All My Sons at the Old Vic review: Sally Field is outstanding in Arthur Miller's classic ★★★★
Jenna Coleman and Bill Pullman star alongside Sally Field in a flawed but gripping version of Miller's tragic play
You tend to know what you’re getting with Arthur Miller, and Jeremy Herrin’s rich revival at the Old Vic is no exception. Headlined by two-time Oscar winner Sally Field as the matriarch, Kate Keller, Bill Pullman (The Sinner) is Joe, her factory owner husband, while Colin Morgan (Merlin, Humans) is their veteran son, Chris, and TV royalty Jenna Coleman (Victoria) is Annie, the fiancée of Chris’s brother, Larry, who went missing in combat three years earlier. The return of Annie to her old neighbourhood precipitates a new examination of the family and both their individual and collective values, as we come to understand that the loss of Larry is not, in fact, the Kellers’ defining tragedy. In the hands of Field and her co-stars, what can feel like a dense, almost classical sort of drama is lifted into something altogether more current, and more human. This depth of feeling starts with Max Jones’s set, whose recreation of the Kellers’ idyllic backyard is alive with concrete, evocative detail; when the lights fell to signify night time, somehow the temperature did too. Written and set in 1947, the shadow of war looms large in All My Sons: Joe made his money making airplane parts for the US military; Chris struggles to shake off his time in charge of a company that suffered many casualties; Kate still refuses to believe Larry is dead. Field is outstanding as Kate, who must have at once the sweet civility of an elderly mother and the viciousness of a woman betrayed, while Pullman convinces as a man whose initial geniality eventually gives way to something far more base. Brits Morgan and Coleman occasionally struggle to maintain both emotional intensity and convincing American accents, but they’re impressively committed; Morgan brings a jittery physicality to the conflicted Chris, while Coleman’s Annie possesses real warmth, and tenderness. All four capably convey the disorientation that comes from having old convictions slowly replaced by new, unpalatable truths. Despite its specificity, the concerns of All My Sons are evergreen; this isn’t an experimental, updated take on Miller’s work, but that doesn’t mean it’s not contemporary. Though the play has its flaws, it’s hard to deny there is power in it – especially when performed by a cast as able as this. Hannah Shaddock All My Sons is at the Old Vic until 8 June 2019. See oldvictheatre.com or call the box office on 0844 871 7628
The Tell-Tale Heart review: Gothic horror with a twist at the National Theatre
Anthony Nielsen’s new play is full of carnage, comedy and in jokes, says Hannah Shaddock ★★★
Though this not-so-festive frightener shares its name with the Edgar Allan Poe short story, let’s be clear: this is not an adaptation. Instead Anthony Nielsen’s production (he is both writer and director) riffs gleefully on the themes and motifs of Poe’s gothic tale: madness, guilt, and the act of seeing, and being seen. Tamara Lawrance (who stars in BBC1’s The Long Song, which starts on 18 December) is debut playwright Celeste Allen, who, in the opening scene, turns down a prestigious award. Amid the resulting uproar (“Judi Dench called me a hypocrite”) she retreats to an attic room in Brighton to write her follow-up, where she’s befriended by her frank, eccentric landlady Nora (Imogen Doel), who wears a bulbous mask over one eye. Both are delightful – and very funny – but Lawrance is particularly impressive, by turns swaggeringly sanctimonious and painfully exposed. As she struggles to write she focuses instead on improving Nora, loftily insisting that she won’t be bothered by the appearance of her disfigured eye. But then the mask comes off… It’s the first sharp twist of many – there’s a slight sense of Nielsen’s metafictional, improvisational script spiralling in on itself – but the performances, including that of David Carlyle, who plays two incarnations of a policeman, have enough conviction to ground the action, even as it borders on the farcical. The melodrama is ramped up in a second half full of horror movie tropes, as Francis O’Connor’s spare, evocative set comes eerily alive; the attic’s large windows are an apt canvas for an ever-changing sky, full of clouds and crows one minute and pink dusky light the next. Amid the carnage, there’s comedy, too: Nielsen pokes fun not just at his own work but theatre as a whole, even art itself. These in-jokes get the biggest laughs, such as when Carlyle, as a policeman with theatrical ambitions, delivers his lukewarm verdict on the musical Company (currently playing at the Gielgud Theatre, to rapturous reviews): “Eh,” he shrugs. There are a handful of moments some may find disturbing: an unnervingly visceral portrayal of a hanging, for example. And as a treatment of facial disfigurement it is, obviously, not exactly sensitive. But by repeatedly making both his industry and his own work the punchline of his play, Nielsen is making a point: let’s not take any of this too seriously. The Tell-Tale Heart is at the National’s Dorfman Theatre until 8 January. Box office 020 7452 3000
Elena Ferrante's My Brilliant Friend is now a TV series – but is it any good?
The bestselling novel about two girls growing up in 1950s Naples has been adapted for television
“We lived in a world in which children and adults were often wounded, blood flowed from the wounds, they festered, and sometimes people died.” That’s how Elena Greco, the narrator of My Brilliant Friend by Italian author Elena Ferrante, describes her childhood in a poor neighbourhood on the outskirts of 1950s Naples. It’s an apt description, too, of the world we see on screen in a new Sky Atlantic adaptation of the novel, beginning on Monday 19th November. Meet the cast of Channel 4’s new true crime drama The Interrogation The best true crime series on Netflix Stay up to date with the RadioTimes.com newsletter Ferrante – who uses a pen name to maintain her anonymity, although there were attempts to unmask her in 2016 – was intimately involved in the production, developing the script with director Saverio Costanzo, entirely via email. The result is a mostly successful adaptation, closely aligned to Ferrante’s books, and a uniquely absorbing drama. View oEmbed on the source website This first eight-episode run is based on the first book; three more series are planned, one for each of what are known as Ferrante’s Neapolitan novels. My Brilliant Friend opens with a 60-something Elena Greco discovering that her old friend Lila is missing, having taken all of her belongings and cut herself out of family pictures. Elena, or Lenù, starts to write the story of their friendship to undermine Lila’s self-erasure, sending us back to the scruffy streets where the pair grew up. This reminiscence is not a nostalgic act; Lenù and Lila’s friendship is, from the beginning, fraught and complex. Lenù is clever, self-contained, hesitant; Lila is cleverer, bold, flinty. Their childhood is full of a claustrophobia and menace that is at times overwhelming, only punctuated by blows and brawls. They are passive observers of ever-present violence, and social forces they don’t yet understand: for long stretches, the camera rests on the faces of the young actors – Elisa Del Genio as Lenù and Ludovica Nasti as Lila – who are captivating, as are their teenage incarnations, who we meet in episode three. The girls are at the heart of a sprawling cast, all drawn from locals in a process that took eight months and involved 9,000 auditionees, which shows the lengths the production went to in pursuit of authenticity; this is also seen in the vast, detailed set, shabby in appearance but luxurious in period detail. As a drama, My Brilliant Friend isn’t perfect, but, as with Ferrante’s books, that roughness is part of the appeal. And what it does achieve is a consistency of atmosphere and feeling, which is vital for this unapologetically local story – much of the dialogue is in a Neapolitan dialect that many Italians will need subtitles to understand. But this singularity works in the show’s favour; it conjures up a place so specific, so concrete, that it’s a genuine wrench to leave it. My Brilliant Friend starts on Monday 19th November at 9pm on Sky Atlantic
