Grabby 'n' grubby (RTE 1, Tuesday)
In God's Footsteps (RTE 1, Monday)
Weddings From Hell (ITV, Tuesday)
Bull Island (RTE 1, Sunday)
The RTE Guide began the hyperbole. "What is it that makes her - [Terry Keane] so fascinating?" it wondered. "Quite simply Terry is an exotic," it gushed in answer to itself. "Her looks (huge magenta eyes) and demeanour (a quick, devastating sense of humour) get her noticed. And she stays noticed. Even now as a woman of 60 she has a beauty which recalls the days when she could command any man in the world." Whoa, whoa . . . "command (COMMAND, no less!) any man in the world"? Even the most tripey gossip columns might blush at such industrial-strength puff-guff.
Terry, a Tyrone Productions interview cum profile of Keane, was equally distorted by a lack of proportion. Fair enough, as gossip, the story of a 27-year affair between a disgraced former taoiseach and a gossip queen has undeniable appeal. But presenting it as a cross between The Rock 'n' Roll Years and some putative beau monde "sophistication" was just more hyperbole. By the time that Noelle Campbell Sharp spoke about the elements of "Greek tragedy" in the Charlie 'n' Terry affair, the inflation had ballooned into embarrassing Irish farce.
The tale, as recounted in this latest outing, added little to the airing it received on Gay Byrne's penultimate Late Late Show last May. So, with the content pretty much the same, the trick was to change the format. Hence the use of pop classics from such as Manfred Mann, Thunderclap Newman and even Pink Floyd. In truth, of course, pop classics are about as suitable for Terry 'n' Charlie as they would be for Terry 'n' June. Sure, there was champagne and caviar, but given the sources of Charlie's loot, there was a parasitic, grabby 'n' grubby aspect to the high living.
On Terry however, the pair's affair was treated as one of the great love stories of the ages: Mark Anthony and Cleopatra, Romeo and Juliet, Charlie Haughey and Terry Keane - the sort of provincial inflation which demeans what it's intended to aggrandise. For her part, you couldn't blame Keane for doing this gig - comparable PR that doesn't cost a fortune is probably impossible to find. But the jaunty music and largely unquestioned responses made the programme little more than a moving pictures version of Hello! magazine.
Indeed, as with Hello! and its imitators, hyperbole was pretty much the point of Terry. The affair was described as "incredibly tempestuous . . . very passionate and dramatic". The lovers sipped champagne in Charlie's "bright yellow Jaguar". The great man's "wit and sex appeal and charisma" were stressed. "It was not nasty and sleazy as this grubby little journalist was trying to portray," said Terry, attempting an off-the-peg, pseudo-aristocratic putdown of Kevin O'Connor. Perhaps it wasn't - but the cheap little cliche was grubby enough in itself.
At the top, a suspiciously well-balanced vox pop found one respondent "disgusted" by Keane's Late Late Show revelations, another felt the story "must come out" and a third said that she "should have kept quiet". Flashback to the Late Late Show interview, then cut to old footage and cue the pop music: "The purpose of a man is to love a woman and the purpose of a woman is to love a man . . ." It was difficult to envisage either of the lovers as Swinging Sixties trendies.
"She was the boss," said Eamon Dunphy, who seemed an unusual pundit for this sort of television. Still, it does appear that he's right. Most commentators view the relationship as one between two megalomaniac people and certainly the public Terry and the public Charlie seem aptly characterised as such. "Power is the great aphrodisiac," said Keane. Perhaps it is, but most people find raw sex appeal, regardless of status or bank balances, even more potent. After all, Maggie Thatcher was powerful and . . . OK, enough said.
Given the media hype surrounding this programme, it was always likely to be disappointing. So it proved. On the morning of transmission, one national daily described Keane as "Ireland's most hated woman", further heaping on the hype. Sure, she has her detractors but the national title of Most Hated Woman, residing these days by the banks of Dublin's Royal Canal, is out of her reach. As usual with kiss 'n' tell tales, the media did not distinguish itself with this technically efficient but PR-ish hour of gushing justifications.
Following a rather different track, Joe Little pursued the Pope around the Middle East. In God's Footsteps was appropriate for Easter but it was really just a listings service - a travelogue - of the Pope's recent tour of the Holy Land. As such it was professional and succinct but the wider implications of forging a partial alliance between Christianity, or at any rate Catholicism, and the great religions of the region remained largely untouched.
