Late call

Richard Ingrams

I have been able to supplement my income this week not only by writing about television in the Spectator, but also by appearing on the BBC programme The Editors. It was some time since my last visit to Lime Grove—the BBC is, think, reluctant to let me go on the air for reasons which I do not fully understand—but I was shocked by the atmosphere of austerity which now surrounds the place. Gone was the bulging cabinet of booze which I remembered from the golden days of Ned Sherrin's quiz programme. Instead, the participants sipped their bitter lemons thoughtfully as the producer warned them of the legal pitfalls ahead. This seemed a sensible course. particularly as the subject to be discussed was that of criminal libel with special reference to myself and a certain well-known financier.

However much one may moan about the BBC it has to be said that there are times when they are prepared to stick their neck out on this sort of subject—though even here the general rule is that you can saY pretty well what you like only after ab91.11 11.30—on the grounds (a) that no one will be watching and (b) that if anyone is he or she will be too drunk to take in what is being said. And this means of course that If Yea want to hear anyone say anything rernotelY interesting or thoughtful on television You have to stay up late, and I am not usuallY prepared to make that sort of sacrifice. I will stick with Reggie Bosanquet until 10.30, hut that is the limit. I will admit, however, that I did stay OP to watch myself, though I very near switched off the preceding programme which consisted of a recording of the Viennese Night at the Proms. Whoever is responsible for selecting the televised Proms should be sacked. There is nothing whatever to be said for transmitting the Viennese night' which the promenaders, referred to indulgently by Richard Baker and otherr comperes as part of the rich pattern ofh; oti, national heritage, have turned into a roug. house, swaying and clapping unrythmicalo to the very good music of the Strausses. thereby ruining the concert. This week the Sunday Prom comPriseAcl Solo Ensemble by Dominic MuldowneY allur Eight Songs for a Mad King by Pet: Maxwell Davies. Unfortunately I was wor_A ing late at the office on Sunday night so missed the concert. I also missed the Jai Interview with Dr Paul Sweezy. When finally got home I found an irate Paul Ed°,,I fuming with rage about Mr Teezy Sweez/A: an old American Maoist who, gathere' in no circumstances deserved an hour-1011g

interview with the 'cleverest young man in Britain.' (Sunday Times). I am sure that Foot, despite his obvious bias, is right about Sweezy, particularly now that I have glanced through his book

Monopoly Capital: An Essay on the American Economic and Social Order. Sweezy is quite obviously a bore of breathtaking Proportions. The reason for his appearance, I suspect, is that, in the eyes of London Weekend Television, it is quite all right to Put on an advocate of revolution so long as he is very boring and also American. The Previous Sunday admittedly Jay had Chosen an Englishman, the Marxist historian E. J. Hobsbawm. But not even his best friends would call Hobsbawm a ball of fire and it is difficult to imagine viewers piling uP the barricades after seeing him on the box.

A welcome exception to ITV's normally cautious approach to such matters was Provided by my colleague Auberon Waugh, ,Wbo in the event of any revolution provoked such men as Sweezy or Hobsbawm would

ue marshalling the forces on the other side 0f the barricades. Waugh was lucky to get

°n the telly at all, particularly at peak

viewing time on ITV. No wonder some

Idiot at the IBA felt obliged to put up

Cowardly announcements at the beginning

and end of the programme dissociating the

company from what was being said. In

normal circumstances, after all, Waugh would have been on BBC2 at half past

!leven on Sunday night and no one would ave paid the slightest attention to him. ' welcome the Waugh debut and hope to return to it having seen all three episodes. The miserable state of the telly in general „%vas Well illustrated, I thought, by the re9Pearance of Bernard Braden, compering 4 S.aturday night ITV quiz programme called The Sweepstakes Game. Grinning soled 'celebrities', including such wellIP!? 'Ain persons as Des Ellis and Eunice w"Uton, were given the opportunity of F1111,11411; copper-bottomed saucepans and kel'days in Majorca by answering fifth;rill general knowledge questions. There thas nothing surprising about the nature of wile Programme. What was slightly shocking inas to see someone of Bernie's ability and th'!elligence reduced to earning his living in ses demeaning way. Perhaps he doesn't roe it like that and is quite happy to ask a of smiling noddies questions like 'In that country is finger-pulling a sport ?' and ah? have to admit, when none of them can wer it, that he doesn't even know what ,

'"eans. I doubt it.

raden has been at a loose end since his Est" lProgramme was commandeered by er Rantzen whose brand of smug lettici ' tilsurnerism' is one of the least attractive N,,,ures of the BBC's output. Braden, like ais'a..Sherrin, is proof of the fact that nowarkt*Y.s anyone in TV with the slightest talent Oft !ndePendence is likely to be shouldered I Into non-controversial fields. It all, -1 h care "aPpy to say, bodes ill for Waugh's er as a TV personality.