I'm Not Running review: David Hare’s new National Theatre play tiptoes around the Labour Party ★★★
Siân Brooke swaps Sherlock for politics, playing an idealistic MP who may or may not be running for the Labour leadership
From the outset, I’m Not Running, a new play from David Hare – his 17th for the National Theatre – confuses. Is it political satire? Domestic drama? It attempts both, but neither successfully; it’s somehow both full of stuff and lacking in substance. The play centres on Pauline Gibson (Sherlock’s Siân Brooke), a single-issue, independent MP who may or may not be running to be leader of the Labour Party. It’s set in the present – filling in Pauline’s past through flashbacks – but there’s little reference to the current political reality: there’s no mention of Corbyn, or Brexit. It’s not clear which party is in power. The action, then, feels unmoored, too theoretical: Pauline, in particular, is made of too much theory, all rigid principles, not enough heart. Siân Brooke would love to bring Eurus Holmes back as a consulting detective for Sherlock Sherlock star Siân Brooke joins the cast of Neil Gaiman’s Good Omens Stranger Things’ Millie Bobby Brown to star as Sherlock’s sister in Enola Holmes film series Though clearly intended to be a complex, intellectual, single-minded woman, Pauline is deeply unconvincing, even implausible. Brooke can be captivating, and does her best to find depth in Pauline, but the resulting performance is uneven and affected, especially compared to her co-stars. View oEmbed on the source website Alex Hassell – as Jack Gould, Pauline’s university boyfriend-turned-political rival – finds the humour she sorely lacks, even though he is just as objectionable: entitled, self-regarding, dogmatic. But while Pauline’s most heated moments come when her ideology is challenged, Jack’s come when his feelings have been hurt, which is altogether more human, and more appealing. Joshua McGuire (Lovesick, The Hour) brings ease and warmth to Pauline’s right-hand man Sandy, disdainful and exasperated when facing a baying press pack, equal parts indulgent and firm with Pauline. Amaka Okafor as Jack’s young assistant is also very watchable, despite the sense that her character is little more than a means to meld the personal and political in a jarring second-act twist. It’s a moment of high drama in an otherwise meandering play, which sees the central thread – whether Pauline will make a leadership bid – diverge to include mediations on feminism, the beleaguered NHS, female genital mutilation, sexual consent, alcoholism, immigration, domestic violence. View oEmbed on the source website In contrast to this abundance, the set is sparse: a single two-walled room that the action sometimes spills out of, a device that could have been used more to fill the empty space on stage. The best scene in Neil Armfield’s production is in the pacier second act, as Jack and Pauline confront each other – their real selves, not just their respective political stances. Full of a vivid rawness, it showcases the considerable talent of the leads, as well as the dramatic skill of Hare. If only the rest of the play had done the same. I’m Not Running is currently on at the National Theatre’s Lyttelton until 31st January 2019. Tickets can be purchased here.
Black Earth Rising writer Hugo Blick: "The darker things go, the funnier it is"
The award-winning screenwriter explains why he's attracted to tragi-comedy – and invites us into his incredible windmill writing room
An uphill climb faces Hugo Blick when he begins a new project — not least because his office is seven storeys up. Since 2006, the writer has lived in, and worked from, a 19th-century windmill in Kent, with his wife Elinor, three sons — Atticus, 21, Joseph, 19, and Balthazar, 14 — and the ageing family dog, Flashheart (named after the Rik Mayall character in Blackadder; Blick, who trained as an actor, appeared in a 1989 episode of the sitcom). Blick’s office is at the top of the mill, reached through a hatch in the ceiling of the uppermost bedroom, and, yes, more stairs. But the climb is rewarded, with contemplative near-silence, broken only by the wind, and a magnificent view: from his desk he looks out on lush, rolling countryside — on a clear day, you can see France on the horizon. When is Black Earth Rising on TV? Who is in the cast? What is it about? Michaela Coel stars in explosive first trailer for war crimes thriller Black Earth Rising It’s a fitting spot for the 53-year-old, whose dramas range across the globe. His 2014 hit The Honourable Woman centred on the Israel-Palestine conflict, while his latest, Black Earth Rising — starring Harriet Walter, Michaela Coel and John Goodman — travels from London to the Hague to Rwanda in an exploration of the still-resounding aftershocks of the 1994 genocide. View oEmbed on the source website Despite his unusual workspace, Blick’s daily routine is reassuringly normal: “It’s pretty rhythmic, and based around children, getting them up and to school… After that it’s coffee, plenty of coffee, and then it’s a nine-to-five job.” It takes months for Blick, acting as writer, director and producer, to plan a drama, which involves elaborate diagrams on whiteboards and, he says, plenty of reclining on his stylish slate-grey day bed. Then he gives himself six weeks to write each episode. “There are only two real moments of pleasure,” says Blick. “When I finish the last line in the last episode and I say to myself, ‘Ah, that’s better!’ And then again at the end of the edit. But everything in between is just… hell.” And yet Blick gave himself even more to do while filming Black Earth Rising: he cast himself as barrister Blake Gaines, who first appears in episode four. Blick also gave his home a starring role — but you won’t spot the windmill itself, or its grounds, even though they are movie-set pristine, from the almost geometrically neat garden to the perplexingly blue swimming pool. Instead it’s the inside of Blick’s garage that viewers will get to admire on screen. “The whole crew came to the mill to film some scenes with my character. I had a pretty horrific childhood with my parents, but they’re both now dead, and by hook or by crook their ashes have ended up in my garage. So during filming,” he says, through laughter, “I realised that a) it was the only time I’ve performed in front of my parents and b) finally we were a happy family, we were together!” It’s a glimpse of the tragi-comic blend Blick is so adept at, having started his TV writing career with the BBC’s comedy department, where he co-created Marion and Geoff with his college friend Rob Brydon. Despite the darkness at the centre of Black Earth Rising, there are deliberate flickers of levity, especially in the lead performances: Blick describes Michaela Coel and John Goodman as “absolute actors of great professionalism and dexterity — but they both have a comedic sensibility. John in particular finds a mordant humour that shoots through the show and bounces us through some pretty horrific plot points.” View oEmbed on the source website Blick says, of his tendency to seek out the comical, “I’m always looking to find something to laugh about. The darker things go, the funnier it is. Humour is armour, it’s strength; if you can find the humour in a horrific situation, you can contain it.” It also helps, he says, to take the long view: “When I’m writing, some of the most heinous crimes are either being constructed in my head or being referred to. So it comes as a real relief to look out of that window and instead of seeing a city landscape of determined threat, you see just sheep. Sheep aren’t out to kill you!” Black Earth Rising first airs Monday 10th September at 9pm on BBC2
Books 'have played a huge role in my life': actress Emily Mortimer on the power of literature
Emily Mortimer, star of upcoming film The Bookshop alongside Bill Nighy, discusses her love of all things literary
