The LA underbelly, cynical consultants, an incompetent private eye, a golf geezer, Jerry Lee Lewis and ageing ballroom dancers - it's been a busy TV week for John Byrne.
Reviewed: Ray Donovan (Wednesday, Sky Atlantic); House of Lies (Wednesday, Sky Atlantic); Bored to Death (Friday, Sky Atlantic); An Evening with Peter Alliss (Wednesday, BBC Two); Rock ‘N’ Roll America: Be My Baby(Friday, BBC Four); The Gleneagle (Sunday, RTÉ One)
There's been quite a lot of traffic on the box this last week with several shows either starting or returning. Season two of True Detective is proving to be abysmal, so the one I was most looking forward to was Ray Donovan (Wednesday, Sky Atlantic). After a cracking second season I wondered if the writers could keep up the standard. I'm wondering no more.
Initially a sub-Sopranos tale about a Mr Fixit in the lush and dangerous undergrowth of Los Angeles, Liev Schrieber stamped a brooding authority on the lead role from the off, but the show's substantial list of characters have either grown in stature and complexity, or gotten bumped-off. At this stage it's on the verge of becoming a great show.
Part of the attraction is the complexity of the Donovan family. Ray's wife Abby is played with a delightful sweet 'n' sour mix by Paula Malcomson, the Belfast-born actress who – depending on your age - might be recalled from Deadwood (she played Trixie) or The Hunger Games (Mrs Everdeen).
Jon Voight, meanwhile, is redefining his lengthy career with a remarkable turn as Mickey, Ray's charmingly duplicitous father, an ex-con whose callous disregard for human life is only matched by his desire to do good - as he sees it. Then there are Ray's emotionally-damaged brothers, Bunchy and Terry. Right. I'm stopping there.
Season three begins with Ray's old mentor Ezra, superbly played by the great Elliott Gould, on his death bed. It's clearly a time of change on the show as, following on from season two, Ray is living apart from his wife and children, and refuses to have anything to do with former sidekicks.
As the ball gets rolling, Ray is brought to the lavish home of Andrew Finney (guest star Ian McShane), a wealthy man who enlists Ray to get his kidnapped son back, no questions asked. Mickey, meanwhile, is up to old tricks: eyeing up an opportunity while doling out his distinctive and deadly form of justice.
In the Donovan-owned gym, with brother Terry in prison, reluctant boss Bunchy fails to stand up to some Mexicans. Abby is helping Bunchy out, but not impressing daughter Bridget. The hour whizzes by and I'm convinced more than ever that this show is on the verge of greatness. Full of tough, messed-up characters, it's a metaphor for an LA that's far removed from the glossy celebrity life that attracts so many envious glances from afar. For many of its residents, Los Angeles truly is the city of the dead.
Both House of Lies (Wednesday, Sky Atlantic) and Bored to Death (Friday, Sky Atlantic) also returned in recent days, with House of Lies' fourth season brightened by the addition of Valorie Curry, who was outstanding as cult member Emma Hill in The Following. Otherwise, it's just the usual cynicism from Marty Kaan and company. Great cast, bitter satire, Kristen Bell. And yet it still comes across as a Porkies for posh people in expensive suits. It could do with a little subtlety.
Bored to Death was much more fun, although I'd readily concede that it's an acquired taste. The Big Bang Theory this ain't. Already axed three years ago, its third and final season arrived at last with Jason Schwartzman, Ted Danson and Zach Galifianakis once again leading a three-pronged, dope-fueled charge through hipster Brooklyn.
Schwartzman plays Jonathan Ames, struggling novelist and a dismal private eye, with Zach Galifianakis as Ray Hueston, comic book artist and Ames' best friend, while Danson is comedy jazz as George Christopher, the amoral father figure to Ames.
All three characters got an impressive start to the season, with Jonathan learning that he was the product of a sperm donor before getting framed for murder. George reunites with his daughter Emily but is dismayed to discover she's marrying someone of his vintage, while the decreasingly infantile Ray spends time with his biological baby son and almost learns to grow up.
Laconic, self-obsessed, idiosyncratic and neurotic, Bored to Death has more life in one episode than a whole season of New Girl. And it's funny. If you haven't yet seen it, and particularly if you like the films of Wes Anderson, give it a try.
The UK media has understandably been awash in recent days with reports and opinion pieces on what the new Conservative government has in store for the BBC. There are all kinds of veiled threats being made and from this distance you'd have to be rooting for the programme rather than policy makers.
Two fine examples stood out for me in the last week: An Evening with Peter Alliss (Wednesday, BBC Two) and Rock ‘N’ Roll America: Be My Baby(Friday, BBC Four). You could be an expert or a toe-dipper watching these two very different programmes, and come away hugely entertained and impressed.
First up, on the eve of the British Open, there was a timely tribute to Peter Alliss, the voice of golf on BBC TV for many decades. Splitting between interviews with and comments from various friends, family members, golfers and broadcasters, and a one-man show Alliss performed in London, the result was an informative and warm summation of a quite singular life. I'm not a big golf fan, but this was engrossing. Allisss oozes PC-free charm and bonhomie.
Even more impressive was Rock ‘N’ Roll America: Be My Baby. This three-parter gave a great insight to a fascinating period in pop, as the raw, revolutionary sound of rock 'n' roll gradually gave way to the Brill Building, girl groups (The Shangri-Las! WOW!) and the chiselled likes of Fabian.
Starting with the tragic death of Buddy Holly in 1959, it ended with the British invasion, but approached its subject matter with an energy and freshness that was invigorating. Many of the interviewees were superb, particularly a now 79-year-old Jerry Lee Lewis, Roy Orbinson's former producer Roy Foster, Arlene Smith of The Chantels and loads more. Where do they find these people? Not forgetting Ben E King, in what turned out to be his last-ever interview. How they fitted all this into an hour, and with such informative detail, is beyond me.
Finally, a big thumbs-up to The Gleneagle (Sunday, RTÉ One), the most fun I had all week. A follow-on from last year's The Shelbourne, this fly-on-the-wall documentary series opened with an introduction to the hotel, its former and current staff, but the highlight was the 30th annual Lisdoonvarna Reunion.
Attracting all sorts, both from home and abroad, this is an old-fashioned dance event that encompasses a weekend full of live music, dancing sessions, all-night reverie and some very single men. The energy and stamina of the attendees, who all seemed of pensionable age, was impressive. And the banter was bountiful. But the taxi dance – where woman moved in a line and men asked whoever they fancied for a spin across the floor – was like something out of The Ballroom of Romance. My wife thought it was hilarious.
The Gleneagle will make for a fascinating series if they can keep this up.
John Byrne
