TV REVIEW: The Rutland, RTÉ1, Tuesday; Fight or Flight,RTÉ1, Monday; Higher Ground,RTÉ1, Wednesday; Desperate Romantics, BBC 2, Tuesday - WE LIKE TO drink in Ireland, and aren't we proud of it. There are problems, sure – negative health effects, street violence, car accidents, we won't deny it. But drawing undue attention to those problems is considered to be kind of like turning the lights on and the music off halfway through a good party – why spoil the fun?
Watching the first part The Rutland, a sensitive, well-judged two-part documentary about the addiction clinic, it became obvious why we need to turn the lights on and the music off. Alcoholics and drug addicts and gamblers are forceful reminders that the pastimes we enjoy so much are damaging and corrupting when allowed to consume us.
As a result, we tend to underestimate the prevalence of addiction in this country, and, while we all know people who have battled their demons, our understanding of addiction is woefully simplistic. What’s worse, our broad understanding of the painful process of recovery is almost entirely lacking. Get a grip, we seem to think, pull yourself together. Small wonder that so many addicts find it difficult to get help, when that process is so assuredly kept in the shadows.
Nuala Cunningham and David Blake Knox's film does an admirable job of bringing recovery out of the shadows. The whole notion of a documentary from inside the Rutland is contentious in itself – the public exposure could conceivably compromise the recovery for some of those featured. But The Rutlandwas a frank and brave piece of work, full of compassion for its subjects.
There was Jessica, whose cocaine consumption had spiralled out of control; Jason, who had insulated himself from bullying through cannabis and then heroin; Johnny, whose gambling and drinking had threatened his job and relationships; and Barbara, who battled first anorexia and latterly alcoholism. We watched them struggle to settle at the centre, try to come to terms with their addiction, confide in the group, respond to the rigorous self-analysis, and ultimately reach a point where they had to stand on their own two feet. “It’s almost like a room full of mirrors,” former director of the Rutland Stephen Rowen says of group therapy, and it was clear that for many of these people, their own reflection was what they had most difficulty with.
This was an unfussy production, evoking the stillness and quotidian routines that help to put order on disordered lives. Throughout, there was an accumulating sense of restrained hope, a faith in people's ability to survive that seemed to be borne out by the group's increasing self-awareness. But The Rutlandhad a heartbreaking twist.
We saw Jason and Jessica preparing to leave, all smiles and a few tears as they faced the daunting task of readjusting to a changed life outside. Then we saw Barbara go through the same process. “I’m coming out of here with a deeper strength, and a desire for life,” she said. But then the narrator informed us that within five weeks of leaving the clinic, she had passed away. The brutal reality of addiction and recovery was laid bare – the sense of hope that the programme had fostered was abruptly punctured.
“That’s the secret of this place, you have to be brutally, brutally honest about yourself,” said Jason, but we were left having to evaluate how honest people can manage to be with themselves and others in the face of addiction.
FROM AN EXAMINATION of addiction to a rumination on the nature of violence – it was that sort of midsummer week, evidently. Just as plenty of people's lives are affected by addiction and alcoholism, many people's lives are affected by alcohol-fuelled violence. Fight or Flightwas made by one such victim, film-maker Peter McCarthy, who was attacked and glassed on a night out in Galway a few years ago. While the facial scars healed, his psyche was badly damaged. How badly? Well, bad enough that he decided to take off to Thailand to learn Muay Thai boxing, the most savage national sport in existence, even counting Aussie Rules and Cork against Kilkenny in the hurling. This sport permits contact by fists, feet, knees and elbows – we should just be thankful headbutting is no longer allowed.
While this might sound like the plot of a blood-soaked revenge thriller starring, who else, Jean-Claude Van Damme, the film McCarthy and co-director Shane Sutton crafted a commendably surreal meditation on violence and anger – if meditation can contain numerous roundhouse kicks to the ribs.