Emily Mortimer has something to confess. “I’ve been talking so glowingly about the role of books in my life, but my biggest treat is to read crappy, terrible magazines... but then I feel disgusted by myself!” It’s an unlikely revelation from Mortimer, considering her latest role is playing Florence Green in The Bookshop (in cinemas from Friday 29th June). The film is based on the 1978 novel by Penelope Fitzgerald, in which a woman’s decision to open a bookshop stirs up tensions in a coastal town in 1950s England. When is Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald released? "I want my books to be hopeful, because that's what life is like": author and cancer survivor Ruth Hogan on the "up lit" book trend Sign for the free RadioTimes.com newsletter View oEmbed on the source website But Mortimer clearly has much in common with Florence – her admission comes in the midst of an enthusiastic near-sermon about books, which, she says, “have played a huge role in my life... the times when they’ve been more present I think of as the happy times”. If anything, Mortimer’s done a little too much reading; she grew up in a bookish household (her father was Rumpole of the Bailey author John Mortimer) and went on to study English and Russian literature at Oxford. “Reading still sometimes feels a bit like homework,” she says. Watch the trailer for The Bookshop, starring Emily Mortimer and Bill Nighy View oEmbed on the source website Like Florence, Mortimer is emphatic about the power of books: “There’s this moral certainty right now that I find really scary,” she says. “But books are where the grey areas of life are examined, which is so important.” Mortimer calls books “the spoils of your life”, and hers are to be found in the Brooklyn home she shares with her husband, actor Alessandro Nivola, and their two children, Samuel and May. Has she ever pictured her own book on those shelves? After all, she co-wrote Doll & Em, the comedy TV series she devised and starred in with her childhood friend Dolly Wells. But Mortimer is unsure. “Writing a novel feels scary... but maybe! I do find writing very cathartic. It’s so hard to sort your way through what you think and feel, and by writing things down you magically manage to get a bit of clarity.” The Bookshop hits UK cinemas on Friday 29th June Sign for the free RadioTimes.com newsletter
Patrice Evra's reaction to Eni Aluko shows the double standard in football punditry - and how women are raising the bar
"Female sports commentators can’t get away with the sort of inarticulate banalities we’re so used to hearing from male pundits"
Amid all the sporting action over the opening weekend of the World Cup, an off-the-pitch controversy caught the eye: the criticism levelled at at former Manchester United defender Patrice Evra, one of the faces of ITV’s coverage. On Sunday Evra appeared as a pundit alongside ex-Celtic player Henrik Larsson and Eni Aluko, who’s newly signed to Juventus – and responded to Aluko’s incisive evaluation of Costa Rica v Serbia with applause, and wide-eyed disbelief. Click here for a full list of World Cup 2018 fixtures, kick-off times, channels and venues. It seemed to be a genuine attempt at praise, but it was an uncomfortable moment. “She knows more than us!” was his aside to Larsson – which invites the question, why wouldn’t she? Aluko has had a long career in football, just like Evra has, and in 2014 became the first woman to appear as a pundit on Match of the Day – all while studying to earn her legal qualifications, both in the US and the UK. Evra’s response highlighted the strange paradox that women in football must negotiate. For Aluko in that pundit’s chair, expectations manage to be both high – do you know enough? – and woefully low: do you know anything? View oEmbed on the source website Sport on TV 2018 calendar: how to watch the Fifa World Cup, Wimbledon and more The best women’s sport on TV in 2018 Stay up to date with the RadioTimes.com newsletter Surely what’s most unbelievable isn’t that women – specifically, experienced professional female football players – can offer insightful analysis, but that so many male ex-players consistently fail to do so, and yet are continually employed as pundits and commentators. It’s a striking double standard, one that Aluko – and Alex Scott, one of England’s best ever female players, over on the BBC – are no doubt vividly aware of. So of course they’ve prepared, and done their homework, apparently to a level that baffles their male colleagues – because they know that they can’t get away with the sort of inarticulate banalities we’re so used to hearing from men in the same position. It’s not fair, but it’s a fact: such is the scarcity of women in football broadcasting that when one is allowed across the threshold they become envoys not just for the women’s game but for their gender as a whole. If they perform well, more can follow in their footsteps. There is no such pressure on their male counterparts, whose gaffes are laughed off, celebrated, forgiven. The Evra/Aluko affair is a reminder that, despite huge strides, football remains in the eyes of many a distinctly male currency: a language native to men, but acquired by women. The fact that Scott and Aluko have been given prime spots in the BBC and ITV World Cup coverage – and have both been praised for their performances – is undeniable progress. But if broadcasters are serious about equality, they need to hold all their stars to the same standard – and realise that Scott and Aluko have raised the bar. Sign up for the free RadioTimes.com newsletter
Life and Death Row: the Mass Execution – a valiant, important attempt to tell an astonishing story
The state of Arkansas' attempt to execute eight men in ten days is put under the spotlight by BBC3's award-winning documentary strand
The Life and Death Row strand is hard to pin down – part true crime, part thought-provoking, almost campaigning documentary, previous series have focused on particular crimes, and the individuals (both victims and perpetrators) involved. The latest instalment, The Mass Execution – a run of four films – takes a look at the legal mechanics of capital punishment in the USA, focusing on the unprecedented move by the state of Arkansas in 2017 to schedule eight executions in ten days in order to beat an expiry date on Midazolam, one of the drugs used in lethal injections. It’s as compelling as ever – there’s real power in its intimate, on-the-ground approach, as the programme-makers gain access to various interested parties: the Arkansas governor, the prisoners, their lawyers and families, relatives of the victims. They also intercut views from ordinary Arkansas residents, who each have their own idea of justice, and whether it is currently being done in their state. And the film-makers do ask difficult questions. When Susan Khani – whose mother, Jane Daniel, was killed in 1992 – discusses the upcoming execution of the man who was convicted of her mother’s murder, she says she hopes that, after 25 years, the man’s death will ”give the family peace”. “Do you think you will get that?” asks a voice off-camera. “Oh yeah!” comes the enthusiastic reply. There’s an intense frustration, though, inherent in the events this series is covering. Many people are up in arms, it tells us, because these executions are being rushed through in order to beat an arbitrary deadline, and will involve a drug that may inflict unnecessary suffering. There are also suggestions that the scheduling is political grandstanding, a statement of intent by Arkansas Governor Asa Hutchinson. And of course this is something to decry. But as the series unfolds you realise that this is not the US justice system malfunctioning. This is the US justice system at work. I will freely admit to a bias here, but it is hard to understand how the particular circumstance of these executions is a scandal, but the usual application of capital punishment is not. Because the programme is rooted in personal testimony and experience, it is light on facts, so here are some: there are currently 2,816 people (99% are men) on death row, but in 2017, only 23 were executed. On average, those 23 people spent 19 years waiting to be killed. It’s important to know this to know that the experience of the prisoners and the