BACK IN the Seventies — the supposed golden days of musical journalism — music writers would often place themselves centre-stage. Journalists such as Paul Morley and Ian Penman would ensure that they were as important to the story as the rock star they were interviewing. Occasionally it made for entertaining reading but the usual response of the reader would be to turn the page quickly. You knew that there would probably be the odd gem to be found amid the impenetrable sludge of pretension and selfindulgence but life was far too short.
In Ruby Wax we have come to the apotheosis of this concept of the journalist as star. Instead of wordy navel-gazing, of course, these days we have half hour, keep-the-viewers’- attention-at-any-cost, titbits of gossip, narcissism and frankly, bilge.
Ruby Wax with . . . Joan Collins (BBC One) did make me chuckle once, because, it cannot be denied, Ms Wax has a deliciously sly sense of humour. When discussing the uncertain age of her subject’s author sister, Jackie, Ruby suggested: “We could get an expert — someone who reads the rings in trees.” Not only was Wax taking a pop at Jackie Collins she was openly insulting Joan, who had already admitted that Jackie was her younger sister.
That was poor return, however, for the investment of a whole half-hour of my life. The rest of the time (the programme, not my life) was spent flitting around St Tropez which, like Cannes, is just essentially Mayfair-on-Sea, with Wax gibbering on about her brief bisexual experience, her bottom, her Jewishness, how she is terrified of getting old (join the club, honey) and her fondness for young men (already a topic covered comprehensively in previous outings). She may have asked Ms Collins something vaguely interesting but, by that stage, having endured an interminable saga initiated by Wax asking the owners of a yacht for help in acquiring nail polish remover, I was behind the sofa looking for interestingly-shaped balls of fluff.
You might say: “Sure, Ruby Wax is pure nonsense but what’s wrong with pure nonsense now and again?” I say, please do not ever make me endure another episode; there is enough of this tosh on television already thank you (Hello, Graham Norton). Ruby Wax is too sharp to be such a half-trick pony. She is selling us and herself short with this rubbish.
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Given the torture the BBC inflicted on me with Ruby Wax, it may appear that it is not my favourite media organisation right now. Well, that’s as maybe, but it still does two things very well — populist science and drama, both of which featured on BBC One last night.
Human Senses came to an end with a typically focused and enjoyable look at balance. Along with some species of flightless birds we are the only beasts on the planet that walk on our hind limbs. How do we do it? An inner ear network of tubes the size of a pea, our cerebellum, our muscles and our eyes. Eyes? Have you ever tried standing on one leg with your eyes open then attempted the exercise having closed them? They tell us where we are with regard to the landscape and so help us make muscular adjustments. And it also cleared up for me why inebriation causes us to lose our balance and make exaggerated movements. Alcohol affects the cerebellum, which sends messages to our muscles — if you drink enough it can also affect the little pea. Which explains to me the behaviour of a girlfriend I had many years ago who, after one too many, would follow a conversation as if watching a tennis match played on a court the size of a football pitch with the players using rapid-fire rocket launchers for racquets.
As for drama, well the Beeb still does come up with crackers such as Spooks, a smart, well-made, human series, which manages to enthral as well as thrill. Its development of characters is excellent, too, as you would expect with people involved such as David Wolstencroft and Howard Brenton.
At first I thought that Matthew Macfadyen, who plays one of the most senior MI5 operatives, Tom Quinn, looked too much like the dowdy snooker player Stephen Hendry to be convincing as a spy. He was a tad wooden as well. But as the second series has progressed he has become the most interesting protagonist. With his love life stymied by the nature of his job, he does what all bosses do — he takes it out on his staff and, more dangerously, his boss.
Last night’s episode was a slightly far-fetched tale that involved a Colombian drug cartel and an oil company embroiled in dark, nasty stuff. As ever Spooks was not without faults (mostly to do with the flawed plot) but it was still brilliant television and, unexpectedly, hugely moving.
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The only problem with Spooks is how many national security issues that threaten the entire nation’s well-being can the writers concoct? Maybe they should resurrect Wat Tyler for a rerun of 1381’s Peasants Revolt, with Tyler updated as a devilish mobile-phone toting Kentishman, intent on anarchy. No? Well how about the MI5 engage with a slightly rotund American whose mindless, self-obsessed propaganda, secretly funded by a major public company, is turning the whole country’s brains into mush. Too far-fetched? You’re probably right.
Joe Joseph is away