Television
Recording brilliance
James Delingpole
When Gilbert Adair declared that The Simpson (BBC 2, Monday) was the finest work of art currently being produced in any medium, he ended up in Pseud's Corner. But, in common with James Wal- ton of the Daily Telegraph, I think he may have a point.
Since the series has been running on ter- restrial television for at least a year now, I suppose I've been a bit slow in reaching this conclusion. The problem is that the 6 p.m. transmission time clashes with the Tai Chi weapons class in which I learn how to fight with a sabre. You may scoff. But just imagine if you and I found ourselves trans- ported in a time warp back to a huge battle in 16th-century China. Who'd be laughing then, eh?
Anyway, the good news is that I no longer have to choose between recondite martial moves like 'Tiger Leaps Stream' and classic Simpsons episodes, like the one where Marge thinks she's pregnant, because I have just acquired a cunning, new-fangled device called VideoPlus. This enables me to record television pro- grammes even when I'm not in the house!
Yes, I know video machines have had timer-record facilities since the dawn of time. But it's a known fact that only chil- dren of eight or under have ever been capable of using them. With VideoPlus, on the other hand, all you need to do is look up in the television pages the special code of the programme you want to watch, punch it into your VideoPlus machine and, hey presto, it's recorded automatically. And if the makers of VideoPlus want to reproduce this plug in return for a small fee, they are welcome to do so. After all, didn't my mate Andrew Roberts come to some sort of similar arrangement with that posh cufflink shop last Christmas?
But back to The Simpsons. Or rather not back to The Simpsons because it's been reviewed to death and because there's another, equally impressive cartoon-series- for-grown-ups that I'd like to draw to your attention: King of the Hill (Channel 4, Fri- day). Created by Mike Beavis and Butt- head' Judge and ex-Simpsons writer Greg Daniels, it's set in the fictional suburb of Arlen, Texas, a blue-collar, red-neck, white-trash community where the men spend their weekends chugging canned beer, tinkering with their pick-up trucks and discussing new ways of improving their small but perfectly manicured front lawns.
The titular hero is Hank Hill, a painfully average but decent propane salesman, whose traditional values the series both mocks and sneakily admires. He is married to loyal, wise Peggy; he has an oafish, anx- ious 12-year-old son Bobby; and a semi- adopted, teenaged niece Luanne, whose burgeoning sexuality Hank finds deeply dis- turbing.
Maybe it sounds a little dull. Certainly it lacks both the crude zest of Beavis and Butt-head and the knowing, faintly surreal, satirical richness of The Simpsons. But in the subtlety of its characterisation, the sharpness of its observation, and the breadth and intelligence of its humour, it rivals any sitcom on television.
It's also decidedly more honest. I remember being terribly impressed in the first series when the new Laotian neigh- bour turned out to be almost as vilely unpleasant as Hank's crippled, war veteran father. Can you imagine a Nineties comedy involving real actors allowing either a token ethnic or a disabled pensioner to be portrayed in such an unflattering light? I can't. Nor can I imagine one devoting a whole episode to the subject of constipa- tion, as King of the Hill so daringly man- aged in the last series.
This week's episode saw Arlen being dev- astated by a tornado, much to the delight of the local cable station: 'Death Watch was brought to you by Mega Lo Mart: mention that your house was destroyed and get a free 81b bag of onions.' My favourite joke was the one where Hank, his clothes ripped off by the force of the wind, searches for something to hide his shame from his watching niece. All he can find is a volumi- nous Texas flag and a tiny potted cactus. Even in his hour of direst need, Hank decides, he cannot disgrace the flag ...
Far too early to say whether Simon (Men Behaving Badly) Nye's new sitcom, How Do You Want Me? (BBC 2, Tuesday), is going to prove similarly addictive. But, as with King of the Hill, I rather admire the way it doesn't strive too desperately to be liked. None of the characters — not even its newly-wed protagonists played by Charlotte Coleman (Hugh Grant's sister in Four Weddings) and low-key Irish stand-up Dylan Moran — is unduly amiable. And its comedic take on its rural Sussex setting is commendably subtle: neither Darling Buds of May-style bucolic idyll nor Sunnyside Farm-style nightmare, but something in between. It's dark, understated and vaguely unsettling. Indeed, it barely qualifies as a sitcom at all. I do hope it maintains the courage of its convictions. It might yet turn out to be something rather special.
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