families of their victims shown in the series – many of whom have waited decades with the promise of an execution hanging over them – is not a blip, a one-off; this is the reality of capital punishment in America. In the series we see some of the convoluted process that lawyers must go through to get stays of execution; judgements are handed down, challenged, overturned, challenged again, all by different courts or panels. But the glimpses we do get just beg more glaring questions: if there is enough evidence that someone should be granted a stay of execution, does that not undermine the whole legal system that handed down that execution? How was that person condemned to death in the first place? Why would it be OK to kill them in a few months’ time, but not now? If the conditions under which a death sentence is given are so fickle, so malleable, then how can anyone ever be sure that it is the right, just, legal thing? Somehow this ­– the programme’s use of an individual story to gesture to wider issues – manages to be both a strength and a limitation. There is something unsatisfying in the way threads are picked at but never unravelled, even if you know it’s because this is a subject that is too big, too morally muddy for one programme to be able to cover it in a satisfactory way. The Life and Death Row strand as a whole makes a valiant, important attempt, and the Mass Execution series in particular does a lot well: it conveys both the sheer chaos that seems to govern this most solemn of responsibilities and the inadequacy of the current system, which is certainly not working for prisoners, but also, crucially, not for victims and their families, either. As the attorney of one of the condemned men puts it, “There’s nothing about having ten days to plead for a man’s life that’s fair.” He’s right, except I’d go further – there’s nothing here that’s fair at all. Life and Death Row: the Mass Execution is available on Sunday 18th February from 10am on BBC3 with episode one broadcasting at 9pm on BBC2
Netflix's Kalief Browder documentary: a harrowing, galvanising insight into the injustices of the US prison system
The Jay Z-produced series shines a light on the case of Browder, a young black boy from the Bronx, who was wrongly imprisoned and suffered extreme abuse behind bars
Philando Castile. Eric Garner. Tamir Rice. Freddie Gray. Trayvon Martin. It’s a familiar, grim roll call: black men (and boys; Trayvon was 17, Tamir 12) unjustly killed by US police officers – and then forsaken again when their killers went unpunished. It’s impossible not to think about these names as you watch Time: the Kalief Browder Story, a six-part documentary series now on Netflix about one young man’s nightmarish experience of the US penal system – and not just because the documentary itself spells out the link, including footage of several of these killings. The series – backed by Jay Z and co-created by Nick Sandow, who plays Joe Caputo in Orange is the New Black – shines a light on the many insidious ways its deeply sympathetic subject, Kalief Browder, was failed, and eviscerates the myth of justice for all. Kalief was born in 1993, in the Bronx, New York. The youngest of seven siblings, he was adopted by Venida Browder, a foster carer. He grew up, we learn, to be a good friend, a good brother, talkative, fun, curious. But at 16, in May 2010, he was arrested for stealing a backpack and taken to Rikers Island jail. He was innocent, but it didn’t matter; it was three years before he was free again. The documentary steadily unravels the string of errors that led to Kalief’s extended incarceration: police improperly recorded his arrest, and the victim’s statement; they failed to investigate possible CCTV of the incident; prosecutors failed to disclose that they lost contact with the victim, whose testimony was their only evidence; several judges allowed delays to continue even as it became clear the prosecution had no case. View oEmbed on the source website The most striking aspect of Kalief’s story, though, is not a failure, but a moral triumph. Though he was repeatedly offered a plea deal – by pleading guilty he could have been out within months – he refused every time, insisting on his innocence, and that his case be heard. It was, says one contributor, “the perfect stance”. And he stuck to it, even as he was repeatedly attacked by other inmates, even as prison officers deprived him of food, even as they, too, beat him. We know this because we see footage from the jail’s surveillance cameras – it is that flagrant. The UN considers more than 14 consecutive days in solitary confinement torture; Kalief endured more than two years of it, mostly while still a minor. Several times he attempted suicide. Finally, in May 2013, he was released, after prosecutors admitted that they couldn’t mount a case. Yes, an innocent man was free – but this cannot be called justice. The documentary deliberately creates an uneven, fractured sense of Kalief’s life after Rikers; though the timeline is roughly chronological, clips from a post-prison TV interview are cut throughout the episodes, while more troubling material – photos of Kalief’s bloodied face, audio of 911 phone calls – appears briefly, as if to recreate Kalief’s own disordered mind. But these threatening flashes also constantly undermine the tantalising idea that he might be able to recover, to start again. Back in the Bronx, we learn, Kalief struggled. Cruelly, he endured more violence, was shot and later stabbed; he became psychotic and intensely paranoid. Though the series shows he had many champions – his heroic mother Venida, his dogged lawyer Paul Prestia, the staff at Bronx Community College, talk show host Rosie O’Donnell – it wasn’t enough. Another arrest after being caught up in a fight, and the prospect of returning to court, was too much. On 6 June 2015, at the age of 22, Kalief killed himself. Inevitably, Time: the Kalief Browder Story is not easy to watch – especially the last episode, after the revelation of his death, which follows his mother’s determination to get official recognition and compensation for what her son suffered, despite her own worsening health. It is an intimate, hugely moving look at a family grieving a loss that is beyond understanding, against all reason. The final scenes are an unapologetic, confronting call to arms: one after the other, writers, academics, lawyers and activists tell us how flawed the system is, how skewed – but also that Kalief’s story has opened up an opportunity. Some have already taken it: last year, President Obama banned the solitary confinement of juveniles, citing Kalief’s case; New York mayor Bill de Blasio announced in June that he intends to close Rikers Island. But if Time has any one message, it’s that the tragedy of Kalief Browder isn’t confined to one jail cell on Rikers; it is not just about what is happening to young black men from the Bronx – it’s much, much bigger than that. News clips of a spectral Donald Trump juxtaposed with crying Hillary Clinton supporters and Barack Obama waving goodbye from the door of Air Force One make a clear, tacit statement: your voice matters. The last few minutes are the series’ most powerful, reminding us that though there is some consolation in the fact that Kalief’s suffering, ignored for so long, is being witnessed, there’s more to do. Now you have witnessed, it seems to say, it’s time for you to act, to speak up. Take the contribution of Jeff Robinson, of the American Civil Liberties Union, which is startling, unflinching. “There are many people who say that the picture of Emmett Till [who was lynched] in 1955 is what sparked the civil rights movement,” he says, as we see two images of the 14-year-old: on the left, bright, smiling; on the right, dead, disfigured. Then Kalief’s face fills the screen, solemn, eyes big. “Well,” says Robinson, “take a good look at Kalief Browder.” And we do. Time: the Kalief Browder Story is available to stream on Netflix now
Can the England Lionesses win their Euro 2017 semi-final against Holland?
With Jodie Taylor on scorching form and an encouraging head-to-head record with the Dutch, can Mark Sampson's team progress to the final?
