Box Stupid

Though not one for New Year resolutions and other such bunk, for 2007 I’m thinking it might be an idea to be less critical and disparaging in some of my observations. Especially concerning television. Or rather, British television.

After all, weren’t we taught if you haven’t got a good word to say about anything, don’t say anything at all? But given it’s not yet 2007, there’s time for one last grumble.

I’d planned a post of my Top Ten television shows of the year, particularly since I could do a list of films due to a growing lack of enthusiasm for the cinema. It would have been up already had I not decided to wait until after Christmas, just in case something wonderful leapt out of the schedules at the last minute. Which means I’ve either been infected with a modicum of blind optimism or gone utterly demented.

The answer, unsurprisingly, is of course the latter. Because this year Christmas television has been especially cock. Of course television over the holiday period isn’t supposed to be good. It’s there to serve as a time-out for the nation between gorging itself immobile, tiresome games and escalating family feuds.

Even so, when a showing of Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl, which has been available on DVD for three years now, scores the highest rating on Boxing Day with 10.1 million viewers, it’s pretty obvious something is incredibly wrong. In fact the screening came third overall over the two-day period.

Top, inexplicably, was The Vicar of Dibley on Christmas Day. 11.4 million people watched. Frankly I’d prefer to have my genitals pressed against an industrial sander coated in bleach for an extended period of time.

Apparently one of the plot threads involved the gormless idiot-girl in the series becoming convinced she was the last living descendant of Jesus after deciphering the clues in Dan Brown's novel The Da Vinci Code. What is that book, three years old now? That’s writing with its finger firmly on the pulse. And a thumb firmly up the butt.

The remaining comedies were either a litany of trite catchphrases in place of jokes and grotesque caricatures instead of character, or tired family sitcoms. With their obvious chuckles and casual racism, they wouldn’t have looked out of place in the 1970s (or at least from a time when Dawn French could still see her vagina). Repeats of Porridge and Dad’s Army were once again on hand to show how desperately unfunny this current crop is.

In terms of drama, The Ruby in the Smoke was good. I love Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy but never got around to the Sally Lockhart quartet, which he describes as “old-fashioned Victorian blood-and-thunder”. Any story when the innocent young heroine has to inhale opium to unlock her past is all right by me. But ultimately it lacked something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

Then there was the new version of Dracula, which managed to be even more irritating than Coppola’s 1992 version. Described in Bram Stoker’s epistolary novel as a ‘tall old man’ and certainly an imposing figure in all the previous adaptations, this time around the Count was anything but. Marc Warren, who specialises in playing weasels lacked any real presence. The silly wig didn’t help either.

And finally there was, of course, the Doctor Who Christmas episode. (Calling it a special would just be plain wrong). All the critics that jabber on about how brilliant this show is and how it has revitalised television drama really should be hung upside down and beaten around the face and neck until their heads come loose.

Useless, lazy rubbish, this was the fairy on top the Christmas Tree of Stupid. Anyone over the age of twelve who raves about the show is either officially retarded or in need of an MRI.

To keep with tradition, all the familiar elements were once again in place: piss poor pacing, a stupid storyline capped off with the obligatory deus ex machina, a nasty intrusive soundtrack and none too special effects. Darkness in Legend, already appropriated in the previous series, was referenced once again for the villainess, along with healthy dollop of Shelob added to the mix.

Being sicked up on would have been more entertaining. The only reason we stand for this kind of nonsense is... it’s Christmas! But even that excuse is beginning to wear thin.