Genius, inspiration and lots of hard work separate our biggest superstars from other so-called talents
Add One Shot with Ed Sheeran to your watchlist Ed Sheeran didn’t get to where he is without a parfumier’s nose for the zeitgeist. His new Netflix documentary – an hour long and filmed in one take by Philip Barantini, director of the hit drama Adolescence – sees him wandering the sunlit streets of Manhattan, strumming his guitar and singing the songs that have made him millions. It’s packed with heartwarming moments, from a surprise proposal to an open-bus singalong, but the slick production would count for nothing without, at its core, this modern troubadour’s skill in connecting with other people through music. How does he do it? For me, the best part of all of the “intimate” superstar documentaries – from Sheeran to Taylor Swift and Beyoncé to Coldplay – is when they show us the effort and inspiration involved. In an empty stadium before a gig, Sheeran explains the loop pedal he has made his own: “The key is timing, getting it on the one is the most important thing… then you add the keys…” The result: Shape of You, the first song to reach two billion streams on Spotify. Back in his home studio, he tells his producers that his wife told him off for taking their daughter out of her cot – “She’ll stop being trained to sleep, it’s a bad habit…” The result: Bad Habits, another two billion streams. Similarly, in Swift’s Miss Americana doc, the songstress is seen pouring her heart out, singing lyrics she’s written into her phone. She stands, hand in the air, ad-libbing as she goes, before shouting in amazed delight, “Did we just do a whole verse and chorus?” Sheeran says the initial spark of a good song is an unmatchable feeling. In Apple’s Beatles film, cameras catch the moment Paul McCartney plays around on his bass guitar and pulls Get Back (the song that gives the doc its title) out of the universe – it’s spine-tingling stuff. The Greatest Night in Pop charts how Lionel Richie herded dozens of the world’s greatest singers into musical cohesion to record We Are the World and it becomes clear that the star wattage of Michael Jackson or Bob Dylan is matched by the dazzling vocal skills of Darryl Hall and Steve Perry. As is usual for me, all roads lead to George Michael, but not to wade again through the tumult of his personal life. Instead, I picture him rehearsing in Paris, asking his backing singers to “come in half a beat earlier”. And his shyness at the Band Aid recording in 1984, until he stepped up to the mic, told producer Midge Ure, “That line is hard for me to sing powerfully, if you wanted to change the notation to start off higher…” and forever changed the whole song. None of this means these people aren’t capable of being monsters, capable of hurting others and/or themselves. Burt Bacharach once wrote a song with wife Carole Bayer Sager without realising the lyrics were about him, while one of George’s people once told me, “Don’t interview him, it’ll break your heart. Go back to the tunes.” The best of these people might be in their music. Such moments reveal the difference between them and other so-called “talents”, who increasingly inhabit the same showbusiness space. It’s time to invent another word: unlike reality TV types who require the oxygen of a camera to exist, musical superstars spend most of their time generating something out of nothing, an exercise demanding solitude, honesty and courage. As Sheeran explains, “It’s scary putting out your deepest, darkest thoughts to the world.” We’re just lucky that they do.
Why did some great postwar actors become better known for their hellraising than their performances?
Add Richard Burton: Wild Genius to your watchlist As Richard Burton appears on screen in kaleidoscopic colour, dressed in full armour and atop a horse, he is applauded by the adoring masses. The narrator proclaims, “In ten short years, he has conquered the world.” As it happens, he’s talking about Burton’s character, Alexander the Great, in the eponymous movie, but the words could apply to the actor himself. It was 1956, by when the young Welshman had already embarked on an extraordinary ascent, from the mining village of Pontrhydyfen, to Oxford University, to the London stage and Hollywood. Actor Siân Phillips remembers his West End debut – “he walked on and the whole theatre went cold” – while his first Hollywood role brought him an Oscar nomination, the first of seven. His voice, his presence, his love for poetry were all among his many splendid gifts, and he in turn offered them up to us. Why then, if you say the name “Richard Burton”, does a life of drama and diamonds immediately come to mind, one spent jumping between yachts and private jets in the glare of the paparazzi lens and, of course, a double marriage to Elizabeth Taylor? Because that’s all true, too. Burton was the primus inter pares of Britain’s still beloved mid-century stars, alongside the likes of Peter O’Toole, Richard Harris, Oliver Reed and co – a group of talented actors for whom the term “hellraiser” became a shorthand, as famous for their reckless real-life behaviour as for their undoubted dramatic talents. What was the unifying element, and why do they still bewitch us? For a start, they were all preternaturally gifted. Peter O’Toole “appeared on stage like an electric light,” is how he’s remembered by Anthony Hopkins, while Richard Harris brought us the tenderest of Camelots and even MacArthur Park (a 60s anthem I didn’t even realise for years was the same Richard Harris!). And they all arrived in London during an era of still unresolved postwar trauma, class collision and hedonistic freedom, when their acting skills meant they were each given the keys to a sweetshop beyond their wildest dreams. Michael Sheen sympathetically describes the pull between Burton’s loves – stage versus screen, devoted first wife Sybil versus passionate lover Elizabeth, Wales versus the universe – asking if drink was the escape. Whatever, it must have turned all of these world-class performers into crashing bores and hell to live with. Siân Phillips remembers one drunken rage culminating in her husband O’Toole demanding she be packed and gone from the house in two hours. The saddest contributor in the new BBC2 Burton doc is the friend who first saw him on stage in 1952 and then again in the last chapter of his life – “he was performing, but he was lost”. Laurence Olivier’s tipped successor had become the man who screamed through a full glass at a late-era director, “I could have been Lear!” Burton was always fascinated by Faustus, the man who traded his soul for power, riches and the most beautiful woman in the world, but the fate of Icarus would seem just as pertinent. The ones who flew not quite as high – Albert Finney, Michael Caine – went on to enduring greatness and happy, long lives. Anthony Hopkins, now sober for 50 years, has twice played the Lear that Burton never did. Certainly, nobody, at least that we know about, behaves like this in 2025, which is no doubt a relief for all studio executives, pub landlords and stars’ loved ones. But it means, as Kenneth Branagh says, almost wistfully, “No one is going to tell stories about us in 50 years’ time.” Was it all worth it? Harris would say so: “At least you knew I was here.”
Get rid of the BBC? Careful what you wish for…
Once the pride of Britain, the BBC now faces its biggest crisis yet – but would we really be better off without it?
Decades ago, I joined a cruise in blue waters off the southern coast of Turkey, where our captain spoke no words of English except "tips here" – until somehow, through the usual blustering British-person-meets-rest-of-world chats, he established where I worked. For the next three days, I was summoned to mealtimes with a shout of "BBC" that echoed across the Med. It was a different time: when our national broadcaster’s brand was considered up there with Coca-Cola for global recognition, and the NHS for trustworthiness. 30 years later, and mentions of "the BBC" once again abound, but this time to a collective eye-roll at yesterday’s headlines that a catalogue of controversies has culminated in both the director-general and the CEO of BBC News falling on their swords over the editing of a 2021 Donald Trump speech. Monday saw the BBC Chair Samir Shah add his apology for the "error of judgement" that caused the furore. Tim Davie’s resignation speech included reference to the intense personal and professional demands that have punctuated his five years in British media’s top job – those years have seen a roll-call of on-air talent disappearing from screen after a litany of behaviour variously criminal (Huw Edwards), allegedly bad (Gregg Wallace) or political (Carol Vorderman, Gary Lineker). The departures of Davie and his news chief Deborah Furness are more redolent of 2004. I was among those queuing up, some in tears, to bid a fond farewell to Greg Dyke after he quit as D-G, as did his Board Chairman, after the government complained about the news coverage of the dossier – "sexed up" as alleged by reporter Andrew Gilligan – putting the case for Iraq’s nuclear weapons and justifying invasion. We know the rest. Possibly apart from some of those involved in that debacle, there were no calls then for the binning of the BBC – this week’s episode feels more rotten and existentially threatening. We learned through a memorandum leaked to The Telegraph that the BBC desperately tried to audit its own failings with an external report, both the act and results of which have given plenty of ammunition to those on both sides – that this whole thing is a politically-fuelled conspiracy to bring down the broadcaster, or that this internal, secret wrangling is more proof it’s the right time, with just two years to go before Charter Renewal – to completely disband the 103-year-old institution and rebuild in an entirely different image, one more fit for the commercial and cultural realities of 2025. Be careful what you wish for. Of course, the BBC has its faults – I cringe at some of its attempts to keep up with the kids: buying the rights to Drag Race about half a decade too late, pulling BBC Three off the linear platform before U-turning at great expense, the self-satisfaction it displays when it builds an entire schedule around one formerly charming event like Eurovision, its reliance on too few, over-exposed presenters... Nevertheless, it remains the gold standard, not just for the UK but for the world. Overseas friends cite The Goodies, Doctor Who, Kenny Everett as a central part of their childhood TV diet. They’re always surprised to learn dramas like Brideshead Revisited and Downton Abbey weren’t actually BBC titles — "it feels like something they’d do”"— pointing to the fact that the BBC’s production and training ecosystem has long ensured all broadcasting boats rise. Countries from Canada to Australia to South Africa have built their own national broadcasting institutions in the BBC image, citing the worthwhile aspiration of "trust", "authority", "grown up TV". It’s a point of abject embarrassment that, while these broadcasters build on that original vision and continue to flourish, our homebuilt mothership is left struggling to justify its existence. Among Winston Churchill's many famous quotes, he called "democracy the worst form of government, except for all the others" – and the same is true for the BBC and its place in the firmament. Look to your left, to Russia and neighbours, and you find state-sponsored, state-controlled, state-supporting TV – propaganda not programmes. Look to your right, and you have American TV. The transparently commercial imperative – the first ad break often coming straight after the opening credits – used to be a source of mirth for foreign viewers, but has now evolved into something far more nakedly and ruthlessly driven. Meanwhile, pushing against the two walls of legislation and commercial rivals like Chewbacca in the trash compactor, the BBC tries gamely to balance our diets with wholesome fodder and some glittering, expensive jewels, in a way that only it can. Of course, it needs tidying up, refreshing, streamlining, reforming – but let’s not throw out the baby with the bathwater. Life without it would look very different, and we would all be the poorer. Check out more of our TV coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more TV recommendations and reviews, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
In the wake of resignations from both the director-general and the CEO of BBC News, those calling for the closure of the BBC have not fully considered the consequences for broadcasting and Britain at large.
Decades ago, I joined a cruise in blue waters off the southern coast of Turkey, where our captain spoke no words of English except “tips here” – until somehow, through the usual blustering British-person-meets-rest-of-world chats, he established where I worked. For the next three days, I was summoned to mealtimes with a shout of “BBC” that echoed across the Med. It was a different time: when our national broadcaster’s brand was considered up there with Coca-Cola for global recognition, and NHS for trustworthiness. Thirty years later, and mentions of “the BBC” once again abound, but this time to a collective eye-roll at yesterday’s headlines that a catalogue of controversies has culminated in both the director-general and the CEO of BBC News falling on their swords over the editing of a 2021 Donald Trump speech. Monday saw the BBC Chair Samir Shah add his apology for the “error of judgement” that caused the furore. Tim Davie’s resignation speech included reference to the intense personal and professional demands that have punctuated his five years in British media’s top job – those years have seen a roll-call of on-air talent disappearing from screen after a litany of behaviour variously criminal (Huw Edwards), allegedly bad (Gregg Wallace) or political (Carol Vorderman, Gary Lineker). The departures of Davie and his news chief Deborah Furness are more redolent of 2004. I was among those queuing up, some in tears, to bid a fond farewell to Greg Dyke after he quit as D-G, as did his Board Chairman, after the government complained about the news coverage of the dossier – “sexed up” as alleged by reporter Andrew Gilligan – putting the case for Iraq’s nuclear weapons and justifying invasion. We know the rest. Possibly apart from some of those involved in that debacle, there were no calls then for the binning of the BBC — this week’s episode feels more rotten and existentially threatening. We learned through a memorandum leaked to The Telegraph that the BBC desperately tried to audit its own failings with an external report, both the act and results of which have given plenty of ammunition to those on both sides – that this whole thing is a politically fuelled conspiracy to bring down the broadcaster, or that this internal, secret wrangling is more proof it’s the right time – with just two years to go before Charter Renewal – to completely disband the 103-year-old institution and rebuild in an entirely different image, one more fit for the commercial and cultural realities of 2025. Be careful what you wish for. Of course, the BBC has its faults — I cringe at some of its attempts to keep up with the kids: buying the rights to Drag Race about half a decade too late, pulling BBC Three off the linear platform before U-turning at great expense, the self-satisfaction it displays when it builds an entire schedule around one formerly charming event like Eurovision, its reliance on too few, over-exposed presenters. Nevertheless, it remains the gold standard, not just for the UK but for the world. Overseas friends cite The Goodies, Doctor Who, Kenny Everett as a central part of their childhood TV diet. They’re always surprised to learn dramas like Brideshead Revisited and Downton Abbey weren’t actually BBC titles — “it feels like something they’d do” — pointing to the fact that the BBC’s production and training ecosystem has long ensured all broadcasting boats rise. Countries from Canada to Australia to South Africa have built their own national broadcasting institutions in the BBC image, citing the worthwhile aspiration of “trust”, “authority”, “grown up TV”. It’s a point of abject embarrassment that, while these broadcasters build on that original vision and continue to flourish, our homebuilt mothership is left struggling to justify its existence. Among Winston Churchill’s many famous quotes, he called “democracy the worst form of government, except for all the others” – and the same is true for the BBC and its place in the firmament. Look to your left, to Russia and neighbours, and you find state-sponsored, state-controlled, state-supporting TV — propaganda not programmes. Look to your right, and American TV. The transparently commercial imperative – the first ad break often coming straight after the opening credits — used to be a source of mirth for foreign viewers, but has now evolved into something far more nakedly and ruthlessly driven. Meanwhile, pushing against the two walls of legislation and commercial rivals like Chewbacca in the trash compactor, the BBC tries gamely to balance our diets with wholesome fodder and some glittering, expensive jewels, in a way that only it can. Of course, it needs tidying up, refreshing, streamlining, reforming — but let’s not throw out the baby with the bathwater. Life without it would look very different, and we would all be the poorer.
