TV REVIEW: Prime Time RTÉ1, Tuesday, Wednesday; Questions and Answers, RTÉ1, Monday; Auf Wiedersehen Pet, BBC1, SundayTeachers, Channel 4, Wednesday.
Given that this is the most stage-managed election in Irish history, and that they had five years to get the production right, you would have hoped that they could have given us something better than this. The whole thing began with Michael Noonan's attempts to kiss a flower-seller on Grafton Street, transforming him from Charismatic Leader to Awkward-Teenager-At-A-School-Disco, and since then the battle buses have pulled up at one hoary cliché after another. For such a modern campaign, it's awfully old-fashioned.
On Wednesday night's Prime Time, Ken O'Shea's report focused on the spin doctors, the people who direct this traffic jam of baby-kissing and cheesy photo opportunities. Men with mobile phones glued to their ears, they form an advanced guard to make sure that every hand that shakes the Party Leader's is one sweaty with excitement rather than with anger. They lead the guffaws at even the lamest of quips. They push forward the babies, and hold back the cry-babies. Their job boils down to persuading you that their man's hand is the hand that you would want to shake too, if you stepped out to the newsagents' and suddenly found him whizzing past you.
It is traditional Irish "how's your mother?" diplomacy, in which any serious question is treated like a fart at a funeral. When Bertie hits the street, for instance, he walks like a man who's been grabbed by a strong gust of wind. He barrels his way through the crowds, double-handshaking all the way. The media pack struggles to keep up, but unfortunately haven't given up the chase yet.
The recurring image of the week has been that of Party Leader being interviewed at whatever whistle-stop the bus has pulled up at, while the local candidate hovers at his or her shoulder, desperately snorting on the aura before Party Leader gets back on the bus and puts the foot down. They cling closer than dandruff, and for one afternoon of the campaign the candidate is reduced to being nothing more than another jostling gawper hoping to squeeze into camera shot so that the folks back home can be mightily impressed.
The Prime Time report acknowledged that the whole thing is a game of spin and counter-spin, but didn't ask why RTÉ and TV3 still allow themselves to be led by the nose. If we are learning nothing other than that today is a repeat of yesterday and a preview of tomorrow, then why indulge them?
There are two weeks to go, but election fatigue may have settled in weeks before it was even called. It quickly threatened to mature into full-blown ennui. The first question on Questions and Answers on Monday night was about Campus Ireland. That topic seems to have taken residence on the show, keeping the seat warm for whoever wants to bring it up that particular week. It was a wonder John Bowman didn't throw his notes at the questioner and storm out at this waste of his talents. The panel could have retired for another glass of wine and a read of the papers while an old answer on the same question was replayed instead. But Questions and Answers is a stagnant format, with one of its more cloying quirks being that party hacks make up much of the audience, people who already know the answers to the questions they are asking. On Monday night it was the Fine Gael chorus which really went for it, hooting at Alan Dukes's most ephemeral of quips and clapping like seals in a beach ball shop.
Prime Time has at least attempted to provide some answers. While the parties argued over who would referee their manifestos, the programme went and found a couple of economists to give their verdicts on each party's economic policies. The answer? That the best thing for all of us would be if the next government - whichever party forms it - instantly forgets its promises. That the winners dump their manifesto in a bin somewhere, and walk away while whistling innocently. Feeling nervous yet?
This was music to George Lee's ears, even if he gave the impression of a man whose favourite record had just been scratched. Bull Island never provided classic satire, but they did get their George Lee impersonation right. He is a reporter made for bad news. He is a walking raincloud. His voice is a dredger in a filthy canal and he relays the latest happenings with the air of a man so disgusted with everything and everyone around him that he will need to shower as soon as he gets back to the safety of his home.
The election, it seems, is poisoning him. Fresh from the news that the take-up on the SSIA scheme may be enough to cripple the economy when we cash in our chips in five years' time, he gave his verdict on the manifestos. "Their figures just don't add up," he spat. "It's time to get realistic." He said it in a way that sounded very much like a threat.
If they don't forget their promises and if the figures don't add up, though, at least we've only got five years to wait before we get our cash from the SSIA and then go on a very long holiday indeed. "There are no yes-or-no answers," said Ruarí Quinn, avoiding a yes-or-no question from a Paxman-esque member of the public this week. For the moment, though, there is always the off button if you need it.
At this point in the review I'd like to welcome those readers who are just joining us. I suspect that a lot of you may have looked at the list of reviewed programmes above and skipped right over the election coverage and straight to the safety of the bolded words that mark a non-election programme. It is at times like this that one is hugely grateful to British television for having no interest whatsoever in what's happening this side of the Irish Sea. It was much more interested in Auf Wiedersehen, Pet and the 12 million viewers who tuned in to see its return after 15 years off-air.
It is a risky thing to do, to square up to its own reputation like this. Memories of the comedy drama are very much sealed in the grime-coated lens of the 1980s, the seven British labourers working in Germany a direct commentary on the Thatcherite age, which was supposed to be offering boom and prosperity, not mass unemployment. The show returned with all but one of the original cast - the real-life death of actor Gary Holton marked by announcement of his character, Wayne's, death - and cleverly inverted much of the original premise. The group have all returned to the UK, where they now find themselves tearing down a Tyneside landmark on behalf of a crooked politician, employing foreign labour to do it.
There are clumsy concessions to the 21st century. The figure of that politician, Jeremy Grainger (Bill Nighy), is a one-dimensional cad, the dapper of his suit matched only by the greasiness of his manner. Also, the new seventh member of the gang is Wyman (Noel Clarke), introduced as the DJ-ing, streetwise son of Wayne. He is a black actor, a concession to the morals of modern drama which insist on a racial mix to appeal across the markets. But his character is only roughly sketched, and nowhere near as sharply observed as the original six.
They are a product of their time, and the entertainment will come in watching square pegs trying to fit into round holes. But the jokes are there, the characters solid and the chemistry undiluted. Kevin Whately, Timothy Spall and Jimmy Nail have all made decent careers for themselves since the original series. They took the original roles while still obscure actors, but the familiarity that could threaten to distract is quickly subsumed by the strength of the writing. The lilt of the accents, and the humour inherent in the Geordie dialect, carry it along wonderfully. Six characters in search of a plot, they've hurdled the first 15 years neatly. It's the next five weeks that will be the toughest.
It is unlikely that they'll bring back Teachers in 15 years' time, but well into its second series Channel 4's comedy has proven to be as consistently entertaining as anything on telly at the moment. It's always a good sign when you flick through the channels, stumble on a programme that's already halfway finished but find yourself sucked in without even realising it. Teachers is like that.
Refreshing, vibrant and smart, it never dithers, but gets the jokes in and moves on quickly. There are sight gags galore, and the whole thing is relentlessly imaginative. Occasional lapses into self-indulgence are forgivable, given that they never drag the whole thing over the top. And that's a sentence I didn't think I'd get to use, given the week that's in it.
