People jilted at the altar, men who visit prostitutes, an unsavoury dinner party of smug English provincials, wannabe swingers seeking one night stands - in documentary: 1997 was the year of the exhibitionists. Camera-obsessed punters seemed to want to share their secrets with millions, none more so than groom-in-waiting Steve Harding, who invited the BBC to film his circumcision.
The glut of exhibitionist documentaries - favourites of series such as the appropriately titled Cutting Edge (the jilted, the dinner party and the rather sad swingers), Witness (the lechers) and Modern Times (Steve) - raised ethical questions about invasions of privacy.
Of course, the exhibitionists gave consent and characteristically argued that their ruthless honesty was not only laudable but purgative. Expect more of the same in 1998.
Tough biography was another notable sub-genre of documentary this year. Secret Lives (Channel 4) and Reputations (BBC 2) didn't spare the hatchets in re-examining the lives of such notables as Lester Pigott, L Ron Hubbard, Billy Butlin and even Nazi hunter Simon Wiesenthal. There are dangers of losing proportion in such an approach.
RTE documentaries engaged in historical re-evaluations also. Generally softer than those screened by British TV in 1977, they typically meshed nostalgia with polemic. Hoodwinked and The Years Of Change looked at De Valera's Ireland through the eyes of the Celtic Tiger. The former rather overstated a feminist perspective on the lives of women in traditional Ireland. True, there was more institutionalised discrimination against women back then. But most men, from the 1920s up to the 1950s, were not exactly living lives of sex and drugs and rock `n' roll either.
More recent home-produced documentaries included Ballyseedy (a drama-doc actually, which, though wildly over-long made a convincing case against the Free State government's behaviour during the Civil War) and themed programmes on refugees. These were adequate and well-researched, though often embarrassingly inflated by dubious dramatics. Donald Taylor Black's excellent prison series, The Joy, was more coldly observational and all the better for it.
Anyway, the best documentary of 1977 - even though it too attempted some undue and unnecessary emotional manipulation - was Channel 4's Innocents Lost. Showing the lives of a few of the world's 100 million homeless children, it was horrific and shaming: TV that can make a difference. Runner-up, though it was scarcely watchable, must be The Grave (part of Channel 4's True Lives series). Focusing on forensic archaeology, it painstakingly dug up a mass-grave in Bosnia while relatives waited to hear the worst. Even if you want to, it's not easy to forget this one.
In drama, there were fewer frocks than we've come to expect in the 1990s. It seems as though the craze for period drama has abated. But the cops and docs, especially the cops, continued to dominate. RTE spent about £3 million on Making The Cut (Hello, Steve Harding) and, in fairness, it did. Despite the unlikely loft-living of the hero and the depiction of gardai as hi-tech, computer nerds, it did reflect something of the realities of working-class and white-collar crime in contemporary Ireland.
As ever, British television churned out hours of drama and, as ever, a proportion of it was excellent. Of course, it too had its horrors and its mediocrities. The Beggar Bride was abysmal and Gold, Melissa and Painted Lady were scarcely better. Under- world was both sublime and unconvincing. Mixing comedy and violence, it could never quite reconcile both.
But there were The Lakes and Holding On. The former, written by Jimmy McGovern, throbbed with raw energy and dramatic power. Dealing with love, lust, class, Catholicism and provincialism, it was not merely gritty, but wonderfully vigorous.
Tony Marchant's Holding On was set in the tense and bleak London of 1997. Its dozen or so prime characters collided with each like snooker balls and it echoed the brutishness of much 1990s living. Unlike This Life, it had no soap opera communality to soften the blows but it remained engrossing. Reflecting the fragmentation of society, which has inevitably accompanied the culture of greed, it was poignant as well as brutish. As much lament as sermon, it did speak to, as well as for, the times in which we live.
In television comedy, Steve Coogan aka Tony Ferrino aka Alan Partridge was the star of the year. Partridge, in particular, showing himself to be more than a mere parody of an ego-driven chat-show host, reflected the aloneness of so many contemporary people. Mind you, he's so selfish, thick and obnoxious, it's no surprise he lives in a hotel and badgers strangers to go for a drink with him.
Since Rupert Murdoch stole the football, sport on terrestrial channels has had to find expression in game shows, chat shows and documentaries. This year's documentaries included Au Revoir Cantona, Football Dreams, Have Boots Will Travel (about Roy Keane), even Football Wives. None of it is quite the same as the live action, of course. But even Sky Sports is beginning to look a trifle jaded - the inevitable legacy of hyping sport to absurdity. Naseem Hamed, for instance, has now become such a joke that even his genuine boxing talent is unlikely to be able to save him.
Soap opera continues to grab the highest average ratings. Glenroe celebrated its 15th birthday in 1997 and the success of Fair City reflects the growing urbanisation of Ireland. The soap controversy of the year was generated by Eastenders. In its depictions of Ireland and Irish people, the Cockney soap opted for an insulting, London-mediated dollop of nonsense. Yes, we are often too thin-skinned about how others (especially the British) see us - but EastEnders was unacceptably ignorant and patronising.
One other TV moment deserves mention. It happened on THE CLIVE ANDERSON SHOW. Anderson was interviewing The Bee Gees, who let it slip that they used to call themselves LES TOSSERS. "You'll always be LES TOSSERS to me," quipped the host. His guests froze. Two minutes later they walked off.
"Some people," as Alan Partridge might say.