The Celebrity Traitors final review: Treachery and tears make for TV perfection
Alan Carr’s tearful, triumphant reveal crowned a finale that proved live, un-binged television can still unite the nation.
Warning: this article contains spoilers for the final of The Celebrity Traitors. Add it to your watchlist. Finally, we have a winner, and it’s watch-in-real-time, unstreamed, un-binged TV. It’s a rare and beautiful thing in 2025 to sit staring at the screen, knowing millions around the country are sitting on similar edges of seats, waiting to find out which of the five remaining players will emerge triumphant of The Celebrity Traitors. And what did we get? With only five left from the original 19 who entered the castle — two Traitors, three Faithful — it was all about alliances. Joe and Nick were in such cahoots working out how to oust the others, I spent the first hour wishing one of them had turned out to be a Traitor. Instead, the second best moment of the night came another way, with Nick ultimately joining the others in banishing Joe – could you hear your neighbours shouting at the screen?! That was the warm-up for the best, biggest twist of all, when Alan Carr came through as the final, solitary traitor left standing, telling the others, almost sadly, "I am, and have always been, a Traitor." Nick collapsed, David sighed, Alan cried and the sweet Faithful pair ended up comforting him in his moment of guilty triumph. It was perfect, must-watch TV. Following another effortlessly successful daytime mission that proved the celebs to be far better at physical challenges than they have ever been at unearthing Traitors, it was all about the penultimate Round Table. You know a show has fulfilled its promise of surprising us when one of the country’s premier historians is reduced to role of "useful idiot", but that’s where David Olusoga found himself – stuck in the middle as Faithful Joe and Nick battled to outwit Alan and Cat. All that classical training and scholarship served Olusoga not – ultimately, he just didn’t have the skills, or possibly stomach, to either betray or sniff out the treachery around him, which doesn’t really reflect that badly on him, I suppose. Instead, Joe’s strength of purpose saw Cat disposed of, but that same zeal proved his undoing at the very last Round Table, as Alan used all his powers of persuasion to unsettle others’ doubts in the big man, and clear his way to victory. So now, after five weeks and nine episodes, the ravens have left the castle, the drawbridge has been pulled up, the last of the faithful banished and the traitors unearthed. There have been some prize moments along the way: Celia Imrie’s wind proving she has a pro’s comedic timing in all things; Claire Balding’s disastrous attempt to participate in not commentate on a sporting challenge; the unprecedented nation-stopping Round Table stalemate between David and Mark Bonnar. All will be remembered, but none so powerfully as the two moments that bookended the series — both starring Alan. The first came when the third Traitor was initially unearthed, and even his fellow conspirators laughed out loud; the second when he was finally revealed to the Faithful, a moment set to become a nation-sweeping meme. The Chatty Man’s presence as a giggling assassin in plain sight set the tone for the whole series, and Alan’s charm could explain why the faithful were jaw-droopingly inept in unearthing the Traitors in their midst, and also why they were so quick to forgive him for his treachery. There he stood — emotional, funny, no longer deadly – in a fitting end to a series that has confounded any fears a celebrity version would dilute the simple human premise — betray or be betrayed — at the heart of it. What will we all do now?
Celebrity Traitors final review: Treachery and tears make for TV perfection
Finally, we have a winner, and it’s watch-in-real-time, unstreamed, un-binged TV. It’s a rare and beautiful thing in 2025 to sit staring at the screen, knowing millions around the country are sitting on similar edges of seats, waiting to find out which of the five remaining players will emerge triumphant of the Celebrity Traitors. And what did we get? With only five left from the original 19 who entered the castle - 2 Traitors, 3 Faithful - it was all about alliances. Joe and Nick were in such cahoots working out how to oust the others, I spent the first hour wishing one of them had turned out to be a Traitor. Instead, the second best moment of the night came another way, with Nick ultimately joining the others in banishing Joe – could you hear your neighbours shouting at the screen?! That was the warm-up for the best, biggest twist of all, when Alan Carr came through as the final, solitary traitor left standing, telling the others, almost sadly, "I am, and have always been, a Traitor." Nick collapsed, David sighed, Alan cried and the sweet Faithful pair ended up comforting him in his moment of guilty triumph. It was perfect, must-watch TV. Following another effortlessly successful daytime mission that proved the celebs to be far better at physical challenges than they have ever been at unearthing Traitors, it was all about the penultimate Round Table. You know a show has fulfilled its promise of surprising us when one of the country’s premier historians is reduced to role of "useful idiot", but that’s where David Olusoga found himself – stuck in the middle as Faithfuls Joe and Nick battled to outwit Alan and Cat. All that classical training and scholarship served Olusoga not – ultimately, he just didn’t have the skills, or possibly stomach, to either betray or sniff out the treachery around him, which doesn’t really reflect that badly on him, I suppose. Instead, Joe’s strength of purpose saw Cat disposed of, but that same zeal proved his undoing at the very last Round Table, as Alan used all his powers of persuasion to unsettle others’ doubts in the big man, and clear his way to victory. So now, after five weeks and nine episodes, the ravens have left the castle, the drawbridge has been pulled up, the last of the faithful banished and the traitors unearthed. There have been some prize moments along the way: Celia Imrie’s wind proving she has a pro’s comedic timing in all things; Claire Balding’s disastrous attempt to participate in not commentate on a sporting challenge; the unprecedented nation-stopping Round Table stalemate between David and Mark Bonnar. All will be remembered, but none so powerfully as the two moments that bookended the series – both starring Alan. The first came when the third Traitor was initially unearthed, and even his fellow conspirators laughed out loud; the second when he was finally revealed to the Faithful, a moment set to become a nation-sweeping meme. The Chatty Man’s presence as a giggling assassin in plain sight set the tone for the whole series, and Alan’s charm could explain why the faithful were jaw-droopingly inept in unearthing the Traitors in their midst, and also why they were so quick to forgive him for his treachery. There he stood - emotional, funny, no longer deadly – in a fitting end to a series that has confounded any fears a celebrity version would dilute the simple human premise - betray or be betrayed - at the heart of it. What will we all do now? Read more: BBC confirms release window for The Traitors season 4 in eerie teaser These are the 10 stars who should be on a potential Celebrity Traitors season 2 Add The Celebrity Traitors to your watchlist on the Radio Times: What to Watch app – download now for daily TV recommendations, features and more. Check out more of our Entertainment coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what else is on. For more TV recommendations and reviews, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
Why ‘hellraisers’ like Richard Burton, Oliver Reed and Peter O’Toole will always bewitch us
This article first appeared in Radio Times magazine. As Richard Burton appears on screen in kaleidoscopic colour, dressed in full armour and atop a horse, he is applauded by the adoring masses. The narrator proclaims, “In ten short years, he has conquered the world.” As it happens, he’s talking about Burton’s character, Alexander the Great, in the eponymous movie, but the words could apply to the actor himself. It was 1956, by when the young Welshman had already embarked on an extraordinary ascent, from the mining village of Pontrhydyfen, to Oxford University, to the London stage and Hollywood. Actor Siân Phillips remembers his West End debut – “he walked on and the whole theatre went cold” – while his first Hollywood role brought him an Oscar nomination, the first of seven. His voice, his presence, his love for poetry were all among his many splendid gifts, and he in turn offered them up to us. Why then, if you say the name “Richard Burton”, does a life of drama and diamonds immediately come to mind, one spent jumping between yachts and private jets in the glare of the paparazzi lens and, of course, a double marriage to Elizabeth Taylor? Because that’s all true, too. Burton was the primus inter pares of Britain’s still beloved mid-century stars, alongside the likes of Peter O’Toole, Richard Harris, Oliver Reed and co – a group of talented actors for whom the term “hellraiser” became a shorthand, as famous for their reckless real-life behaviour as for their undoubted dramatic talents. What was the unifying element, and why do they still bewitch us? For a start, they were all preternaturally gifted. Peter O’Toole “appeared on stage like an electric light,” is how he’s remembered by Anthony Hopkins, while Richard Harris brought us the tenderest of Camelots and even MacArthur Park (a 60s anthem I didn’t even realise for years was the same Richard Harris!). And they all arrived in London during an era of still unresolved postwar trauma, class collision and hedonistic freedom, when their acting skills meant they were each given the keys to a sweetshop beyond their wildest dreams. Michael Sheen sympathetically describes the pull between Burton’s loves – stage versus screen, devoted first wife Sybil versus passionate lover Elizabeth, Wales versus the universe – asking if drink was the escape. Whatever, it must have turned all of these world-class performers into crashing bores and hell to live with. Siân Phillips remembers one drunken rage culminating in her husband O’Toole demanding she be packed and gone from the house in two hours. The saddest contributor in the new BBC2 Burton doc is the friend who first saw him on stage in 1952 and then again in the last chapter of his life – “he was performing, but he was lost”. Laurence Olivier’s tipped successor had become the man who screamed through a full glass at a late-era director, “I could have been Lear!” Burton was always fascinated by Faustus, the man who traded his soul for power, riches and the most beautiful woman in the world, but the fate of Icarus would seem just as pertinent. The ones who flew not quite as high – Albert Finney, Michael Caine – went on to enduring greatness and happy, long lives. Anthony Hopkins, now sober for 50 years, has twice played the Lear that Burton never did. Certainly, nobody, at least that we know about, behaves like this in 2025, which is no doubt a relief for all studio executives, pub landlords and stars’ loved ones. But it means, as Kenneth Branagh says, almost wistfully, “No one is going to tell stories about us in 50 years’ time.” Was it all worth it? Harris would say so: “At least you knew I was here.” The latest issue of Radio Times is out now – subscribe here. Richard Burton: Wild Genius airs at 9pm on Wednesday 12th November on BBC Two and iPlayer. Check out more of our Documentaries coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more TV recommendations and reviews, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
The Celebrity Traitors final looms – but will Alan Carr and Cat Burns outwit the Faithful?
The penultimate episode delivered pure chaos – Celia Imrie betrayed over dinner, Kate Garraway banished after baring her soul, and Alan Carr cracking under pressure as Joe Marler starts to sniff out the truth.