England play Holland in the semi-finals of Euro 2017 with coverage starting at 7:30pm on Channel 4 (kick-off 7:45pm) A record crowd of 27,000 is expected at the FC Twente stadium tonight, as England take on Euro 2017 hosts the Netherlands in a sold-out semi-final, while at home millions more will be tuning in to see the Lionesses in action – 3.3 million watched their quarter-final win over France. It’s because the stakes are high for both teams, so far undefeated at the Euros: the hosts have the home advantage, and the nation expects. They’ll be seeking revenge for the last time the sides met in a Euros semi-final in 2009, when England emerged the victors after a 2–1 extra time win, although they ended the tournament as runners-up. On paper, England have the edge: in 19 encounters with Holland, they’ve only lost three times. In their most recent clash, in November last year, England won 1-0 with a goal from Jodie Taylor, who’s in scorching form at the Euros – in England’s opening match she became only the third English player to score a hat-trick in a major tournament, joining Gary Lineker and Geoff Hurst. But if there’s anything this year’s contest has taught us, it’s that rankings and reputations mean nothing. Favourites have fallen – including defending champions Germany – and underdogs have advanced: Denmark, who have never reached the final of a major tournament, and Austria, who are making their Euros debut, contest tonight’s earlier semi-final. England will fancy their chances against either team – but first they’ve got to beat the Netherlands. The confidence is certainly there after their quarter-final victory, their first win against France since 1974, but they must cope with the absence of key players: goalkeeper Karen Bardsley, who’s kept a clean sheet, is out with a broken leg, while midfielder Jill Scott – who scored the decisive goal against the Netherlands back in 2009 – is suspended after picking up two yellow cards. And they, and we punters, underestimate Holland at our peril: their squad includes six players from England’s Women’s Super League, plus new Barcelona signing Lieke Martens. But boss Mark Sampson has said that this familiarity will work in England’s favour and insists England can perform under pressure. It’s a refrain that may make fans of the men’s team rightly sceptical – but the Lionesses are a very different beast. They’ve performed in front of big, baying crowds – they defeated hosts Canada in the 2015 World Cup, and earlier this year beat world champions the USA in New Jersey – and they seem to carry the mantle of favourites lightly, their history a spur, not a burden. Remember, it takes grit as well as talent to get to the top of women’s football; a win for England tonight, and another in the final on Sunday, would be a fitting, deserved reward – not least because it could ease the way for the next generation of women on the pitch. Coverage of England v Holland begins at 7:30pm on Channel 4 with kick-off at 7:45pm
When Football Banned Women depicts the glory days of the neglected female game – much needs to be done to restore it
Clare Balding's timely, surprisingly moving documentary highlights the real reason women's football lags behind the men's game
As a kid, I played football in one form or another for nearly a decade, my long-suffering dad (thanks, Dad) ferrying me all over Norfolk; my proudest achievement to date is being voted Players’ Player by my team-mates, although I accept that it’s probably time to take it off my CV. So watching When Football Banned Women, a timely, surprisingly moving documentary presented by Clare Balding, I shouldn’t have been surprised to hear the responses of the girls of St Helen’s FC when Balding asked what people thought of them playing football. “They think we’re rubbish,” says one. “They think because we’re girls we can’t play football,” says another. But I was surprised, because although those sentiments were all too familiar, I thought things had got better since I first pulled on my football boots. Of course in many ways, they have: the number of British girls playing football continues to increase, prompting a recent announcement from the FA detailing a “Gameplan for Growth”, while this week sees the women’s Euros shown live on Channel 4 for the first time, after the channel outbid former hosts, the BBC. But the attitude the St Helen’s girls describe is a wider problem, which will be more complicated to solve: how women’s football is perceived, especially by men, though by no means exclusively. It’s the view that women are crap at football, or that they shouldn’t be playing it; most often, it’s a bit of both. And here’s why When Football Banned Women is so brilliant: it challenges that view by highlighting the main reason why the women’s game lags behind the men’s – and it’s not because they can’t get their little lady minds around the offside rule. For 50 years, from 1921, women’s football was banned by the FA. This game was restricted to amateur status, meaning it received no money from the FA and no structural support; it couldn’t use FA pitches or coaches or any other resources. Dick Kerr Ladies Squad Balding’s film is also at pains to point out that when women’s football was banned, it was at the height of its popularity, attracting tens of thousands of spectators and creating players who became household names. In fact it was partly because women’s football was so popular that the FA acted to suppress it. So the assumption that the game isn’t of a high enough standard to attract a crowd, and therefore that it will never be a mainstream sport, is a false one; it was, a century ago. Really, the notion is pure sexism, and besides, hundreds of thousands of people turn up – and pay money! – to watch non-league, part-time players grind out results every week. They’re not going because it’s 90 minutes of end-to-end thrills; they go because they’re invested, because it’s their team, because it’s the purest form of football, because what else do you do on a Saturday afternoon? There’s no reason women’s football can’t fulfil all of those roles too, with the right investment and exposure. And steps are being made in that direction. The Women’s Euros coming to Channel 4 this week (England and Scotland are both in Group D, and begin their campaigns against each other on Wednesday) show that TV execs recognise the potential of the game to attract audiences. But that exposure alone isn’t enough; the game needs money. Some of it could come from TV rights: BT Sport show a handful of Women’s Super League matches every season, but as it stands it simply doesn’t compare to the billions the men’s game attracts. A simple, immediate solution would be for the Premier League to share some of the spoils. Last season it made a profit of £500 million; why don’t clubs invest some of that into their women’s teams? This model has worked well at Manchester City and Arsenal, which are featured in When Football Banned Women as one of the first Premier League teams to take women’s football seriously. Many still don’t – Manchester United, one of the biggest clubs in the world, doesn’t even have a women’s team. This highlights another issue raised by the documentary, and the girls of St Helen’s – representation. When Balding asks them who their footballing heroes are, they all name men. But is that because they’re not interested in the women’s game, or because they rarely see female players on TV, in the newspaper, on magazine front pages, on billboards, in adverts? Clare Balding in the England Women's changing room Balding compounds the point by scrutinising the back pages of newspapers, obviously frustrated by the lack of women. Sports editors (who, incidentally, are overwhelmingly male) will tell you they don’t feature women’s football because there’s no interest in it. But how do they know if they don’t do it? You can’t judge the appetite for women’s sport on the response to a handful of articles; it needs sustained, invested, intelligent coverage, to make up for decades of neglect. The history and context of women’s football needs to be brought into the light; the only way to redress the balance is by knowing how the inequality began in the first place. It’s clear there’s a lot that needs to be done to restore women’s football to the glory days depicted in When Football Banned Women – but there’s also a lot of very simple things that can happen now to show that the wider game is willing. Scotland’s FA, for example, maintains a roll of honour for male players who manage 50 international appearances – but not women. At least until earlier this month, when they unveiled a women’s roll of honour, including players with more than 100 caps. It’s through small inclusive gestures like this that the FA can integrate more women into the male game – as coaches, officials, pundits. Make it normal to see women on a football pitch, or hear their voices in the commentary box, until it’s not an extraordinary thing for a young girl to play football – and until those girls have heroes who look like them. When Football Banned Women is on Tuesday 18th July at 10pm on Channel 4
11 reasons to visit Norfolk - from Bono's house to Holkham beach
Ok, so Bono doesn't really live here but the Duchess of Cambridge does hang out in Holt
