Joe Duffy is the warrior messiah of Irish broadcasting, a righteous and occasionally wrathful journalistic rainmaker who routinely showers fire and brimstone on those he regards as snake-oil salesmen. On Liveline, his weekday radio phone-in, Duffy specialises in blunt speaking and hard questions. On the seventh day, however, he rests. Evidently mistaking religion for a light-hearted matter, the erstwhile Old Testament rabble-rouser mutates into a new age sycophant, swapping his critical faculties and thunderbolts for indulgence and a tickling stick.
Joe Duffy’s Spirit Level is religious affairs television at its most weak-kneed. The series is a souped-up, sugar-added version of a worthy-but-dull gabfest which used to go out early on Sunday evenings. Relocated to lunchtime, the new-look show combines the halo-polishing of a revivalist meeting with the tastebud-teasing of a cookery demonstration: happy-clappy meets yummy-scrummy.
The deployment of food as a talking point — highlighting its role as an entrée to alien cultures — is the programme’s most conspicuous innovation. Discussion of “spiritual and ethical topics” remains the centrepiece but each debate is now topped and tailed with the preparation and serving of exotic dishes by guest chefs. What we get, therefore, is an evangelist’s notion of a working lunch: a ritualised beanfeast of pies and piety, God and gammon.
Irish television needs more cookery programmes like the Middle East needs more sectarianism. The schedules are already stuffed to bursting with foodie franchises of varying degrees of palatability. However, the introduction of a recipe section to the Spirit Level missal is crucial to its pitch for a bigger and more attentive audience. “Food for thought” is, inevitably, the catchphrase chosen for the rejigged format. In truth, the smugness of the proceedings merits a different tagline: catering for the converted.
Sooner or later, TV will have to start treating religion and religiosity with the deadly seriousness they deserve. Swathes of the world are literally in flames thanks to the burning zeal of the faithful. Everywhere you look, there’s another hot-headed holy-book basher, preaching peace and love with a clenched fist. In post-Catholic Ireland, oppressive ideas rooted in the supernatural still hold sway. On TV, however, religious faith continues to be presented as an incontestably beneficial force, a domain filled with nothing but good works and good people.
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The Duffy of Liveline would be the ideal host for a more grown-up TV forum in which religious assertions were scrutinised as robustly as political assertions — which is, essentially, what they are. Sceptical, mischievous and hair-triggered in his intolerance of waffle, he is a consummate devil’s advocate. Unfortunately, the Duffy of Spirit Level is virtually unrecognisable from his radio alter ego. Even his voice sounds different, each word over-enunciated, softly spoken and imbued with the solicitude of a trendy cleric hosting a retreat.
Last Sunday’s guest chef was Lina Gautam, an accomplished exponent of Nepalese cuisine and a Hindu. While she heated up a chickpea salad and spicy lamb choila, she boiled down the chief articles of her faith. Hinduism, she explained, is God-based and prophet-centred. Reincarnation is a core belief, as is reverence for certain plants. “We believe that basil is our god,” she said.
Duffy made lowing noises but it was difficult to tell whether he was biting his tongue or licking his lips. Eventually, he conducted a modicum of pot-stirring. “The downside of the Hindu religion is the caste system, isn’t it?” he asked. Lina agreed that, yes, strict social stratification remains a central tenet. A person deemed low caste by birth can never rise above this classification. On radio, Duffy might have questioned the wisdom of any ideology that relies on such antiquated and damaging assumptions. In the enfeebling cocoon of a TV kumbayathon, however, he contented himself with a brief grimace of distaste. Duffy would probably justify his reluctance to pose awkward questions by arguing that it’s not a TV presenter’s place to challenge the beliefs of others. However, in the absence of journalism, religious-affairs broadcasting degenerates into advertising.
Religious crusading of the medieval variety was explored by Holy War — What Are They Fighting For?, a rudimentary documentary about Islamic terrorism, broadcast as part of the patchy Disclosure strand. Produced and narrated by Conor Tiernan, the programme investigated rumoured Irish links to Isis but found nothing worth reporting. The commentary was top-heavy with academics who claimed expertise on counterterrorism and security, but offered little insight into either. Asked how the latter-day upsurge in Islamist extremism was likely to end, they shrugged. “The way that plays out remains to be seen,” declared one. Thanks, Sherlock.
Holy War was a far cry from exemplary journalism but, after the condescension of Spirit Level, it felt like a blessed release. Too much sweet talk turns the stomach.
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■ Disclosure: Holy War — What Are They Fighting For? | TV3, Mon