Add The Celebrity Traitors to your watchlist To quote Claudia Winkleman, it was a rollercoaster 24 hours. The Faithful finally caught Traitor Jonathan, and then Celia Imrie was murdered in plain sight by Alan Carr quoting Shakespeare. Even this eye-catching round-up doesn’t sufficiently convey the drama producers managed to conjure up in the penultimate episode of this series, now being watched by a reported 12 million pairs of eyeballs. You have to hand it to Alan Carr, he doesn’t shy from a challenge. Having recovered disturbingly quickly from murdering his pal Paloma in week one, he was at it again last night, betraying another great pal, with a toast at the dinner table. Thus was Celia Imrie summarily dispatched, betrayed with a Judas almost-kiss by a man she "adored" but had come to suspect. As Cat Burns grinned, "Only Alan could do something like that!" Other than that, Mrs Lincoln, how was the play? With the Faithful blind to one of their own being murdered at the table, the dinner party made for quite an emotional pause in the middle of this frantic series, everyone reflecting on their time in the castle, how changed they were, how inspired they felt, what fun it had been… and finally Kate Garraway came into her own, with a moving testimony after some very hard few years. Not that it did her any good, mind you. David Olusoga, still the unknown entity within the group, said, "I didn’t expect to feel changed by it, and I do, and that is a surprise." And it was Kate who said the most pertinent thing of all at the table – that it was hard to spot Traitors, "because we’re just bedazzled" – surely the cue for all the Faithful to look up and realise the most bedazzling person of all was the Chatty Man nodding along in agreement, while preparing to cast yet another murderous spell… Suddenly, it was the morning after the night before, with the group proving once again their complete ineptitude in catching Traitors is matched only by their competence and teamwork when it comes to completing the missions. Another load of extra charity cash in the bag offered an upbeat moment before it was back to the Round Table – where, following an unprecedented ding-dong between David and Kate – that’ll teach her to start bringing opinions – the latter was banished, another Faithful down, more shocked faces. Who will win? So who or what are we left with going into next Thursday’s grand final single episode? Five people, three Faithful, two Traitors. As David pointed out, "50% of the people I’m talking to are Traitors. I can’t trust anybody." It’s intense. While Alan and Cat Burns have played a treacherous blinder up to now, two things will surely bring at least one of them down before the final credits roll. One is that Alan is clearly starting to implode – when everyone left was asked to practise saying "I am a Faithful" he couldn’t even say it. His giggly schtick just about saved him, but it was his second properly wobbly moment after the occasion he actually forgot he had a shield. Surely that was the moment his time was up? But because it’s Alan, only Joe Marler seems to remember it. They are, indeed, bedazzled. And that’s the other ominous note for the Traitors: Joe is onto them, and as we saw with his mission to despatch Jonathan 'Top Dog' Ross, the man who played 95 rugby matches and said his mission on the pitch was "just to stop people", he is the proverbial dog with a bone, and his unblinking eyes have turned to Alan and Cat. Two questions remain – he’s certain, but will he be able to convince the others? And while we're on the subject – why are he and Nick Mohammed so completely trusting of each other? Of course, they’re right to in this case, but haven’t they seen any previous series? Celia put it succinctly: "It’s a clever game, but it’s cruel." And it's at its very best when it's both. It would serve these two right, and offer up the best twist of all in a series full of delights, if, at this late stage, one of them were to be… recruited. The Celebrity Traitors concludes on Thursday 6th November at 9pm on BBC One and iPlayer.
The Celebrity Traitors final looms – but will Alan Carr and Cat Burns outwit the Faithfuls?
To quote Claudia Winkleman, it was a rollercoaster 24 hours. The Faithful finally caught Traitor Jonathan, and then Celia Imrie was murdered in plain sight by Alan Carr quoting Shakespeare. Even this eye-catching round-up doesn’t sufficiently convey the drama producers managed to conjure up in the penultimate episode of this series, now being watched by a reported 12 million pairs of eyeballs. You have to hand it to Alan Carr, he doesn’t shy from a challenge. Having recovered disturbingly quickly from murdering his pal Paloma in week one, he was at it again last night, betraying another great pal, with a toast at the dinner table. Thus was Celia Imrie summarily dispatched, betrayed with a Judas almost-kiss by a man she "adored" but had come to suspect. As Cat Burns grinned, "Only Alan could do something like that!" Other than that, Mrs Lincoln, how was the play? With the Faithful blind to one of their own being murdered at the table, the dinner party made for quite an emotional pause in the middle of this frantic series, everyone reflecting on their time in the castle, how changed they were, how inspired they felt, what fun it had been… and finally Kate Garraway came into her own, with a moving testimony after some very hard few years. Not that it did her any good, mind you. David Olusoga, still the unknown entity within the group, said, "I didn’t expect to feel changed by it, and I do, and that is a surprise." And it was Kate who said the most pertinent thing of all at the table – that it was hard to spot Traitors, "because we’re just bedazzled" – surely the cue for all the Faithful to look up and realise the most bedazzling person of all was the Chatty Man nodding along in agreement, while preparing to cast yet another murderous spell… Suddenly, it was the morning after the night before, with the group proving once again their complete ineptitude in catching Traitors is matched only by their competence and teamwork when it comes to completing the missions. Another load of extra charity cash in the bag offered an upbeat moment before it was back to the Round Table – where, following an unprecedented ding-dong between David and Kate – that’ll teach her to start bringing opinions – the latter was banished, another Faithful down, more shocked faces. Who will win? So who or what are we left with going into next Thursday’s grand final single episode? Five people, three Faithful, two Traitors. As David pointed out, "50% of the people I’m talking to are Traitors. I can’t trust anybody." It’s intense. While Alan and Cat Burns have played a treacherous blinder up to now, two things will surely bring at least one of them down before the final credits roll. One is that Alan is clearly starting to implode – when everyone left was asked to practise saying "I am a Faithful" he couldn’t even say it. His giggly schtick just about saved him, but it was his second properly wobbly moment after the occasion he actually forgot he had a shield. Surely that was the moment his time was up? But because it’s Alan, only Joe Marler seems to remember it. They are, indeed, bedazzled. And that’s the other ominous note for the Traitors: Joe is onto them, and as we saw with his mission to despatch Jonathan 'Top Dog' Ross, the man who played 95 rugby matches and said his mission on the pitch was "just to stop people", he is the proverbial dog with a bone, and his unblinking eyes have turned to Alan and Cat. Two questions remain – he’s certain, but will he be able to convince the others? And while we're on the subject – why are he and Nick Mohammed so completely trusting of each other? Of course, they’re right to in this case, but haven’t they seen any previous series? Celia put it succinctly: "It’s a clever game, but it’s cruel." And it's at its very best when it's both. It would serve these two right, and offer up the best twist of all in a series full of delights, if, at this late stage, one of them were to be… recruited. Read more: Celebrity Traitors odds: Who will win the series? The Celebrity Traitors concludes on Thursday 6th November at 9pm on BBC One and iPlayer. Add The Celebrity Traitors to your watchlist on the Radio Times: What to Watch app – download now for daily TV recommendations, features and more. Check out more of our Entertainment coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what else is on. For more TV recommendations and reviews, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
The reality star-turned lawyer-turned actor features in Ryan Murphy's new legal drama for Disney+, All's Fair
Add All's Fair to your watchlist There are a lot of people who like to keep up with every twist of Kim Kardashian’s life story. Her 354 million followers on Instagram can monitor every turn of the 45-year-old’s two-decade evolution from reality TV star to influencer, company CEO to activist and, most recently, dedicated law student. But even they may be surprised by her latest incarnation: starring in All’s Fair, a US drama created by Ryan Murphy, who semi-joked that he initially pitched the show to broadcasters in five words: “Kim Kardashian as a divorce lawyer”. The idea was well received, and now Kardashian joins an A-list cast that includes Glenn Close and Teyana Taylor, alongside Murphy regulars Sarah Paulson, Naomi Watts and Niecy Nash-Betts. The six women play immaculately attired divorce attorneys who break away from a male-dominated firm to form their own deliberately ball-breaking practice. Aside from the glamorous sets and huge costume budget, Kardashian, who divorced rapper Kanye West in 2022, believes the message is an important one: “Anyone going through a separation of their family is going through a hard time. Ryan picked cases with women who feel broken and at their lowest. Our job is to give them their confidence back.” Star and producer already share a connection. Murphy’s long list of TV hits includes The People v OJ Simpson: American Crime Story that details the trial of the fallen sport star and actor. His real-life attorneys included Kim’s father Robert Kardashian, whom she credits for inspiring her interest in law: “I loved the discipline, I loved the work he was doing and wanted to be a part of it, so it’s fun to be able to play that on TV now.” All’s Fair’s other big name on the call sheet is Close, who shared that she was initially reluctant to take on another fictional lawyer after her previous Emmy award-winning role of Patty Hewes in legal drama Damages, but she was brought round by what Murphy promised her. Close recalls, “He said, ‘You’re going to be the matriarch, the mentor and you’ll have great clothes.’ ” All’s Fair is available from 4 November on Disney+
All's Fair glossy first-look images show Kim Kardashian smashing car in glamorous new legal drama
A first look at Kim Kardashian's upcoming legal drama All's Fair has been unveiled.
There are a lot of people who like to keep up with every twist of Kim Kardashian’s life story. Her 354 million followers on Instagram can monitor every turn of the 45-year-old’s two-decade evolution from reality TV star to influencer, company CEO to activist and, most recently, dedicated law student. But even they may be surprised by her latest incarnation: starring in All’s Fair, a US drama created by Ryan Murphy, who semi-joked that he initially pitched the show to broadcasters in five words: "Kim Kardashian as a divorce lawyer”. The idea was well received, and now Kardashian joins an A-list cast that includes Glenn Close and Teyana Taylor, alongside Murphy regulars Sarah Paulson, Naomi Watts and Niecy Nash-Betts. The six women play immaculately attired divorce attorneys who break away from a male-dominated firm to form their own deliberately ball-breaking practice. Aside from the glamorous sets and huge costume budget, Kardashian, who divorced rapper Kanye West in 2022, believes the message is an important one: "Anyone going through a separation of their family is going through a hard time. Ryan picked cases with women who feel broken and at their lowest. Our job is to give them their confidence back." Star and producer already share a connection. Murphy’s long list of TV hits includes The People v OJ Simpson: American Crime Story, which details the trial of the fallen sport star and actor. His real-life attorneys included Kim’s father Robert Kardashian, whom she credits for inspiring her interest in law: "I loved the discipline, I loved the work he was doing and wanted to be a part of it, so it’s fun to be able to play that on TV now." All’s Fair’s other big name on the call sheet is Close, who shared that she was initially reluctant to take on another fictional lawyer after her previous Emmy award-winning role of Patty Hewes in legal drama Damages, but she was brought round by what Murphy promised her. Close recalled: "He said, ‘You’re going to be the matriarch, the mentor and you’ll have great clothes.'" The latest issue of Radio Times is out now – subscribe here. All's Fair will premiere on Disney Plus in the UK on 4th November 2025. You can sign up to Disney Plus from £4.99 a month now. Add Down All's Fair to your watchlist on the <a id="OWA8b702c45-bee9-94e4-f018-57518e78041b" class="x_OWAAutoLink" title="https://www.radiotimes.com/download-the-app/?af_xp=custom&pid=website&c=editorial_content&is_retargeting=true&af_reengagement_window=30d" href="https://www.radiotimes.com/download-the-app/?af_xp=custom&pid=website&c=editorial_content&is_retargeting=true&af_reengagement_window=30d" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer" data-outlook-id="449c28d9-909e-4aab-b6b8-153454f55d5e" data-auth="NotApplicable" data-linkindex="0">Radio Times: What to Watch app – download now for daily TV recommendations, features and more. Check out more of our Drama coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more TV recommendations and reviews, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
Alan Carr is the perfect star of Celebrity Traitors – and not for the reason you might think
Effervescent, clownish and clever — Alan Carr has played the Celebrity Traitors game to perfection.
