, though it's impossible not to.
The reason The Critic doesn't work is that, one can't help feeling, whereas The Simpsons became a cult by accident, The C rztic was designed to be one. Like invent- ing your own nickname, this ploy never works. Jay Sherman presents 'Coming Attractions', a Barry Normanish slot on what, depending on what each week's plot requires, is either a small-time cable chan- nel or network TV. The best jokes, and there are some very good ones, are the spoof films he reviews - remakes of and sequels to real films. In the first episode, we have a film in which Arnold Schwarzenegger goes undercover as a Rabbi. A clip has him appearing in full rig plus massive gun: "Hava Negila, baby!". And unlike most American comedies where references to the famous are sweet- ened with the equivalent of Tarbuck's craven "Hey - only joking, Kenny: see you at the tee on Sunday," The Critic never goes in for half measures. I imagine much of the million dollars is spent on libel lawyers each week.
Homer Simpson is meant to be a beer- swilling, pot-bellied slob but his character has charm in the way that John Goodman's character in Roseanne has charm. Unfortu- nately short, fat, balding Jay Sherman, the Critic in question, is meant to be disgusting and is. In fact, he's too disgusting. And although there are good jokes, some of them are just a little too self-congratulato- ry. It's all very New York, very New York- er.
This is a cartoon for cineastes, but funny as the film references are, The Critic is never more than a series of gags.
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