Norfolk's most famous "gentleman farmer" Desmond MacCarthy is back on BBC2 tonight. In Normal for Norfolk, he opens his 17th-century manor house to the cameras, bringing a bit of telly glamour to this much-maligned county. But there’s more to Nelson’s County than lovable posh blokes and bucolic countryside… 1. The great draw of Norfolk is its coastline, which means plenty of beaches, from the never-ending sands of Holkham to the family-friendly Sea Palling. Added excitement comes from the fact that Norfolk’s cliffs are rapidly falling into the sea. What’s a trip to the seaside without minor peril? Holkham dunes and beach 2. Do be considerate of the local wildlife: residents of Hunstanton, Blakeney and Horsey often leave their beach towels out for lounging seals. 3. If all that nature gets a little too much, this writer recommends Splash swimming pool in Sheringham, where every Norfolk child spent every birthday party between the ages of seven and ten. It has a wicked wave machine. 4. Also on the coast: you can catch crabs! The good kind. Locals know to head to Cromer for the best fish and chips, but it’s also The Crucible of crabbing – it hosts the World Pier Crabbing Championships every August bank holiday. 5. Norfolk’s capital Norwich is full of history, and pubs. But that’s enough on that, because the media has a Norwich bias and there’s more to Norfolk than this really lovely cathedral city that has a castle and a Championship football team and not one but two shopping malls. It’s also the only English city to be excommunicated by the Pope, which makes a lot of sense when you go down Prince of Wales Road on a Friday night. 6. Fed up with efficient, modern public transport? You’re in luck! No, I’m not talking about Abellio Greater Anglia – north Norfolk is home to the Bure Valley Railway, where steam trains chug the nine miles from Aylsham to Wroxham. Further north is the Poppy Line, linking Sheringham to classy market town Holt. 7. At Christmas, the Poppy Line transforms into the Santa Express, taking you straight to the man himself – RT can exclusively reveal that from the 3rd to the 24th of December, between the hours of 10 and 5, he can be found at Weybourne station. Norfolk also boasts its own winter wonderland: the Thursford Christmas Spectacular, essentially three hours of dancing snowmen and scantily clad showgirls. Predictably, it’s wildly popular. Ormesby Little Broad, one of the fresh-water lakes that make up the Norfolk Broads 8. Also wildly popular are the Norfolk broads, despite their distinct lack of showgirls. This 125-mile network of lakes and rivers is known as the Mediterranean of the East (probably) because it’s best enjoyed by boat – just beware falling cows. 9. If you’re lucky, you’ll catch a glimpse of the county’s most distinguished residents: the royals. If you don’t manage to scale the fence at Sandringham, try hanging out in the aforementioned classy market town Holt – the Duchess of Cambridge (“our Kate” to us locals) is a regular visitor. 10. You can also see how the other half live with a visit to Blickling Hall, near Aylsham. Tour the house (familiar to I’m Alan Partridge viewers as Bono’s house), wander its expansive grounds and walled gardens and then recover with a pint in the nearby Buckinghamshire Arms. I’m pretty sure that’s the date that helped Anne Boleyn, who was born at Blickling, seal the deal with Henry VIII. 11. And, of course, there’s Wiveton (“Wifton” in local parlance) Hall, the idyllic 17th-century farm and manor house that Desmond MacCarthy, star of Normal for Norfolk, calls home. A chance to bump into the man himself is surely incentive enough for a visit… Desmond MacCarthy, star of BBC2's Normal for Norfolk, which begins on Monday 17th July, BBC2, 10pm Radio Times Travel offer: 40% off a luxury lodge in Norfolk Park, three nights from £412p. Nestled between North Norfolk coast and The Broads, Norfolk Park is ideally situated to easily explore the vibrant local areas. As well as this, the Park is unique as it benefits from luxury on-site facilities. Click here for more details and to book 40% off a luxury lodge in Fornham Park, Suffolk, three nights from £532pp. Located in stately and prestigious grounds, once belonging to the Duke of Norfolk, this Park has a rich aristocratic history, stunning parklands and woodlands as well as lakes and a Grade II-listed church tower. Luxurious, stylish and located in exceptional locations, our lodges are the ideal home away from home, showcasing the very best innovative designs. Click here for more details and to book For 40% off luxury lodges within or next to other Areas of Outstanding Natural Beauty, go to travel.radiotimes.com/lodgeholidays/
Mind over Marathon reveals an important truth about the stigma of mental illness
"The judgement you fear from others can often be something you’re guilty of, too," writes Hannah Shaddock
I thought the end – as they crossed the finish line, victorious, overwhelmed, proud – would get me. But in fact I managed just three minutes of the first episode of Mind over Marathon – the BBC1 two-parter following people attempting to overcome mental illness through the simple act of running – before the tears came. Severe mental illness can be an excruciating cross to bear that no one who hasn’t been through it can fully understand. And it is often in the everyday, the mundane, that the struggle is hardest; getting out of bed, leaving the house, going to the supermarket, catching a train – even, as with panic disorders, breathing. You see that in the opening of the programme, as Steve – who has post-traumatic stress disorder and anxiety – visibly shakes with fear as he prepares to travel to the training centre to meet the other would-be runners. He makes it, as do the other nine participants in the programme, and for many of them that is itself a victory; it’s also a stark reminder that someone doesn’t have to be unable to function to be suffering. The varied group of aspiring runners look a bit nervous, but pretty ordinary; they perfectly illustrate that mental ill-health is not typical. It can happen to anyone, however intelligent or funny or resilient, and however well and high functioning they seem on the surface. Rhian, who lost her son and her husband just five days apart, appears infinitely capable – but sometimes she struggles simply to feed herself, and can’t run alone because her anxiety is so overwhelming. And that’s why I cried – because I know some of what she and the other runners were feeling. It was because I was watching people speaking openly and publicly about life with mental illness, and sharing feelings and thoughts that I have had. What people often don’t realise when they talk about the “stigma” surrounding mental illness is that it doesn’t always come from other people – as someone with mental health problems, the judgement you fear from others can often be something you’re guilty of, too, which only exacerbates your own illness. In the programme, Shereece, who has depression, says she’s disappointed that she can’t cheer herself up, and is reluctant to ask for help. I know exactly how pervasive this mindset is. I’ve had severe anxiety for the best part of a decade; I managed to live with it by myself – without telling anyone – for five years, until it became too much and I had a breakdown. I was forced to talk about it, and it was a revelation; I found huge encouragement in knowing that other people felt the same way I did, and that there were things I could do to cope with it. I’ve had therapy or counselling three times, most recently earlier this year. I’d probably say I’m recovering rather than recovered, but my anxiety is as manageable as it’s ever been. I exercise (yes, I run a bit), I eat (relatively) well, I try to be kind to myself. But it’s still only recently – at the age of 25 – that I’ve been able to accept that my anxiety is not a character flaw. It’s not my fault that I developed it; it’s not my fault that sometimes I can’t cope with it, and not coping doesn’t make me weak. It also doesn’t make someone weak if they don’t feel able to speak out about their difficulties. And there is nothing wrong with wanting to keep your health – mental or otherwise – private. But for me, my recovery began with talking about what I was feeling. I’ve found huge relief in knowing I can talk about my anxiety to my friends, my family, my boyfriend – and everyone deserves that. I also think everyone deserves to see their own lives, their own struggles, depicted and spoken about openly, to feel part of a community. The power of feeling understood, and that you aren’t alone, can’t be underestimated. As Mind over Marathon runner Claudia, who has OCD, says, if she had known when she was suffering that someone else was out there suffering in the same way it would have changed her life. So, despite the tears, that was one of the huge comforts of Mind over Marathon, for me and I’m sure other viewers who could easily empathise with the bold, brave runners. But there’s reassurance, too, for those with less experience of mental illness – the programme shows that it’s actually quite easy to ease the burden of someone who is suffering. Listening, and trying to understand, is the first step. If you have a friend or loved one who is struggling, be sensitive, be empathetic; do not assume, do not pressurise. Make it clear that you are not going anywhere, that you love them, and that they are completely normal – they just might need a little bit of help to feel it again. Mind over Marathon concludes tonight at 9pm on BBC1
Goodbye to Girls – what we've learned from Lena Dunham's pioneering drama
Hannah Horvath and friends return for a final series – but what is the legacy of Girls?