This article first appeared in Radio Times magazine. Need a birthday card? You can now buy one that has Alan Carr on the front saying, “How old? I’m flabbergasted!” A canny publisher has swiftly responded to the buzz around the comedian’s antics in The Celebrity Traitors and proved what we suspected – banishment and victory aside, the show already has a winner. Carr’s stand-out role was clear from the off, the moment his selection as a Traitor proved the counterintuitive punchline of a gift that producers picked up and ran with. Even his two fellow Traitors laughed out loud when they first saw their co-conspirator, and it meant from day one, the comedian has been central to events – his “can’t keep a secret for toffee” schtick weaponised to clownish, thrilling effect. His effervescence meant he was the only player capable of murdering his close pal Paloma Faith in full view of everyone else, while his “hiding in plain sight” modus operandi successfully shielded him from almost all suspicion. You get the impression that his housemates would be reluctant to banish him even if they had their doubts. As Lucy Beaumont reflected, “It wouldn’t be Carry On Traitors without Alan.” Indeed, who else would punctuate a tense Trojan War challenge by shouting out to Clare Balding, “You’re going to love this, there’s a horse”? Or recruiting Celia Imrie to play badminton – “We need a bit of wind”? Gimlet-eyed Celia was one of the few to consider his possible treachery – “It would be remarkably clever” – but he escaped even her Round Table vote, and he’s proved just as irresistible to viewers. What’s his secret? Well, the list of players in this ratings juggernaut is a snapshot of the spectrum of British celebrity. There are the newbies on the rise – from now-banished content creator Niko Omilana and actor Ruth Codd to singer-songwriter Cat Burns, but their focus on the game, and relative youth, means they present as blanker canvases. So, too, do the other actors, including Nick Mohammed and Mark Bonnar. The latter aroused doubt thanks to one player having just seen him be a duplicitous egg in Line of Duty. “Stop watching it,” shrieked Bonnar, which must be a first for a jobbing thespian. At the other end of the scale are those so widely and long established – such as “big dogs” Stephen Fry and Jonathan Ross – that their brands have proved bigger than them. Stephen Fry survived the first three weeks with barely a word against his name, thanks to him simply being Stephen Fry. But he spoke the truth when he reflected, “It’s not often in our sheltered world we are put in a position where we have no idea how we are going to react.” While such rarefied air is revered, it’s not entirely relatable. By contrast, Alan Carr inhabits a uniquely sweet spot. He’s famous enough to be best friends with Adele (if no longer Paloma), but he remains at heart one of us – the man who started in comedy after years of entertaining his call centre colleagues. He once explained to me the root of his fearlessness: “If people threw tomatoes and booed me off stage, at least you can wash out tomatoes, unlike nine hours of abuse from the general public.” That worldliness, along with his wit, has made for both a delightful celebrity and a dastardly Traitor. It’s been Alan Carr’s Scottish castle – everyone else is a mere houseguest. The latest issue of Radio Times is out now – subscribe here. The Celebrity Traitors continues on Thursday 23rd October at 9pm on BBC One and iPlayer. Add The Celebrity Traitors to your watchlist on the Radio Times: What to Watch app – download now for daily TV recommendations, features and more. Check out more of our Entertainment coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what else is on. For more TV recommendations and reviews, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
Effervescent, clownish and clever — Alan Carr has played the Celebrity Traitors game to perfection
Add The Celebrity Traitors to your watchlist Need a birthday card? You can now buy one that has Alan Carr on the front saying, “How old? I’m flabbergasted!” A canny publisher has swiftly responded to the buzz around the comedian’s antics in The Celebrity Traitors and proved what we suspected – banishment and victory aside, the show already has a winner. Carr’s stand-out role was clear from the off, the moment his selection as a Traitor proved the counterintuitive punchline of a gift that producers picked up and ran with. Even his two fellow Traitors laughed out loud when they first saw their co-conspirator, and it meant from day one, the comedian has been central to events – his “can’t keep a secret for toffee” schtick weaponised to clownish, thrilling effect. His effervescence meant he was the only player capable of murdering his close pal Paloma Faith in full view of everyone else, while his “hiding in plain sight” modus operandi successfully shielded him from almost all suspicion. You get the impression that his housemates would be reluctant to banish him even if they had their doubts. As Lucy Beaumont reflected, “It wouldn’t be Carry On Traitors without Alan.” Indeed, who else would punctuate a tense Trojan War challenge by shouting out to Clare Balding, “You’re going to love this, there’s a horse”? Or recruiting Celia Imrie to play badminton – “We need a bit of wind”? Gimlet-eyed Celia was one of the few to consider his possible treachery – “It would be remarkably clever” – but he escaped even her Round Table vote, and he’s proved just as irresistible to viewers. What’s his secret? Well, the list of players in this ratings juggernaut is a snapshot of the spectrum of British celebrity. There are the newbies on the rise – from now-banished content creator Niko Omilana and actor Ruth Codd to singer-songwriter Cat Burns, but their focus on the game, and relative youth, means they present as blanker canvases. So, too, do the other actors, including Nick Mohammed and Mark Bonnar. The latter aroused doubt thanks to one player having just seen him be a duplicitous egg in Line of Duty. “Stop watching it,” shrieked Bonnar, which must be a first for a jobbing thespian. At the other end of the scale are those so widely and long established – such as “big dogs” Stephen Fry and Jonathan Ross – that their brands have proved bigger than them. Stephen Fry survived the first three weeks with barely a word against his name, thanks to him simply being Stephen Fry. But he spoke the truth when he reflected, “It’s not often in our sheltered world we are put in a position where we have no idea how we are going to react.” While such rarefied air is revered, it’s not entirely relatable. By contrast, Alan Carr inhabits a uniquely sweet spot. He’s famous enough to be best friends with Adele (if no longer Paloma), but he remains at heart one of us – the man who started in comedy after years of entertaining his call centre colleagues. He once explained to me the root of his fearlessness: “If people threw tomatoes and booed me off stage, at least you can wash out tomatoes, unlike nine hours of abuse from the general public.” That worldliness, along with his wit, has made for both a delightful celebrity and a dastardly Traitor. It’s been Alan Carr’s Scottish castle – everyone else is a mere houseguest.
As a child, Anna Fisher thought she’d be laughed at for dreaming of being an astronaut – in 1984 she became the first mother to go into orbit
Kristin Fisher always considered her childhood in Houston, Texas, pretty routine, boring even. But at college she had a late-night epiphany about her parents and what they did for a living. “I had this moment,” she remembers. “‘My parents are astronauts!’ I called my dad and shouted, ‘You went to space!’ He replied, ‘Kristin, go to bed.’” It might have taken their daughter a while to realise, but the Fishers were indeed pretty special, as is evident in their contribution to Once Upon a Time in Space, a new four-part BBC Two documentary series that revisits the awe-inspiring triumphs and devastating tragedies that punctuated the two-decade space race. Of all the billions of people to have lived on our planet, fewer than 700 have ventured into space and, among them, only a handful of married couples. Kristin’s parents, Bill and Anna Fisher, met as medical students and bonded over a love of space. Teachers had complained that Bill was “too rocket conscious” as a schoolboy, while 12-year-old Anna was awestruck as she listened on a radio to Alan Shepard’s 1961 journey to become the first American in space. “I knew immediately that’s what I wanted to do,” she remembers. Unlike Bill, Anna kept her dream quiet. “I was afraid people would laugh at me. At that time, women just weren’t allowed to do some of those things. I’m not sure women today realise how much things have changed.” However, Anna’s ambition coincided with a change in Nasa’s recruitment process: for the first time, civilians were employed to join pilots on the Shuttle. In 1978, both Anna and Bill applied for the new role of “mission scientist”, but only one was selected. “It was kind of bittersweet, because I got the call and my husband didn’t,” says Anna. “I was so excited and happy, but I didn’t want to make him feel bad. I tried to hide my enthusiasm, but he was very good about it.” Fortunately for marital harmony, Bill was recruited two years later, and the Fishers became America’s first married astronauts. Life changed overnight, particularly for Anna, one of six women selected, as she prepared for her debut mission on the Space Shuttle Discovery. When it launched in November 1984 she took her place in history as the first mother in space, having given birth to Kristin the year before. Anna is relieved there was no social media at the time. More than 20 years later, John Bryson’s famous photograph of her in her astronaut’s helmet went viral. Even then, she reports, the comments were divided, “between those saying it was great I went to space and the other half asking, ‘How could you leave your baby?’ I got a glimpse of what it would have been like if social media had been around. So that was a blessing.” How did she feel herself about the prospect of flying into space at the age of 35, with all the risk it entailed, and leaving her infant daughter behind? “I worried about it, but I had made a commitment a long time before, just by applying to be an astronaut, so I didn’t spend a lot of time second-guessing myself.” Instead, Bill and Anna chose not to fly together; the documentary includes lots of home video deliberately filmed prior to their missions so, lest the worst should happen, their daughter would have memories of them all together. Now, Kristin reveals she’s relieved she was too young to understand the enormity of their work, and the risks her parents faced. However, the apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree – since 2021, Kristin has been the space and defence correspondent for CNN. The danger was brought horribly close to home with the explosions of Challenger in 1986 and Columbia in 2003, both incidents killing all astronauts on board. These disasters devastated Nasa’s ambitions, and meant Anna never took another flight into space. She is philosophical. “I worked on the Shuttle programme, the Space Station and the Orion programme, so that’s three big projects. Not having a second or third trip is a bit disappointing, but not in the scheme of things.” She remains proud, too, of her achievements, both as a woman and a mother. “I didn’t want to be a female astronaut, just an astronaut, but then you realise you are paving the road for the people that come after you. I’m very proud that all six of us women flew, and we all did a great job. “Plus my two daughters have grown up to become amazing women. So that’s right up there too.” LIFE IN SPACE Astronaut Dan Tani on living on the International Space Station You had little interest in space growing up. What changed? My heroes were baseball players and comedians, and I had no idea what I wanted to do. I studied engineering, then had a job offer from Los Angeles so I thought I could buy a convertible, drive by the beach and enjoy the lifestyle -— and the job happened to be with an aerospace contractor. One day, a notice on the bulletin board said Nasa were recruiting. We were all joking, “Hey, we should apply. Who doesn’t want to be an astronaut?” You ended up as a mission scientist on the International Space Station twice, first for 12 days, then for four months. What were the biggest challenges? Separation from people was tough — I had two young children and I knew it was hard on my wife. I got all the attention and she did all the work. Physically, being weightless is easy on your body, and it’s hilariously fun to float around. During your second trip, you learnt your mother had died and had to deliver her eulogy via videolink. How did you cope? Space Station astronauts are the experiment: how do we deal with weightlessness, with life? I just happened to be the first American going through that particular experience [grieving a close relative while in space]. Being apart from my family was difficult, but at least I could talk about Mom and she got to see my launch. How did space travel change your perspective on life? Work is still important to me, but it’s not going to get better than living on the Space Station. I put in thousands of hours up there; now I focus on my family and enjoying myself.
Strictly reaches end of an era as Claudia and Tess depart – so what now for the BBC's most glittering jewel?
Tess Daly and Claudia Winkleman’s Strictly exit marks more than a hosting change – it’s the end of an era for British Saturday night TV.
Another day, another Strictly headline that contains no mention of dancing. This time it was the announcement that hosts Tess Daly and Claudia Winkleman have decided “the time is right” to step away from the show they have co-presented since 2014. My journalist pal reports a collective gasp in the newsroom when the news broke this morning. For sure, it doesn’t compete with some of the news headlines from recent weeks (and months, and years) for global significance – nevertheless, for the fragile and precious eco-system that is British entertainment, it is, indisputably, a big deal. The pair have for a decade presented the last remaining Saturday night ratings juggernaut. With a suitable nod to original Bake Off’s Mel Giedroyc and Sue Perkins, we can’t overlook the importance of them as two women in this high-profile primetime role. Daly and Winkleman stepped into shoes previously worn by Bruce Forsyth (and before him Morecambe and Wise, The Two Ronnies, etc) and have made the show comprehensively their own. And what a show it is. In its 21st year, Strictly continues to defy viewing trends that saw off all competitors from around the time it started – Fame Academy, Pop Idol, X Factor, even Saturday Night Takeaway - its simple formula of 'celeb meets professional, learns to ballroom dance, wows audience, wins glitterball' is something familiar, glittery, yet endlessly novel with the new pairings and stories. And it transcends borders, cultures and languages. Shown around the world in more than 60 overseas territories, it remains one of the BBC’s finest (and most lucrative) crown jewels. And yet… like other shows, its dancefloor has shown cracks. Years after we enjoyed the efforts of John Sergeant, Anne Widdecombe and Nancy Del’Olio, the dancers have become increasingly high-profile, the celebrities increasingly competitive. With that has come scrutiny and pressure, culminating in last year’s unedifying catalogue of behind-the-scenes allegations of bullying and worse. In what should have been its celebratory 20th year, the show had to conduct internal inquiries and make sweeping changes to ensure care and good treatment for all involved. I said then, the BBC would be crossing fingers that the actual show would weave its customary magic and make us forget all that business – and so it proved, with the inspiring blind comedian Chris McCausland wowing us all. Five weeks into this latest series, the BBC would usually be hoping that the same thing would happen, that debates over whether politically-minded Thomas Skinner should be allowed to participate, over whether replacement celeb Amber Davies's previous West End training and experience made it a fair playing dancefloor for other contestants, would evaporate in favour of our oohs and ahhs about Alex Kingston’s Rumba. Throughout all those recent highs and lows, the stabilisers on this sometimes wobbly, sometimes wonderful bus have been our hosts Daly and Winkleman. No doubt someone high up at the BBC already has a few names scribbled on the back of an envelope wish list, the BBC press office will spin into life and discuss the value of the opportunity this creates for a rebrand, but with so many other "opportunities" like this coming the BBC’s way in recent months – Match of the Day, MasterChef – TV chiefs could really have done with one less thing to think about. Instead, arguably their most valuable juggernaut of all has just lost two of its wheels, elements they will have to replace with the utmost care and thought if the bus is not to veer completely off the road. Strictly Come Dancing continues on BBC One and iPlayer on Saturday 25th October at 6:20pm. Add Strictly Come Dancing to your watchlist on the Radio Times: What to Watch app – download now for daily TV recommendations, features and more. Check out more of our Entertainment coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more TV recommendations and reviews, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
Add this year's series of Strictly Come Dancing to your watchlist Another day, another Strictly headline that contains no mention of dancing. This time it was the announcement that hosts Tess Daly and Claudia Winkleman have decided “the time is right” to step away from the show they have co-presented since 2014. My journalist pal reports a collective gasp in the newsroom when the news broke this morning. For sure, it doesn’t compete with some of the news headlines from recent weeks (and months, and years) for global significance – nevertheless, for the fragile and precious eco-system that is British entertainment, it is, indisputably, a big deal. Ffor a decade the pair have presented the last remaining Saturday night ratings juggernaut. With a suitable nod to original Bake Off’s Mel Giedroyc and Sue Perkins, we can’t overlook the importance of them as two women in this high-profile primetime role. Daly and Winkleman stepped into shoes previously worn by Bruce Forsyth (and before him Morecambe and Wise, The Two Ronnies etc) and have made the show comprehensively their own. And what a show it is. In its 21st year, Strictly continues to defy viewing trends that saw off all competitors from around the time it started – Fame Academy, Pop Idol, X Factor, even Saturday Night Takeaway – its simple formula of "celeb meets professional, learns to ballroom dance, wows audience, wins glitterball" is something familiar, yet endlessly novel with the new pairings and stories. And it transcends borders, cultures and languages. Shown around the world in more than 60 overseas territories, it remains one of the BBC’s finest (and most lucrative) crown jewels. And yet… like other shows, its dance-floor has shown cracks. Years after we enjoyed the efforts of John Sergeant, Anne Widdecombe and Nancy Del’Olio, the dancers have become increasingly high-profile, the celebrities increasingly competitive. With that has come scrutiny and pressure, culminating in last year’s unedifying catalogue of behind-the-scenes allegations of bullying and worse. In what should have been its celebratory 20th year, the show had to conduct internal inquiries and make sweeping changes to ensure care and good treatment for all involved. I said then: the BBC would be crossing fingers that the actual show would weave its customary magic and make us forget all that business – and so it proved, with the inspiring blind comedian Chris McCausland wowing us all. Five weeks into this latest series, the BBC would usually be hoping that the same thing would happen, that debates — such as whether politically-minded Thomas Skinner should be allowed to participate, or if replacement celeb Amber Davies' previous West End training made it a fair dance-floor for other contestants — would evaporate in favour of our oohs and ahhs about Alex Kingston’s Rumba. Throughout all those recent highs and lows, the stabilisers on this sometimes wobbly, sometimes wonderful bus have been our hosts Daly and Winkleman. No doubt someone high up at the BBC already has a few names scribbled on the back of an envelope wish list, the BBC press office will spin into life and discuss the value of the opportunity this creates for a rebrand, but with so many other "opportunities" like this coming the BBC’s way in recent months – Match of the Day, MasterChef – TV chiefs could really have done with one less thing to think about. Instead, arguably their most valuable juggernaut of all has just lost two of its wheels, elements they will have to replace with the utmost care and thought if the bus is not to veer completely off the road. Strictly Come Dancing continues on BBC One and iPlayer on Saturday 25th October at 6:20pm.