Certainly it was salutary to contrast Ireland's declining church attendance with the sheer power and vitality of organised religion in the countries visited by the Pope. It was also difficult not to conclude that strategic alliances between great religions in the face of increasing secular power in the West may be one of the battle grounds of the 21st century. However, this aspect of the Pope's pilgrimage seemed underplayed even though there was general acknowledgment that Easter 2000 had to be a special date in Church history.
We saw John Paul II kiss earth from the mountain on which Moses is supposed to have been given the Ten Commandments. The Popemobile and its convoy then sped on to the place from where Moses is said to have glimpsed the Promised Land before his death. The Pope also visited Wadi-ElKharrer, where, the Jordanians claim, Jesus was baptised but he went to Jericho too, more generally accepted as the place in which that event took place. Clearly, the Pope was walking on fault lines throughout the region.
It was clear that the symbolic significances were not lost on Yasser Arafat, who recounted meeting the Pope in the Vatican. "I am the second Palestinian to come here," he told the Pope. Cue the question: And who was the first? "St Peter," said Arafat smiling. To those of us who hadn't ever thought of it that way, it was a moment: St Peter the Palestinian puts a different hue on the Papacy. Then it was time for the visit to the Jewish Holocaust memorial at Yad Vashem.
The Catholic church's apologising for Christian persecution of Jews has been treated as the biggest religious story not only this year, but in decades. Indeed, to some observers, it has been one of the biggest religious developments in centuries. Certainly, the move has been undeniably historic - even in spite of the ensuing haggling over its real depth and significance. We were reminded, too, how the Irish government's refusal to take in Jews during the second World War led to their persecution and more often than not, their murders in death camps.
Still, nothing was said about the strategic religious alliances which the Vatican seems intent on pursuing. As churches throughout Europe reflected this Easter on dwindling observance of and attendances at traditional ceremonies, it was tempting to conclude that, for the 21st century, the Church of Rome will concentrate its energies on other parts of the globe. This was the larger context of Pope John Paul II's tour of the Middle East. A fundamentalist alliance between great but historically antagonistic religions may be impossible. But Rome's manoeuvrings cannot simply be taken at face value.
In a rather different religious tone, ITV screened Weddings From Hell. Perhaps the most innovative alteration to wedding customs was the one in which the bride and groom were set alight. A group of hyper, excited children and teenies doused the happy couple in steamers to the point where it looked like they had been covered by a cauldron of spaghetti. Fumbling for escape, they failed to notice an errant cigarette lighter catching the restraining streamers and turning them into an instant blaze. Hot love wouldn't be in it.
Then there were the collapsing grooms. The British groom, of course, collapsed silently, fainting at the altar just as he was approaching the "I do" bit. He had held his stag night on the eve of the wedding and was suffering from alcoholic poisoning. Anyway, after 20 minutes he was fit to proceed from a sitting position, thereby establishing slob rights right from the off. Not surprisingly, the American collapser went for a much more ostentatious display, passing out dramatically as his wife-to-be walked up the aisle.
An ambulance had to be called - good ol' Yankee razzmatazz, you can't beat it - and after a mobile er scene, the couple were married in the ambulance. Again, the groom was in a seated position and looking rather shellshocked. Warming to the unexpected set of circumstances, the wedding photographer turned rabid newshound shooting ambulance scenes with the ferocity of a paparazzo who had just found Maggie Thatcher in a romp with the boys of Westlife.
It was all cheap TV, mostly recycled home videos and there was an undeniable exhibitionist element to it all. Fame - even if it's fame for being a complete wally on your wedding day - and a few bob will always attract some punters. But it was funny too, certainly funnier than most of the more lurid "From Hell" offerings which boost the commercial channel's profits. There was some nastiness, however. "I don't feel at all guilty about ruining their wedding," said one jilted woman. Then again, most wedding-ruiners don't.
FINALLY, Bull Island, the current series of which has ended. Much praised, most lavishly by big-wigs in RTE (which, for satire, isn't necessarily a good sign), it has deservedly built up a following. Some of its impersonations are splendid but the script continues to sound rather mild. Still, it has improved and tightened since its initial days and perhaps not surprisingly, appears now to have more confidence in itself.
This week's mick-take of Brian Looney's TV assault to promote The Irish Examiner was funny, as is the ludicrously precious Brian Farrell character who voices over the parody of One Hundred Years. A Mary Harney character sharing a hot tub with "Troy, a debater from Belfield" made comic stirrings too and the bilingual siren is a treat. But too often the political jokes seem to lack bite. Given the political culture which we know exists and the chancers who exploit it, a bleaker, less light-hearted approach wouldn't go amiss in any forthcoming series. We're already choking under PR without satire underpinning any of the nonsense.