In the first episode of the final season of Girls – which airs tonight on Sky Atlantic – Hannah (Lena Dunham) pitches herself to an editor of a magazine called Slag Mag (played by Brooklyn Nine-Nine’s Chelsea Perretti). “My persona is very, like, witty, yet narcissistic,” she says. “I give zero f***s about anything, yet I have a strong opinion about everything, even topics I’m not informed on.” It’s an obvious nod to the media perception of Dunham as a self-absorbed millennial, outspoken yet ill-informed. And it’s a perfect illustration of the unique nature of Girls, which has become porous, almost interactive, extending beyond the screen in both directions. Reality seeps into the show – in the opener we see Ray reading A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara, because of course Ray would read A Little Life – and sometimes it’s hard to tell the fictional Hannah apart from Dunham, her creator and real-world counterpart. But how could it be otherwise? Girls grew out of Dunham’s own experience of life as a 20-something in New York; criticism aimed at the show – such as that it wasn’t racially diverse – becomes, then, implicit criticisms of Dunham, and her apparently limited reality. Inevitably that commentary shapes the show, but what is most notable about its final series is that actually, despite this constant critical dialogue, not a whole lot has changed. Hannah is pursuing writing professionally, but is still obnoxious and self-absorbed; Marnie’s obvious, painful fragility is sabotaging her music and her relationships; Shoshanna remains fiercely, tightly wound, despite her promising new career; and Jessa continues to do… well, nothing, really, and seems unable to resist the urge to self-destruct. Yes, there has been some character development – Jessa has become less blindly hedonistic, Hannah is learning how to let things go – but mostly, the girls are the same ones we met in that very first season five years ago. Lena Dunham and Riz Ahmed in the final season of Girls And there’s reassurance to be found in that. The appeal of Girls has always been that it’s real, although not always in the literal sense. But for every short reckless marriage or wild night out or drug-induced calamity there is a more relatable, universal drama – Jessa deciding to have an abortion, Hannah contracting HPV, Shoshanna’s quest to lose her virginity, Marnie’s fury at her ex-boyfriend’s success. Though in fact many of these moments are relatable or universal mainly for young women – and the way Dunham renders these moments felt, and still feels, radical. There is a distinct lack of TV gloss throughout Girls, even – or perhaps especially – in sex scenes. The protagonists are not heroines; often they are not even likeable. But so what? Who is, really, in their young adulthood? If Sex and the City is Girls’ predecessor, it’s also its sequel – Girls documents the messy stuff we all go through before emerging into adulthood, hopefully less messy, and wiser for the chaos. Of course Girls has its faults – how can it not? Its creator and main writer is only just 30, and she has clearly had to learn on the job. But it gets so much right, such as that growing up isn’t a series of grand revelations and constant emotional growth. We don’t always learn from our mistakes, and sometimes we do things that are bad for us or for other people just because. Sometimes we hate our friends, sometimes we say terrible things and sometimes we just want our mum and dad. Allison Williams, Jemima Kirke, Lena Dunham and Zosia Mamet in season one of Girls That said, the sixth series does feel more mature, in a way. I’ve seen the first three episodes of the last series, which at times have a more considered air than usual, the third in particular. It’s dedicated entirely to Hannah’s encounter with an author (played by Matthew Rhys) who she wrote an article about, and foregrounds an issue that Dunham has often spoken or written about: sexual assault. Hannah mentions the historical suppression of women’s voices, the power imbalance between a famous, successful man and a young female student, and sexual consent in words that could be Dunham’s. Though Hannah begins the episode sure of her own standpoint, by the end, her lines are blurred; it’s a confronting, confusing piece of television. It seems unfocused, like much of the show; it could be mistaken for aimlessness, a lack of polish. But this is deliberate, and it’s the essential thread running through the series: the refusal to offer satisfying answers, or reasons why. The nearest the girls get to being sure about something is realising that they know nothing, as Hannah finally admits this series. Girls can’t be girls for ever. We always knew this. But did we always know that it’s OK for girls to be rude, and self-centered, and complicated, and confused, and dissatisfied, and forgiving, and loyal, and thoughtless, and thoughtful? I hope we did; I hope Girls’ legacy is that more of us know that now. Girls returns on Monday 13th February at 10pm on Sky Atlantic View oEmbed on the source website
Good Wife star Alan Cumming reveals his proudest moment: dislodging the Queen
The actor was his usual talkative self at the Cheltenham Literature Festival - until one audience question left him lost for words
Alan Cumming has won both a Tony Award and an Olivier Award, has thrice been nominated for an Emmy for his role in US drama The Good Wife, and is the proud owner of an OBE – but says his greatest achievement is knocking the Queen off the walls of the Scottish National Portrait Gallery. Cumming’s portrait – painted by Christian Hook, the winner of the second series of Sky Arts Artist of the Year in 2014 – is part of the gallery's permanent collection. Cumming, speaking at the Cheltenham Literature Festival, said of the painting, “It’s the thing I’m most proud of, of all my accolades – my portrait being in the Scottish National Portrait Gallery, it’s incredible. And of course what was great was that they took a portrait of the Queen down, to put mine up!” Hook depicted Cumming with the tartan of the Scottish independence campaign around his neck, and during his Cheltenham session the actor – who recently declared “If Donald Trump is the president of [America], we are f***ed!” – happily acknowledged his outspoken reputation. “I’m a human being in the world, and I have opinions – I would be saying these things even if I wasn’t famous, just more people hear them now. If you’re a person whose opinion is sought, if people are interested in you for various things, I don’t see why that should stop when it comes to your political views, or your views on social issues. I get asked about some starlet’s new hairstyle, and yet you won’t ask me about something important. And that really p***es me off!” On the subject of Trump, he blamed “the lack of value put on education in America” for his rise, saying, “There’s a kind of underbelly of people, a whole generation of society that aren’t educated so they don’t analyse things. They hear the same thing enough times and it becomes a fact, and that’s how fascists come to power, basically.” But a member of the Cheltenham audience did manage to leave Cumming lost for words when he revealed himself as Alan McLean, a teacher who knew the actor when he was 15 years old. He asked Cumming about the abuse he suffered at the hands of his father, which he revealed in his 2014 memoir, Not My Father’s Son. “What shocked me is the way you were able to cover up [the abuse] while at school. There were many opportunities where you could have shared some of this, but you chose not to do so,” said McLean. Came the nonplussed reply from Mr McLean’s former pupil: “It’s so nice to see you! A blast from the past. Where do you live now? We’ll talk after!" He went on to explain why he was unable to talk about the ordeal until many years later: “The thing about abuse is that if the abuser is clever and has done it properly, they ensure that the abusee protects them, and doesn’t tell. And that’s what my father did… I really appreciate what you’re saying, but I could never have told you.”
Coming soon to Walter Presents: sex, drugs, sex, 1960s Czech politics... and more sex
The latest raft of dramas to hit Channel 4's foreign-language platform all have one thing in common... plus, Walter on why the US remakes "will be rubbish"
Sex, sex, and more sex seems to be the theme of the latest raft of shows to hit Channel 4’s on-demand foreign drama platform, Walter Presents – at least if previews shown at the Cheltenham Literature Festival are anything to go by. Walter Iuzzolino, the curator of Walter Presents, introduced clips from Case – an Icelandic crime drama involving teenage drug use and pornography – and The Neighbours, a Dutch series about swinging gone wrong, starring two real-life couples as sexually adventurous neighbours. Other forthcoming additions to the on-demand platform include Norway’s Eyewitness, about two teenage boys in a secret sexual relationship who witness a murder during one of their liaisons, and a second series of Locked Up, the racy Spanish prison drama. “It’s coming,” said Iuzzolino when quizzed on its progress, “and it’s even better!” Also coming soon is Walter’s first Japanese pick, and Burning Bush, a Czech three-parter from Oscar-nominated director Agnieszka Holland. “It’s a political thriller telling the story of Jan Palach, the young student who set himself on fire to protest against the Russian occupation in 1969,” said Iuzzolino. “It seems like a totally grim political premise but actually it’s one of the most beautiful pieces of television I’ve ever seen.” Iuzzolino added that he and his team are looking to expand Walter Presents to include foreign documentaries and factual programmes. He also spoke out against the trend for US remakes, saying, “I think that original is best. I found out last week that The Neighbours has been bought by Amazon for – I know the sum, it was very significant – for an American remake. And Eyewitness has been bought by a USA network for a ten-part run. They’ll be rubbish. They will be – they’ll be well made, they’ll look glossy and glamorous and people will be good-looking but at the end of the day they will lose the specific nature of the cultural hinterland in which they were generated.”