Traditional sitcoms have made way for a quieter type of comedy
Add The Good Life to your watchlist Fifty years ago, the stars of the new BBC comedy The Good Life took to the floor of Studio 8 in Television Centre and played to its live audience. Producer John Howard Davies remembers: “It went quite well, but it wasn’t a rousing success. I went home and thought, ‘I hope it’s going to be all right.’” He needn’t have worried. By the time the show finished four series later, it had an average weekly audience of 17 million and the cast were household names. A year later, in 1978, a final one-off special was filmed with Queen Elizabeth II and the Duke of Edinburgh in attendance. The Good Life still tops TV sitcom popularity lists. But at the time, how did viewers know that Margo slipping in the mud in her yellow sou’wester and wellies was side-rippingly funny? Because 320 audience members laughed loud and long, and told us so. A laughter track formed a vital part of that era’s most popular comedies: think of Last of the Summer Wine, Keeping Up Appearances, Fawlty Towers – what comes to mind is physical, highly visual gags, invariably at the expense of the protagonist, from Hyacinth to Basil, with a beat for other characters to react, and a collective burst of laughter from somewhere in acknowledgement. It was comforting, infectiously upbeat stuff, enjoyed by huge TV audiences, so when and why did it change? I would say July 2001, when The Office took British comedy in a completely different direction. With the tiniest of eye-rolls, David Brent’s needy glances to camera and scene edits left deliberately hanging and awkward – including Keith’s solemn devouring of a Scotch egg – Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant perfected the mockumentary, and a vital part of the genre’s success was the brooding silence that studio (or canned) laughter had once filled. Did this fresh quietness open the door to a whole new way of creating, and defining, comedy? Certainly, with a couple of notable, crowd-pleasing exceptions (a pal reports a cracking night in the crowd for Not Going Out, and we must salute Mrs Brown’s Boys), any list of recent TV comedy bulges with quieter, calmer shows variously called “dramedies” or, more mournfully, “sadcoms”. Daisy Haggard starred in Back to Life, Lesley Manville in Mum, both shows that swapped crowd-pleasing punchlines for something gentler, and hoped in return for our chuckles not our guffaws. Toby Jones cemented his status as the standard bearer for such fare as Pete in Don’t Forget the Driver and Lance in Detectorists. We now watch comedy in the same way we watch drama, hoping for strong narrative threads, nuance, authenticity – all requiring creative precision not called for in previous years. Driver’s writer Tim Crouch once told me he’d written “a drama, just on a comedy budget”. A few modern comedies could have benefitted from having some loud chucklers to encourage the rest of us; their absence can leave a show horribly exposed, and it’d be fascinating to watch a hit vintage sitcom without the laughter track and see just how funny (or not) it still is. But let’s not throw the baby out with the bathwater. Before David Brent, we had Basil Fawlty and Rupert Rigsby. Before Toby Jones’s brow-furrowed Pete, we had Richard Briers’s Martin in Ever Decreasing Circles. The best comedies have always relied not on how they’re presented but larger-than-life characters we root for through thick and thin. These richly drawn figures will stand the test of time, making us laugh loud and longest.
Has the rise of the "sad-com" killed studio sitcoms with a live audience?
Traditional sitcoms have made way for a quieter type of comedy.
This article first appeared in Radio Times magazine. Fifty years ago, the stars of the new BBC comedy The Good Life took to the floor of Studio 8 in Television Centre and played to its live audience. Producer John Howard Davies remembers: “It went quite well, but it wasn’t a rousing success. I went home and thought, ‘I hope it’s going to be all right.’” He needn’t have worried. By the time the show finished four series later, it had an average weekly audience of 17 million and the cast were household names. A year later, in 1978, a final one-off special was filmed with Queen Elizabeth II and the Duke of Edinburgh in attendance. The Good Life still tops TV sitcom popularity lists. But at the time, how did viewers know that Margo slipping in the mud in her yellow sou’wester and wellies was side-rippingly funny? Because 320 audience members laughed loud and long, and told us so. A laughter track formed a vital part of that era’s most popular comedies: think of Last of the Summer Wine, Keeping Up Appearances, Fawlty Towers – what comes to mind is physical, highly visual gags, invariably at the expense of the protagonist, from Hyacinth to Basil, with a beat for other characters to react, and a collective burst of laughter from somewhere in acknowledgement. It was comforting, infectiously upbeat stuff, enjoyed by huge TV audiences, so when and why did it change? I would say July 2001, when The Office took British comedy in a completely different direction. With the tiniest of eye-rolls, David Brent’s needy glances to camera and scene edits left deliberately hanging and awkward – including Keith’s solemn devouring of a Scotch egg – Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant perfected the mockumentary, and a vital part of the genre’s success was the brooding silence that studio (or canned) laughter had once filled. Did this fresh quietness open the door to a whole new way of creating, and defining, comedy? Certainly, with a couple of notable, crowd-pleasing exceptions (a pal reports a cracking night in the crowd for Not Going Out, and we must salute Mrs Brown’s Boys), any list of recent TV comedy bulges with quieter, calmer shows variously called “dramedies” or, more mournfully, “sadcoms”. Daisy Haggard starred in Back to Life, Lesley Manville in Mum, both shows that swapped crowd-pleasing punchlines for something gentler, and hoped in return for our chuckles not our guffaws. Toby Jones cemented his status as the standard bearer for such fare as Pete in Don’t Forget the Driver and Lance in Detectorists. We now watch comedy in the same way we watch drama, hoping for strong narrative threads, nuance, authenticity – all requiring creative precision not called for in previous years. Driver’s writer Tim Crouch once told me he’d written “a drama, just on a comedy budget”. A few modern comedies could have benefitted from having some loud chucklers to encourage the rest of us; their absence can leave a show horribly exposed, and it’d be fascinating to watch a hit vintage sitcom without the laughter track and see just how funny (or not) it still is. But let’s not throw the baby out with the bathwater. Before David Brent, we had Basil Fawlty and Rupert Rigsby. Before Toby Jones’s brow-furrowed Pete, we had Richard Briers’s Martin in Ever Decreasing Circles. The best comedies have always relied not on how they’re presented but larger-than-life characters we root for through thick and thin. These richly drawn figures will stand the test of time, making us laugh loud and longest. The latest issue of Radio Times is out now – subscribe here. Check out more of our Comedy coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more TV recommendations and reviews, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
'She was a brilliant person, and a lovely one'
From Birkenhead to Alan Bennett, Hyacinth Bucket and beyond…
She’s a monster but very good-hearted,” was Patricia Routledge’s summing up of her most celebrated TV character Hyacinth Bucket, indomitable social climber and resident of 22 Blossom Avenue – “the Bouquet residence”. Keeping Up Appearances drew audiences of up to 15 million during its five-year run, which finished in 1995. The following year, when viewers voted Routledge their favourite TV actress at the BBC’s 60th anniversary awards, she spoke to Radio Times about the enduring appeal of Hyacinth and her aspirations: “We’re always pretending to be what we’re not. But Hyacinth does care. She cares about standards. Whether they’re the right standards is another matter.” It was Routledge’s most famous role in a long, versatile career that also saw her triumph in theatre here and America. Following her training at Bristol’s Old Vic Theatre, she moved from the Royal Shakespeare Company to the National in London and, in 1976, she was picked by Leonard Bernstein to star in his Broadway musical 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. She had previously won a Tony Award for Darling of the Day. But it was on British television that she really made her mark. As well as Keeping Up Appearances, she was an important collaborator with Alan Bennett and, for four series in the late 1990s, she starred in the hit mystery drama Hetty Wainthropp Investigates. Of her genteel retired crimebuster, Routledge told Radio Times: “There’s more to life in your 60s than some people bargain for, and I’m very fond of Hetty Wainthropp because she refuses to be put on the shelf. She has a great sense of adventure, she’s practical, down to earth and honest. I like her.” She was twice a memorable monologist for Alan Bennett. In 1982’s A Woman of No Importance, Routledge played Peggy Schofield, an office stalwart who slowly, poignantly, comes to understand how little her colleagues need her. Six years later, her performance in A Lady of Letters (part of the Talking Heads series) as Irene Ruddock, who finds surprising peace in prison after one poison pen missive too many, brought Routledge a Bafta nomination. Born in Birkenhead, she explained to RT why she admired her fellow Northerner Bennett so deeply – “for his observation, his humour and his immense humanity”. It was also Bennett who persuaded Routledge to accept the role of “the absolutely grotesque Kitty” on Victoria Wood: As Seen on TV. Routledge remembered: “I thought Kitty might seem a little close to some of the characters I’d played for Alan. I rang him for advice and he said, ‘Is it funny?’ I said, ‘Yes.’ ‘Then do it.’” The result was a scene-stealing woman who becomes a celebrity overnight, a larger-than-life figure sharing many traits with Routledge’s later creation Hyacinth Bucket – and what an extraordinary creation she was. In the sitcom by Roy Clarke, who also created Last of the Summer Wine and Open All Hours, Hyacinth never tired in her crusade for social superiority, from hosting candlelit dinners to simply owning “a white slimline telephone with automatic redial”. The lady of the house struck terror into the hearts of everyone, from long-suffering husband “Richard!” to the neighbours, and could only be stopped, albeit briefly, by two things. The first was that, when she got flustered, she lost purchase on her adopted RP tones and reverted to her northern accent; the second was her working-class relatives, including her sister Daisy (Judy Cornwell) and brother-in-law Onslow (Geoffrey Hughes), who had none of Hyacinth’s pretensions and were fated to show her up on the most delicate of occasions. With such a simple premise, what made Hyacinth, and the show as a whole, such a magical piece of comedy, loved by fans both in the UK and across the world? “One of the show’s great gifts was in the casting,” Judy Cornwell tells RT. “Our producer, Harold Snoad, knew how to put together people who would get on and, from the moment we began, we all felt at home.” For Cornwell, the first indicator of the show’s quality was how the live studio audience responded. “The first time Onslow and Daisy had to get into bed together, we climbed in and the bed collapsed, accidentally. The audience completely lost it. The studio manager had to calm them down. Pat absolutely loved it when that happened.” In contrast to Hyacinth’s sometimes misplaced confidence, Routledge once reflected to RT: “I’m always nervous about yearning for things because I’m afraid they’ll be a disaster. At heart I’m an artistic coward. I just want to do good work with good people.” Cornwell remembers how hard Routledge worked, both on Hyacinth’s many lines and also her physical comedy. She remembers: “Often we’d be enjoying a coffee between scenes, but Pat would be going through another scene, always working to make it even better. Everything she did was thorough. She was well-read, she understood every reference. If you did a scene with her, you knew that she’d learnt every line backwards. She was a brilliant person, and a lovely one.”
RT pays tribute to Rivals author Dame Jilly Cooper, who has has passed away aged 88.