McCarthy’s 18 months in Thailand were a quixotic voyage of self-discovery, during which his repressed anger – at his attackers, yes, but also his brother, teachers, bullies and so on – was given full vent in the confines of a boxing ring. Drifting around the country, fighting in semi-professional bouts with locals, McCarthy often appeared closer to losing his mind than finding himself.
It is no surprise that his attempt to find inner peace in a Buddhist monastery frustrated rather than calmed him, for this was a portrait of a man fixated on expressing his rage. He could maintain an ascetic dedication to training, but not contemplation. Indeed, you don’t need to be a psychiatrist to diagnose post-traumatic stress disorder, and, while the insights into his mind wee fleeting, they revealed a lot of confusion and, yes, anger.
An impressive production given its shoestring budget, there was an intentionally loose, disorienting quality to the film, with an elliptical rhythm in which regret and revulsion occasionally coincided in flashes of violence.
“Fighting isn’t in my nature,” he concluded, a belated realisation that engaging in violence isn’t necessarily the best way to deal with inner conflict.
IF YOU THINK Dragons' Dentakes a tad too much pleasure in rubbishing the plans of the hopeful businesspeople who come looking for money and mentorship, then I'd wager Higher Groundis for you.
Focusing on rural enterprise, this is like a Dragons' Denroadshow, showing you the sort of mentoring we only hear the dragons promise. With sensible advice coming from Teagasc's Paul McCarthy and journalist Peter Young, agricultural start-ups across the land will be hoping for a dose of their common sense and know-how.
The first episode featured Brian Phelan, who was trying to set up a company called Glenfin Farm to sell duck eggs, which he enthusiastically testified were better than hen eggs. This "fledgling business" ( Higher Groundisn't above obvious puns, it would appear), had plenty of ducks, and would soon have plenty of eggs, but looked to be sorely lacking a business strategy or distribution plan – he truly was on a wing and a prayer (badoom, tish!). But with Peter and Paul to the rescue, Brian managed to get his product onto the shelves of Avoca and onto the menu of L'Écrivain, as well as a host of other outlets. The future for Glenfin Farm looks rosy, astonishingly, and it was heartening to see Phelan's hard work pay off.
There was an honest-to-goodness, homegrown feel about Higher Ground, not unlike one of those wholesome food products from a small independent producer that compensates for lack of branding and advertising pizzazz by doing what it says on the tin, packet or carton.
EASEL-Y AROUSED PRE-RAPHAELITE RAKES BRUSH UP ON THEIR BAWDINESS
The point of period costume dramas, I always thought, was what goes unsaid, what lies between the lines, and the vagaries of grand passions repressed. That and some flouncy fashion. Well, Desperate Romanticsdoesn't disappoint on the flouncy fashion front, but there's not much unsaid, there's little in the lines – never mind between them – and it most certainly doesn't repress passions. The buttoned-up appeal of an Austen adaptation or a Middlemarchmini-series is here replaced by a buttoned-down bawdiness. Just to ensure we don't miss the point, we were treated to a roomful of naked "models" within 90 seconds of the beginning of the first episode.
Relating the ribald adventures of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, that 19th-century collective of artists and dreamers who made quite an impression on Victorian London, Desperate Romantics was pitched by some at the BBC as Entouragewith easels. Two episodes in, and it's quite clear this is more Carry Onthan Candleford. The plot follows the central trio of John Millais, William Holman Hunt and the raffish Dante Gabriel Rossetti (forever threatening to unsheathe his tumescent . . . paintbrush) as they pursue the services of red-haired beauty Lizzie Siddal and the approval of critic John Ruskin, repeatedly. As for the art, well, it's almost incidental.
Having fun with historical characters isn't difficult – everyone from Tom Stoppard to Asterix has pulled it off – but with its forced bawdiness, irritatingly intrusive score and leaden script, Desperate Romanticsis about as much fun as, oh, having to pose in the nip for an art class.
tvreview@irishtimes.com
Hilary Fannin is on leave