The Rose of Tralee | RTE1, Mon & Tues
War of the Three Kings | BBC2 NI, Sun
What about the kettle?” asked Daniel O’Donnell, as he began the call-and-response segment of his showstopping number Our House Is a Home. The Kincasslagh smoothie has a reputation for craven blandness but, under the circumstances, there was something almost courageous about his willingness to broach the vexed subject of the watched pot that never boils.
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The Rose of Tralee was another flawless crowd-pleaser for fans of perky prattle, ditzy doggerel and rickety renditions of Disney ditties. For everybody else, it was a confounding mess, as cornball sentiment continually bubbled over but refused to heat up.
The long-running pageant makes for a more interesting pub debate than it does a television spectacle. Some commentators accuse the contest of barely concealed misogyny but, in truth, its primary crime is in-yer-face monotony. Any process involving grip-and-grin interviews with 32 wannabe princesses is bound to get very old very quickly and there is something especially wearying about the grim determination for niceness-at-all-costs exhibited by most of the dames in the Dome.
Every August, critics of the Rose are ritually denounced as joyless prigs with no appreciation for real fun. However, none of these self-appointed cultural guardians ever explains what is real or funny about the six-hour schmaltz-fest. Even if the contest were authentic or poignant or entertaining, its shoddy production values would be an insult to viewers. Before they totter on, many of the Roses are introduced via short promos whose sound and picture quality is atrocious.
Once again, the real winner was Dáithí Ó Sé, a broadcaster whose signature assets are unembarrassability and a tin ear. “Absolutely brilliant,” he tells every Rose who performs a party piece, even if she has just unleashed a singing voice that could flatten a warehouse of Frozen merchandise at 50 paces.
The most alarming development in last week’s shindig was the increased attention lavished on the escorts, those gleefully antic male companions charged with providing an unrelentingly dim backdrop against which the radiant splendour of the Roses can be showcased in full bloom. Traditionally, the escorts have been cast as the show’s resident eejits, the dumbbells of the ball. Sexism courses through the bloodstream of this competition like beer through the Dome audience, but at least the sexism cuts both ways. Every Rose is Miss Congeniality, every escort is Mr Bean. Now, in a misguided attempt at modernisation, the organisers have evidently decided that we should hear more about the hopes, dreams and grooming routines of the men inside the monkey suits. At this point, even the most easily amused sofa-spud should shout: “Stop.” The antidote to the chauvinism of the Rose parade-ring is not the introduction of a Lovely Lads competition.
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Ancient cultural insanities were also the focus of War of the Three Kings, the opening instalment in a two-part drama-documentary about the complicated state of neighbour relations in these parts in the 14th century. The series’ central concern is a “forgotten war”, fought on Irish soil in 1315, involving Ireland, Scotland and England.
All things considered, forgotten wars are a bit of a godsend for the inhabitants of these islands, and a responsible citizen could argue that every effort should be made to ensure they stay forgotten. However, there are plenty of good and timely reasons for this particular dip into the internecine carnage of yesteryear.
Like all the best history programmes, the venture simultaneously deepens our understanding of the past and highlights the complexities overlooked by a simplistic view of the present. The union between Scotland and England is, once again, hot news. As is the relationship between Ireland and Scotland. The prospect of a UK exit from the European Union has intensified talk about another Scottish independence referendum. Back home, meanwhile, some of the planned 2016 commemorations seem predicated on the myth that the Irish are the world’s most oppressed people ever.
War of the Three Kings looks like a spin-off from Game of Thrones, but it’s actually an engagingly serious piece of factual storytelling that invites viewers to make connections between then and now and what happened in between.
Nationalism is on the rise again — especially nationalism fuelled by a sense of victimhood. Misty-eyed jingoists, here and across the water, choose to see themselves as the good guys, a uniquely noble people cursed by the intrusions of rampaging foreigners. They believe history bears them out but, more often than not, it doesn’t.
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As War of the Three Kings illustrates, there were no good guys. The Irish, the Scots and the English are bound by blood ties, but also by centuries of devotion to spilling each other’s blood on the flimsiest pretexts — usually involving the tantrums and tiaras of petulant kings.
Mr Pot meet Mr Kettle.