The death of Jilly Cooper has inspired an outpouring of affection for Britain’s “queen of the bonkbuster”, the author millions of women credit for introducing them to the ways of the world with her wit, warmth and champagne on tap. Only last year, Dame Jilly told RT of her recipe for domestic bliss: “Happiness in marriage comes from creaking bed springs, not so much from sex but from laughter. Well, a bit of both.” With 45 titles to her name and 11 million books sold in the UK alone, Cooper was best known for her Rutshire Chronicles, an 11-strong set of doorstop novels following the antics of the Cotswolds horsey set in bedrooms and boardrooms. A new generation of fans was introduced to this world of bucolic bonking with the Disney+ big-budget adaptation of Rivals. Stars include David Tennant and Danny Dyer, and Alex Hassell as Cooper’s longtime romantic anti-hero Rupert Campbell-Black. The author shared with RT that she’d had initial reservations about the casting of her leading man: “He wasn’t blond, but then I met him and… he is very attractive.” Executive producer Dominic Treadwell-Collins recalled the joy of working with Cooper: “Crawling around on her sitting-room floor with storylines on pieces of paper, sitting up late at her kitchen table holding hands with love and our tummies with laughter, receiving scoldings and heaps of wisdom in equal measure.” With the second series currently filming, and a fresh interest in the rest of Cooper’s work, her legacy is secured. Not bad for an author who told us, “I just like people to be happy.”
Celebrity Traitors has a secret weapon in regards to its famous faces - and one casting needs special praise
Olympic medals and knighthoods count for little in the Traitors castle.
In the summer of 2023, after the first season of The Traitors had proved the BBC’s biggest runaway entertainment hit in years, I attended an industry seminar where the show’s producers waxed lyrical about the virtues of having "civilians" (i.e. not famous folk) taking part. As the commissioning editor explained: "As tempting as it is to have the poster full of well-known celebs, we realised that people are more likely to throw themselves into it if they don’t have an image" – translation: "If they don’t have an agent." Two years on and, with more hype than the World Fair, Celebrity Traitors is upon us. It's an eclectic bunch to be sure, with players – "we don’t call them contestants, they’re playing a game" was another takeaway from that seminar – ranging from witty, nervy Jonathan Ross to clipped, clever Celia Imrie and the delightfully deadpan Joe Wilkinson. Usually, a “celebrity” version of any TV show involves quite the range of has-beens to wannabes, but the pedigree here is unusually elevated. Why do it? Most don’t need the exposure, and the prize money is for charity. Could it be they're simply as engrossed by the ethics of the enterprise as everyone else? There’s no doubt from the off that everyone is throwing themselves into it like, well, like people who don’t have an image. The real winner so far is the producer or hopefully now-promoted researcher who decided the third Traitor should be Alan Carr. The faces of his fellow murderers said it all, as they realised what a complicated prospect this brings. He’s giddy, too loud, excitable and the prospect of him being able to conceal his fox-in-chickenshed status appears to lie somewhere between zero and nil - unless of course that’s his superpower. But Carr’s theatrics aside, the most revealing aspect of Celebrity Traitors is how completely useless, and uninteresting, everyone’s celebrity is. Content creator Niko Omilana’s YouTube likes count for as little as David Olusoga’s book sales. Clare Balding may be able to recite a five-set tennis match point for point but, when it comes to getting a Trojan horse through a locked gate, she’s so useless her fellow players assume she must be a Traitor intent on sabotage. Meanwhile, Charlotte Church has sung arias in front of popes, but when she gives up her protective shield, she’s suspected of being a Traitor when she is actually just being selfless. One is rubbish, one is heroic, both may be murdered before the week’s out. Nor do the customary deep-dive chats around the reality TV fireplace have anything like their customary import. Who cares how Tom Daley feels about being a famous sports star by the age of 14? We’re only wondering if he’s going to be murdered, betrayed or turned before nightfall. Typically, this is summed up beautifully by Stephen Fry who mentions he’s been both imprisoned and knighted before entering the castle, but here... "We’re all Faithfuls or Traitors, and that’s all there is to it." He's right. We’re no more intrigued by Alan Carr’s apparent inability to conceal his treachery than we were by Linda’s season 3 shake of the head. No great wordsmithery, record sales or gold medals will rescue them from the dilemma of whether to betray or be betrayed. This is a challenge not of hierarchy but humanity where, the deeper we go into the game, the less important it becomes that they are celebrities at all. Better not tell their agents. The Celebrity Traitors continues tonight at 9pm on BBC One and BBC iPlayer. Add The Celebrity Traitors to your watchlist on the Radio Times: What to Watch app – download now for daily TV recommendations, features and more. Check out more of our Entertainment coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what else is on. For more from the biggest stars in TV, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
The Celebrity Traitors only just started, but someone is already a winner…
It's already clear that the best thing about this series is how unimportant everyone's fame really is
Add The Celebrity Traitors to your watchlist *Warning: Celebrity Traitors spoilers ahead.* In the summer of 2023, after the first series of The Traitors had proved the BBC’s biggest runaway entertainment hit in years, I attended an industry seminar where the show’s producers waxed lyrical about the virtues of having “civilians” (ie not famous folk) taking part. As the commissioning editor explained: “As tempting as it is to have the poster full of well-known celebs, we realised that people are more likely to throw themselves into it if they don’t have an image.” Translation: “If they don’t have an agent”. Two years on and, with more hype than the World Fair, The Celebrity Traitors is upon us. It's an eclectic bunch to be sure, with players – “we don’t call them contestants, they’re playing a game” was another takeaway from that seminar – ranging from witty, nervy Jonathan Ross to clipped, clever Celia Imrie and the delightfully deadpan Joe Wilkinson. Usually, a “celebrity” version of any TV show involves quite the range of has-beens to wannabes, but the pedigree here is unusually elevated. Why do it? Most don’t need the exposure, and the prize money is for charity. Could it be they’re simply as engrossed by the ethics of the enterprise as everyone else? There’s no doubt from the off that everyone is throwing themselves into it like, well, people who don’t have an image. The real winner so far is the producer or hopefully now-promoted researcher who decided the third Traitor should be Alan Carr. The faces of his fellow murderers said it all, as they realised what a complicated prospect this brings. He’s giddy, too loud, excitable and the prospect of him being able to conceal his fox-in-chickenshed status appears to lie somewhere between zero and nil — unless of course that’s his superpower. But Carr’s theatrics aside, the most revealing aspect of The Celebrity Traitors is how completely useless, and uninteresting, everyone’s celebrity is. Content creator Niko Omilana’s YouTube likes count for as little as David Olusoga’s book sales. Clare Balding may be able to recite a five-set tennis match point for point but, when it comes to getting a Trojan horse through a locked gate, she’s so useless her fellow players assume she must be a Traitor intent on sabotage. Meanwhile, Charlotte Church has sung arias in front of popes, but when she gives up her protective shield, she’s suspected of being a Traitor when she is actually just being selfless. One is rubbish, one is heroic, both may be murdered before the week’s out. View Green Video on the source website Nor do the customary deep-dive chats around the reality TV fireplace have anything like their customary import. Who cares how Tom Daley feels about being a famous sports star by the age of 14? We’re only wondering if he’s going to be murdered, betrayed or turned before nightfall. Typically, this is summed up beautifully by Stephen Fry who mentions he’s been both imprisoned and knighted before entering the castle, but here… “We’re all Faithfuls or Traitors, and that’s all there is to it.” He's right. We’re no more intrigued by Alan Carr’s apparent inability to conceal his treachery than we were by Linda’s season-three shake of the head. No great wordsmithery, record sales or gold medals will rescue them from the dilemma of whether to betray or be betrayed. This is a challenge not of hierarchy, but humanity — and the deeper we go into the game, the less important it becomes that they are celebrities at all. Better not tell their agents. The Celebrity Traitors continues tonight at 9pm on BBC One and BBC iPlayer.
The Diplomat recalls the glory days of The West Wing, with two familiar faces stealing the show
Add The Diplomat to your watchlist In a previous life, I’d crawl home from a nightshift pressing buttons in BBC Presentation and crawl into bed at 7am. To help fall asleep when most of the world was getting up, I’d pop on a random episode of The West Wing. Then, as CJ, Josh, Sam and Toby traded whip-smart barbs, expounded on intricate foreign policy and went about preserving world peace, I could nod off, safe in the knowledge that there were familiar, funny, well-meaning grown-ups in the room. It’s been almost 20 years since the curtain came down on that show. In that time, I, like millions of other fans – Wingnuts is our official term – have watched hundreds of hours of characters walking ’n’ talking, shaking off security detail, cutting secret deals in corridors and clinking glasses at power dinners. The last ten months alone have seen Black Doves’ mercenaries tripping up the government, Hostage’s PM choosing between her country and her kidnapped husband, and Paradise’s Secret Service agent Xavier framed for his president’s demise. If nobody in all that time has matched Aaron Sorkin’s masterpiece for wit and worldliness, it’s not been for want of trying. When The Diplomat was first announced, I feared a Disneyfied version of the US ambassador to London skipping down the stairs of her big Regent’s Park house, getting loads of English things wrong – “cups with saucers?” – before charming the UK government with her winning ways. And, sure enough, there is a touch of the Bridget Jones about Keri Russell’s Kate Wyler, with her bush-dragged hair, struggle to do up her own frock and will-they-undoubtedly-they-will frisson with the British foreign secretary. What saves this from being “The Princess Diaries does politics”? Several aspects, not least the chemistry and competition between Russell and Rufus Sewell as the ambassador and her husband. She’s got the London gig, but he’s a former diplomatic hotshot with a still-spinning Rolodex. When the couple aren’t fighting or breaking the china in their beautiful residence (no Netflix money spared on locations), they’re collaborating to outwit their staff, the CIA, politicians back home and the UK PM – a delightfully brittle Rory Kinnear, with most of the best lines. Of course, it’s not remotely true to life – how many top-level meetings, from CIA to Russian assets, can one ceremonial ambassador possibly be invited to sit in on? – and that’s before season two sees the arrival of Allison Janney as the vice-president Grace Penn. Never mind suspending our disbelief, any sleepy Wingnut will just want to shout, “It’s CJ Cregg,” even if her military stature and unblinking gaze give off vibes more akin to Donald Sutherland than Jed Bartlet’s ballsy, brilliant press secretary. My small complaint would be that, with such a formidable role, we don’t get to enjoy Janney’s funny bones, but with a great script, personal dynamics and corridors-of-power vibes, what more could we ask for? The answer: another West Wing alumnus: white-haired and bearded but still, unmistakeably, Bradley Whitford – or, as he introduces himself, “Todd Penn, First Lady.” For sure, Wingnuts might have to watch through their fingers when the Penns curl up together (CJ and Josh feels very wrong), but I suppose it’s no weirder than the VP’s wife being simultaneously an ambassador, and it’s also strangely comforting to see two such familiar figures arguing over oysters like it’s 2002. Now if they can just recruit Richard Schiff, Janel Maloney and – whisper it – Martin Sheen, we could all sleep easy. On screen at least, the grown-ups are back in the room.
Netflix's The Diplomat gives us The West Wing fans a dream reunion – and a very comforting realisation
The Diplomat recalls the glory days of The West Wing, with two familiar faces stealing the show.
This article first appeared in Radio Times magazine. In a previous life, I’d crawl home from a nightshift pressing buttons in BBC Presentation and crawl into bed at 7am. To help fall asleep when most of the world was getting up, I’d pop on a random episode of The West Wing. Then, as CJ, Josh, Sam and Toby traded whip-smart barbs, expounded on intricate foreign policy and went about preserving world peace, I could nod off, safe in the knowledge that there were familiar, funny, well-meaning grown-ups in the room. It’s been almost 20 years since the curtain came down on that show. In that time, I, like millions of other fans – Wingnuts is our official term – have watched hundreds of hours of characters walking ’n’ talking, shaking off security detail, cutting secret deals in corridors and clinking glasses at power dinners. The last ten months alone have seen Black Doves’ mercenaries tripping up the government, Hostage’s PM choosing between her country and her kidnapped husband, and Paradise’s Secret Service agent Xavier framed for his president’s demise. If nobody in all that time has matched Aaron Sorkin’s masterpiece for wit and worldliness, it’s not been for want of trying. When The Diplomat was first announced, I feared a Disneyfied version of the US ambassador to London skipping down the stairs of her big Regent’s Park house, getting loads of English things wrong – “cups with saucers?” – before charming the UK government with her winning ways. And, sure enough, there is a touch of the Bridget Jones about Keri Russell’s Kate Wyler, with her bush-dragged hair, struggle to do up her own frock and will-they-undoubtedly-they-will frisson with the British foreign secretary. What saves this from being “The Princess Diaries does politics”? Several aspects, not least the chemistry and competition between Russell and Rufus Sewell as the ambassador and her husband. She’s got the London gig, but he’s a former diplomatic hotshot with a still-spinning Rolodex. When the couple aren’t fighting or breaking the china in their beautiful residence (no Netflix money spared on locations), they’re collaborating to outwit their staff, the CIA, politicians back home and the UK PM – a delightfully brittle Rory Kinnear, with most of the best lines. Of course, it’s not remotely true to life – how many top-level meetings, from CIA to Russian assets, can one ceremonial ambassador possibly be invited to sit in on? – and that’s before season two sees the arrival of Allison Janney as the vice-president Grace Penn. Never mind suspending our disbelief, any sleepy Wingnut will just want to shout, “It’s CJ Cregg,” even if her military stature and unblinking gaze give off vibes more akin to Donald Sutherland than Jed Bartlet’s ballsy, brilliant press secretary. My small complaint would be that, with such a formidable role, we don’t get to enjoy Janney’s funny bones, but with a great script, personal dynamics and corridors-of-power vibes, what more could we ask for? The answer: another West Wing alumnus: white-haired and bearded but still, unmistakably, Bradley Whitford – or, as he introduces himself, “Todd Penn, First Lady.” For sure, Wingnuts might have to watch through their fingers when the Penns curl up together (CJ and Josh feels very wrong), but I suppose it’s no weirder than the VP’s wife being simultaneously an ambassador, and it’s also strangely comforting to see two such familiar figures arguing over oysters like it’s 2002. Now if they can just recruit Richard Schiff, Janel Maloney and – whisper it – Martin Sheen, we could all sleep easy. On screen at least, the grown-ups are back in the room. The latest issue of Radio Times is out now – subscribe here. Check out more of our Drama coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more TV recommendations and reviews, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
Put young and old together — in a nursing home or a reality show — and it’s soon clear how both benefit
Add Worlds Apart to your watchlist Back in 1841, Charles Dickens wrote, “It is not a slight thing when they, who are so fresh from God, love us”; nearly 200 years later, every grandparent can attest to how the cockles of our hearts continue to be warmed by unions as close in affection as they are distant in age. We saw it when Macaulay Culkin’s Kevin encountered Old Man Marley in Home Alone. Our eyes glistened when lonely widower Carl found unlikely companionship with enthusiastic explorer Russell in Up. Even curmudgeonly Clint Eastwood had his armour pierced by his young Korean neighbours in Gran Torino. The Channel 4 exec who commissioned Worlds Apart is clearly leaning into the same alchemy, with a show that makes up in heart what it lacks in originality. In an idea obviously borrowed from Race across the World, six young rookie British travellers – described as “Gen Z” so not quite fresh from God, but with fresh passports – each team up with a pensioner partner, whom they meet for the first time on the streets of Tokyo. This designation had several of us in the office googling to find out when Millennials ended and Gen Zs began (1996/7 if you’re interested). Meanwhile, back in Japan, our pairs wade through the city, aiming to solve puzzles, pocket some gold coins and ultimately share a £50,000 prize. If their chats are not yet profound, the duos are charming. Rosie (68) says she’s after a “super-intelligent partner because I’m not”. Instead, she’s paired with Lawrence (24), whose response to the clue “Look out for a place to go if you’re caught short” is to go fishing, “or maybe a tennis court”. And it’s Rosie who guesses that a “temple to technology” might just be an Apple store, not an actual… Elsewhere, when retired GP Tony meets partner Emma (18), who grew up in care, his sympathy is palpable. “She’s amazingly resilient,” he says, while pensioner Colin pays young Charlotte the ultimate compliment: “She’s not what I thought young people were.” The moral of the story is clear, even if none of this is as pioneering as producers might think. The Humanitas nursing home in the Netherlands is celebrated for its scheme where students live rent-free and, in return, commit to spending 30 hours a month socialising with elderly residents. There are plenty more across Europe, while the UK has its own Homeshare scheme, whereby older people can offer a spare room to a younger lodger on a reduced rent in exchange for tasks and shared time. It should get more publicity. And C4 have made similar forays before, with their Old People’s Home for 4 Year Olds demonstrating the mutual benefits of such intergenerational interaction. Last year, the London School of Economics published a report on how workplaces that embrace each generation’s strengths are best placed for innovation and growth. Even without commercial incentives, it’s clear that such connection is mutually enriching, offering an antidote to older people’s solitude, while youngsters get the benefit of their elders’ wisdom, including learning what getting caught short means. Worlds Apart needs the usual reality TV caveat – that, for those taking part, being filmed trumps any other differences. Then widow Barbara talks about how she loves getting out and about, “but when I come home, there’s no one there to tell.” Her face cracks into a smile when she meets young Katie – “I love your eyelashes” – and Katie instantly replies, “I love your dress”. This show isn’t actually about age at all, it’s about the compassion of strangers making way for unlikely comradeship. And that’s not a slight thing, either.
Channel 4’s Worlds Apart may recall Race Across the World, but makes up in heart what it lacks in originality
Put young and old together – in a nursing home or a reality show – and it’s soon clear how both benefit.
This article first appeared in Radio Times magazine. Back in 1841, Charles Dickens wrote, “It is not a slight thing when they, who are so fresh from God, love us”; nearly 200 years later, every grandparent can attest to how the cockles of our hearts continue to be warmed by unions as close in affection as they are distant in age. We saw it when Macaulay Culkin’s Kevin encountered Old Man Marley in Home Alone. Our eyes glistened when lonely widower Carl found unlikely companionship with enthusiastic explorer Russell in Up. Even curmudgeonly Clint Eastwood had his armour pierced by his young Korean neighbours in Gran Torino. The Channel 4 exec who commissioned Worlds Apart is clearly leaning into the same alchemy, with a show that makes up in heart what it lacks in originality. In an idea obviously borrowed from Race Across the World, six young rookie British travellers – described as “Gen Z” so not quite fresh from God, but with fresh passports – each team up with a pensioner partner, whom they meet for the first time on the streets of Tokyo. This designation had several of us in the office googling to find out when Millennials ended and Gen Zs began (1996/7 if you’re interested). Meanwhile, back in Japan, our pairs wade through the city, aiming to solve puzzles, pocket some gold coins and ultimately share a £50,000 prize. If their chats are not yet profound, the duos are charming. Rosie (68) says she’s after a “super-intelligent partner because I’m not”. Instead, she’s paired with Lawrence (24), whose response to the clue “Look out for a place to go if you’re caught short” is to go fishing, “or maybe a tennis court”. And it’s Rosie who guesses that a “temple to technology” might just be an Apple store, not an actual… Elsewhere, when retired GP Tony meets partner Emma (18), who grew up in care, his sympathy is palpable. “She’s amazingly resilient,” he says, while pensioner Colin pays young Charlotte the ultimate compliment: “She’s not what I thought young people were.” The moral of the story is clear, even if none of this is as pioneering as producers might think. The Humanitas nursing home in the Netherlands is celebrated for its scheme where students live rent-free and, in return, commit to spending 30 hours a month socialising with elderly residents. There are plenty more across Europe, while the UK has its own Homeshare scheme, whereby older people can offer a spare room to a younger lodger on a reduced rent in exchange for tasks and shared time. It should get more publicity. And C4 have made similar forays before, with their Old People’s Home for 4 Year Olds demonstrating the mutual benefits of such intergenerational interaction. Last year, the London School of Economics published a report on how workplaces that embrace each generation’s strengths are best placed for innovation and growth. Even without commercial incentives, it’s clear that such connection is mutually enriching, offering an antidote to older people’s solitude, while youngsters get the benefit of their elders’ wisdom, including learning what getting caught short means. Worlds Apart needs the usual reality TV caveat – that, for those taking part, being filmed trumps any other differences. Then widow Barbara talks about how she loves getting out and about, “but when I come home, there’s no one there to tell.” Her face cracks into a smile when she meets young Katie – “I love your eyelashes” – and Katie instantly replies, “I love your dress”. This show isn’t actually about age at all, it’s about the compassion of strangers making way for unlikely comradeship. And that’s not a slight thing, either. If you’re thinking about booking a holiday in the next few weeks, here are our financial expert's top tips on arranging a getaway that won’t break the bank The latest issue of Radio Times is out now – subscribe here. Worlds Apart begins on Tuesday 7th October at 9:15pm on Channel 4. Add Worlds Apart to your watchlist on the Radio Times: What to Watch app – download now for daily TV recommendations, features and more. Check out more of our Entertainment coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more TV recommendations and reviews, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
For his latest thriller, Anthony Horowitz has created a murder mystery in the style of Agatha Christie but with a dark, modern edge
Add Nine Bodies in a Mexican Morgue to your watchlist A tiny plane comes down in the Mexican jungle. All eight passengers, plus the pilot and the flight attendant, are left stranded in the wreckage, at the mercy of the elements and, as it transpires, one another. Eight days later, a group of body bags is lined up in a dusty military station-turned-makeshift morgue. A sad but straightforward story, it appears, until the plane’s contents are inspected by an officer with a furrowed brow. “We have nine bodies, sir,” he tells his commander. So, what’s the problem? “We have ten passports…” Thus begins Nine Bodies in a Mexican Morgue, the latest TV mystery from the pen of Anthony Horowitz, the crime-writing powerhouse who brought us Foyle’s War, early Midsomer Murders episodes and, more recently, Magpie Murders and Moonflower Murders. With its jungle setting and abruptly increasing body count, Nine Bodies is, he claims, the “antidote to so-called cosy crime”. “Here, I thought I would tear the envelope and do something nobody can accuse of being cosy,” he explains. “It’s a tough situation, everybody is almost immediately at each other’s throats and nobody is riding a tricycle on a village green. It’s the anti-cosy crime drama.” Un-cosy it may be, but unfamiliar it is not. Horowitz shares that early viewers of the show – including his wife and producer, Jill Green –were quick to remark on the plot’s similarity to the entertainment juggernaut The Traitors. Horowitz accepts there is a shared conceit at its centre – “Who is my enemy, who is my friend?” – but points out he hasn’t watched The Traitors and began drafting before that series aired. He far more readily acknowledges the influence of Agatha Christie’s mystery masterclass And Then There Were None (ten people on a secluded island, one murderer among them). He says, “I like to think of it as a modern variation. Every writer of murder mysteries in the world wishes they’d come up with And Then There Were None. It’s the greatest, cleverest, most enjoyable mystery Christie ever wrote, and one with no detective, which is interesting. It’s what we have here, too – you’ve been sitting next to somebody for hours on a plane and you don’t know who they are. If they’re a killer, you only find out when they start killing.” Christie is one of the few revered crime writers from a bygone age for whom Horowitz has not written “continuity novels” (although that’s not a term he’s keen on). Besides his own catalogue of more than 50 novels for adults and children – including the bestselling Alex Rider teen spy series – Horowitz has been tasked with furthering the exploits of Messrs Holmes and Bond. Does that stretch the same creative muscles as conjuring up his own heroes and villains? “All writing is about energy, immersion, storytelling, character, keeping people hooked,” he muses. “When I’m writing about Sherlock Holmes or James Bond, I’m in the shadow of writers much better than me, so it’s about raising my game, about ventriloquising their work, being more them and less me.” When it comes to the latter, Horowitz – who has written three critically acclaimed 007 novels, set firmly in Ian Fleming’s era of spycraft – cheerfully says he’s “never been asked, never really wanted to” work on a script for the films. “You need a thick skin for that business [of dealing with big-budget film producers]. I’m probably happier out of it.” There’s also what he calls “one major issue” that he’s happy to leave to Steven Knight, who was recently announced as the next Bond film’s screenwriter: how to resurrect our hero. “The last time we saw Bond (in 2021’s No Time to Die) he was poisoned and blown to smithereens – how will they get past the fact he is dead with a capital D? I think that was a mistake, because Bond is a legend. He belongs to everybody, he is eternal – except in that film. If I was asked tomorrow to write the script, I wouldn’t be able to do it. Where would you start? You can’t have him waking up in the shower and saying it was all a dream.” With Horowitz in such forthcoming mood, I ask him about another ubiquitous trend, that of celebrities turning their attentions (and high profiles) to crime fiction authorship – or, in some cases, “authorship”. He chuckles. “Every writer harbours a grudge against celebrities who get a certain shelf space and publicity. There’s an envy for the names who’ve done well. He’s quick to add, “However, if a book is good, I have no problem. Good work will out, and so will bad work. The crime-reading public of Britain have high standards, they can tell a dog.” Horowitz may not be losing any sleep over this, but I wonder who’s on hand to tell him if he’s created a dog himself? He says his toughest critic is his wife, but adds: “The reason our marriage has been so successful is that Jill is always right, so when she tells me where I’ve gone wrong, even if I stamp my foot, I’ll come back and rewrite.” He’s equally tough on himself. “I hate any murder-mystery with a hole in it, or one where the writer or viewer doesn’t have enough information to solve the puzzle. I don’t believe that’s fair, which means I have to endlessly check and check again.” With so many books and TV shows to his name, how does he decide what something like Nine Bodies is going to be? “I just know instinctively,” he answers immediately. “This show was always conceived visually as a series of shocks, and the idea of a person disappearing every episode fits perfectly. I’ve always used a murder as a punctuation point, to keep people watching. Back in the days of Midsomer Murders, when I had an ad break coming up, I’d kill someone.” And if it came to a choice? For the first time, he pauses. “My books last longer. Many young people have come to reading through Alex Rider, and that gives me the most pride. But the solitariness can get to you after a bit. “When you find success as a writer, the only thing that changes is that you get a slightly bigger room. TV gets me outside. I love the collaboration and excitement. You visit the set, you see a burnt-out fuselage in the jungle with lots of cameras, and you think, ‘This all started with me sitting in a chair on my own in a room’. It feels incredible.” Whichever the medium, 46 years after the publication of his debut novel, Horowitz shows no sign of burning out. When I tell him I binged four episodes of Nine Bodies on the trot, then tried and failed to go to bed without finishing the final two, he’s delighted, adding: “The only difference between a successful writer and an unsuccessful writer is that the unsuccessful one stops – and I won’t stop.”
Not every newspaper will be recommending this drama, but The Hack is a story that affects all of us
Add The Hack to your watchlist Amid the flurry of tributes to Robert Redford following his recent death, one testimony stood out – that of Bob Woodward, whom Redford portrayed in the hit 1976 political thriller All the President’s Men, which showed how a pair of intrepid Washington Post journalists tirelessly exposed Watergate and ultimately held the world’s most powerful man to account. Woodward called Redford “a noble and principled force for good”, and his performance, alongside Dustin Hoffman’s as fellow journalist Carl Bernstein, was credited for inspiring a generation of young people to regard journalism as an honourable and worthwhile profession. Nearly 50 years later, with respect for possibly the world’s second oldest profession at an all-time low – thanks to false news, echo chambers and AI – we’re seeing another tale of journalism brought to screen, with The Hack illuminating both the best and worst of that profession. David Tennant plays The Guardian’s investigative reporter Nick Davies, whose initial meeting with an anonymous source led to the discovery of thousands of victims of phone hacking by some members of the press. With a script written by recent Emmy Award-winner (for Adolescence) Jack Thorne and created by the team behind Mr Bates vs the Post Office, with Toby Jones and Robert Carlyle also in the cast, it’s undoubtedly a pedigree offering. Davies displays the same dogged spirit as Alan Bates, and Thorne pulls no punches in equally strong portraits of villains alongside heroes. But how much attention this well-crafted drama will receive from the press is debatable. Don’t expect it to be flagged “programme of the week” in every Sunday paper. And those who, for their own reasons, choose to overlook it could argue it’s old hat. A bunch of celebrities had their voice messages intercepted; over a decade later, inquiries are concluded, compensation paid. Mr Bates vs the Post Office inspired a tidal wave of national indignation, prompting government action and the beginning of justice for those wronged. What do The Hack’s creators want to achieve? “There are questions that remain unanswered,” says exec producer Patrick Spence (who also made Mr Bates). “We want the audience to watch it and say, ‘Hang on a minute…’ And to get angry, and to do something about it.” Why should we care? The answer for The Hack is as it was for Mr Bates: that powerful people did something wrong, then used that power to avoid being found out. While many of those victims were compensated, nothing could make good the anguish suffered by Milly Dowler’s parents, after their missing daughter’s phone was also hacked, giving them false hope for her return – and there were countless other victims whose names we’ll never know. Davies’s tireless work culminated in seven police investigations, nearly 40 convictions, and senior figures from across the establishment brought to their knees. Thorne says, “We have to examine ourselves to make ourselves better,” and this story shines a light on the media, the police and government – three institution cornerstones we have to hold to account if we want to protect everything else we hold dear. Spence asks, “If we’re not interested in that, what are we interested in?” Of course, it’s frightening to comprehend, and daunting to challenge such imposing behemoths – but that’s why these stories have to be told, and watched, so we can be inspired by other Davids to take on fresh Goliaths.
The Hack, like Mr Bates before it, shows how the powerful use influence to hide their wrongdoing
Not every newspaper will be recommending this drama, but The Hack is a story that affects all of us.
This article first appeared in Radio Times magazine. Amid the flurry of tributes to Robert Redford following his recent death, one testimony stood out – that of Bob Woodward, whom Redford portrayed in the hit 1976 political thriller All the President’s Men, which showed how a pair of intrepid Washington Post journalists tirelessly exposed Watergate and ultimately held the world’s most powerful man to account. Woodward called Redford “a noble and principled force for good”, and his performance, alongside Dustin Hoffman’s as fellow journalist Carl Bernstein, was credited for inspiring a generation of young people to regard journalism as an honourable and worthwhile profession. Nearly 50 years later, with respect for possibly the world’s second oldest profession at an all-time low – thanks to false news, echo chambers and AI – we’re seeing another tale of journalism brought to screen, with The Hack illuminating both the best and worst of that profession. David Tennant plays The Guardian’s investigative reporter Nick Davies, whose initial meeting with an anonymous source led to the discovery of thousands of victims of phone hacking by some members of the press. With a script written by recent Emmy Award-winner (for Adolescence) Jack Thorne and created by the team behind Mr Bates vs the Post Office, with Toby Jones and Robert Carlyle also in the cast, it’s undoubtedly a pedigree offering. Davies displays the same dogged spirit as Alan Bates, and Thorne pulls no punches in equally strong portraits of villains alongside heroes. But how much attention this well-crafted drama will receive from the press is debatable. Don’t expect it to be flagged “programme of the week” in every Sunday paper. And those who, for their own reasons, choose to overlook it could argue it’s old hat. A bunch of celebrities had their voice messages intercepted; over a decade later, inquiries are concluded, compensation paid. Mr Bates vs the Post Office inspired a tidal wave of national indignation, prompting government action and the beginning of justice for those wronged. What do The Hack’s creators want to achieve? “There are questions that remain unanswered,” says exec producer Patrick Spence (who also made Mr Bates). “We want the audience to watch it and say, ‘Hang on a minute…’ And to get angry, and to do something about it.” Why should we care? The answer for The Hack is as it was for Mr Bates: that powerful people did something wrong, then used that power to avoid being found out. While many of those victims were compensated, nothing could make good the anguish suffered by Milly Dowler’s parents, after their missing daughter’s phone was also hacked, giving them false hope for her return – and there were countless other victims whose names we’ll never know. Davies’s tireless work culminated in seven police investigations, nearly 40 convictions, and senior figures from across the establishment brought to their knees. Thorne says, “We have to examine ourselves to make ourselves better,” and this story shines a light on the media, the police and government – three institution cornerstones we have to hold to account if we want to protect everything else we hold dear. Spence asks, “If we’re not interested in that, what are we interested in?” Of course, it’s frightening to comprehend, and daunting to challenge such imposing behemoths – but that’s why these stories have to be told, and watched, so we can be inspired by other Davids to take on fresh Goliaths. The latest issue of Radio Times is out now – subscribe here. Check out more of our Drama coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more TV recommendations and reviews, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.
Nine Bodies in a Mexican Morgue is "antidote" to "cosy crime", says writer Anthony Horowitz
For his latest thriller, Anthony Horowitz has created a murder mystery in the style of Agatha Christie but with a dark, modern edge.
This article first appeared in Radio Times magazine. A tiny plane comes down in the Mexican jungle. All eight passengers, plus the pilot and the flight attendant, are left stranded in the wreckage, at the mercy of the elements and, as it transpires, one another. Eight days later, a group of body bags is lined up in a dusty military station-turned-makeshift morgue. A sad but straightforward story, it appears, until the plane’s contents are inspected by an officer with a furrowed brow. “We have nine bodies, sir,” he tells his commander. So, what’s the problem? “We have 10 passports…” Thus begins Nine Bodies in a Mexican Morgue, the latest TV mystery from the pen of Anthony Horowitz, the crime-writing powerhouse who brought us Foyle’s War, early Midsomer Murders episodes and, more recently, Magpie Murders and Moonflower Murders. With its jungle setting and abruptly increasing body count, Nine Bodies is, he claims, the “antidote to so-called cosy crime”. “Here, I thought I would tear the envelope and do something nobody can accuse of being cosy,” he explains. “It’s a tough situation, everybody is almost immediately at each other’s throats and nobody is riding a tricycle on a village green. It’s the anti-cosy crime drama.” Un-cosy it may be, but unfamiliar it is not. Horowitz shares that early viewers of the show – including his wife and producer, Jill Green –were quick to remark on the plot’s similarity to the entertainment juggernaut The Traitors. Horowitz accepts there is a shared conceit at its centre – “Who is my enemy, who is my friend?” – but points out he hasn’t watched The Traitors and began drafting before that series aired. He far more readily acknowledges the influence of Agatha Christie’s mystery masterclass And Then There Were None (ten people on a secluded island, one murderer among them). He says, “I like to think of it as a modern variation. Every writer of murder mysteries in the world wishes they’d come up with And Then There Were None. It’s the greatest, cleverest, most enjoyable mystery Christie ever wrote, and one with no detective, which is interesting. It’s what we have here, too – you’ve been sitting next to somebody for hours on a plane and you don’t know who they are. If they’re a killer, you only find out when they start killing.” Christie is one of the few revered crime writers from a bygone age for whom Horowitz has not written “continuity novels” (although that’s not a term he’s keen on). Besides his own catalogue of more than 50 novels for adults and children – including the bestselling Alex Rider teen spy series – Horowitz has been tasked with furthering the exploits of Messrs Holmes and Bond. Does that stretch the same creative muscles as conjuring up his own heroes and villains? “All writing is about energy, immersion, storytelling, character, keeping people hooked,” he muses. “When I’m writing about Sherlock Holmes or James Bond, I’m in the shadow of writers much better than me, so it’s about raising my game, about ventriloquising their work, being more them and less me.” When it comes to the latter, Horowitz – who has written three critically acclaimed 007 novels, set firmly in Ian Fleming’s era of spycraft – cheerfully says he’s “never been asked, never really wanted to” work on a script for the films. “You need a thick skin for that business [of dealing with big-budget film producers]. I’m probably happier out of it.” There’s also what he calls “one major issue” that he’s happy to leave to Steven Knight, who was recently announced as the next Bond film’s screenwriter: how to resurrect our hero. “The last time we saw Bond (in 2021’s No Time to Die) he was poisoned and blown to smithereens – how will they get past the fact he is dead with a capital D? I think that was a mistake, because Bond is a legend. He belongs to everybody, he is eternal – except in that film. If I was asked tomorrow to write the script, I wouldn’t be able to do it. Where would you start? You can’t have him waking up in the shower and saying it was all a dream.” With Horowitz in such forthcoming mood, I ask him about another ubiquitous trend, that of celebrities turning their attentions (and high profiles) to crime fiction authorship – or, in some cases, “authorship”. He chuckles. “Every writer harbours a grudge against celebrities who get a certain shelf space and publicity. There’s an envy for the names who’ve done well. He’s quick to add, “However, if a book is good, I have no problem. Good work will out, and so will bad work. The crime-reading public of Britain have high standards, they can tell a dog.” Horowitz may not be losing any sleep over this, but I wonder who’s on hand to tell him if he’s created a dog himself? He says his toughest critic is his wife, but adds: “The reason our marriage has been so successful is that Jill is always right, so when she tells me where I’ve gone wrong, even if I stamp my foot, I’ll come back and rewrite.” He’s equally tough on himself. “I hate any murder-mystery with a hole in it, or one where the writer or viewer doesn’t have enough information to solve the puzzle. I don’t believe that’s fair, which means I have to endlessly check and check again.” With so many books and TV shows to his name, how does he decide what something like Nine Bodies is going to be? “I just know instinctively,” he answers immediately. “This show was always conceived visually as a series of shocks, and the idea of a person disappearing every episode fits perfectly. I’ve always used a murder as a punctuation point, to keep people watching. Back in the days of Midsomer Murders, when I had an ad break coming up, I’d kill someone.” And if it came to a choice? For the first time, he pauses. “My books last longer. Many young people have come to reading through Alex Rider, and that gives me the most pride. But the solitariness can get to you after a bit. “When you find success as a writer, the only thing that changes is that you get a slightly bigger room. TV gets me outside. I love the collaboration and excitement. You visit the set, you see a burnt-out fuselage in the jungle with lots of cameras, and you think, ‘This all started with me sitting in a chair on my own in a room’. It feels incredible.” Whichever the medium, 46 years after the publication of his debut novel, Horowitz shows no sign of burning out. When I tell him I binged four episodes of Nine Bodies on the trot, then tried and failed to go to bed without finishing the final two, he’s delighted, adding: “The only difference between a successful writer and an unsuccessful writer is that the unsuccessful one stops – and I won’t stop.” The latest issue of Radio Times is out now – subscribe here. Check out more of our Drama coverage or visit our TV Guide and Streaming Guide to find out what's on. For more TV recommendations and reviews, listen to The Radio Times Podcast.