Alan Carr: Jonathan Ross said, "What are you doing, you idiot?"
The Chatty Man discusses warming up for Jonathan Ross, being gay on TV, Donald Trump - and which of his shows was "s**t"
Alan Carr lifts the lid on the world of showbiz in his latest book, Alanatomy – but he’s revealed that he was far from convinced that his first presenting gig, as co-host of The Friday Night Project, would be his big break. “People hated it,” he said, during his appearance at the Cheltenham Literature Festival, “and I read the reviews – before I was on the telly I did warm-up for Jonathan Ross, so I turned up at Jonathan Ross’s chat show. And he went, ‘What the hell are you doing here, you have your own show!’ I said, ‘It’s been slagged off, I need to work, I’ve got to earn money.’ He said, ‘You’re on the telly, you don’t need to warm up my show!’ “Of course as soon as we started getting Bafta nominations, everyone loved [The Friday Night Project]. But that’s how little faith I had.” The Friday Night Project wasn’t the only programme Carr was dubious about – Alan Carr’s Celebrity Ding Dong, the 2008 game show that pitched members of the public against celebrities, “was s**t”, said Carr. “I was pushed into it and I didn’t really like it and the ideas weren’t good. It was getting slagged off and it was that weird thing where actually I agreed with the criticism!” Carr also spoke about the scrutiny that comes with being a camp gay man on television: “Militant gays and lesbians slag me off – 'Is Alan really a good role model [for gay people]?' But then are Simon Cowell, David Walliams and Piers Morgan fantastic examples of what straight people are? No! Because TV isn’t real! It attracts a certain kind of person, it does attract the weird and the wonderful – it’s a circus.” “In the gay community, if soldiers come out, and if rugby players come out, they’re brave – yes, they are brave, but also, when you’re very camp or you’re a very butch lesbian or you’re a transgender person, going into the playground may as well be a rugby pitch or a battleground, because in this day and age you could get stabbed… You can’t just pick who you want to be gay just to make it look better.” Carr, who recently revealed that he is engaged to his partner Paul Drayton, played down rumours that he wanted his friend Adele to sing at his wedding: “Maybe we’ll just have Honey G, who knows?” Yesterday morning Carr moved to quash reports that Alan Carr: Chatty Man had been cancelled, tweeting: “it hasn't been axed - I'm doing 'Happy Hour' this autumn and Chattyman is back at Xmas”. But would he look to the States if his chat show tenure here came to an end? “I feel I’m a very British act, I don’t really have any yearnings to go to America, if it happens it does but I’m quite happy here. And to be honest, I don’t think they have the same sense of humour… You know what, I’m 40 now, I can’t be arsed! I have a lovely life, why would I go over there?” Come the Presidential election in November, Carr’s decision may be made for him: “It’s been a s**t year,” said the comedian. “If Trump gets in I’m ending it all.”
The Jump commentator Eddie the Eagle says producers ignored his safety advice
The Olympic ski jumper says he is "very surprised that they’re going to have another series" and reveals he hasn't been asked back to the show
Former Olympic ski jumper Eddie “the Eagle” Edwards has said the producers behind Channel 4’s The Jump – which was renewed for a fourth series in July despite concerns about the number of injuries suffered by contestants – ignored his advice on how to make the show safer. Speaking at the Cheltenham Literature Festival, Edwards – who appeared on the first series of the show in 2014 – said he was initially promised a coaching position similar to that of Tom Daley on diving programme Splash!, but was later relegated to a commentary role, and that his advice on how to teach the celebrities was disregarded. “I kept telling the producers, ‘It’s going to get very difficult, very hairy’ and they said, ‘No it’s all right’ and they’ve carried on and they’ve had so many accidents. I was very surprised that they’re going to have another series.” His comments mark a U-turn in the view he expressed earlier this year when he told the Daily Mail: "I don't think this spate of injuries is solely the fault of the producers." Several celebrities suffered serious injuries during The Jump’s last run in February, including former gymnast Beth Tweddle, who fractured vertebrae in her neck, and Holby City star Tina Hobley, who needed an operation after dislocating her elbow in an accident Channel 4 said was caused by “simple human error”. Edwards said he hasn’t been asked to be a part of the next series of the show, revealing that he was sent “a solicitor’s letter” earlier this year after speaking to a newspaper about ski jump safety. “Obviously the newspapers wanted to talk to me about why [The Jump] was having the accidents and I didn’t mention the show, but I said the reason you have accidents in ski jumping is because of this, this, this and this, and of course they related it to The Jump. So I got a letter from the solicitors saying ‘Don’t talk about The Jump’.” Channel 4 has responded to his comments in a statement: "Eddie has worked on each series of The Jump as a commentator. Eddie has never been involved in any aspect of the training programme for The Jump as this is the responsibility of qualified instructors who teach the celebrities to ski jump according to modern accepted standards." But Edwards said he’ll still be watching when it returns next year: “I’ll watch with interest to see who’s going to do it, but I hope they make the necessary changes just to make it safer for the celebrities, because it’s very dangerous for them.”
Ian McEwan is having discussions about a film adaptation of new novel Nutshell
The author already has On Chesil Beach and The Children Act in production – but how would a movie narrated by a 38-year-old foetus work?
Author Ian McEwan has seen a string of his novels adapted into big-name Hollywood movies, but he knew his latest book, Nutshell, was unlikely to make the big screen, due to its unusual narrator – a 38-week-old foetus. “I did think,” he said during an appearance at Cheltenham Literature Festival, “when I was halfway through writing it, ‘At least this one I won’t be writing the screenplay for.’” But when an audience member asked, tongue firmly in cheek, whether he’d had any interest from film-makers, McEwan replied, “Well I’m going to confound you when I say yes! I think in these days of CGI anything is now possible. Someone seems to think they can do something, so I’m going to meet them and ask them what’s on their mind.” McEwan also spoke about two more upcoming film adaptations of his works: 2014’s The Children Act, about a judge who must decide whether to override a family’s religious beliefs to provide life-saving treatment to a teenager, and 2007’s On Chesil Beach, his novella about a young couple’s disastrous wedding night. “We’re just about to start filming The Children Act, with Emma Thompson as a judge,” said McEwan, “and more or the less the same day we’re starting On Chesil Beach, with Saoirse Ronan.” Ronan, of course, starred in the film version of McEwan’s Atonement when she was just 13, earning an Oscar nomination for her role as Briony Tallis. McEwan wrote the scripts for both The Children Act and On Chesil Beach – “I didn’t really want to write the screenplays for either, but even more strongly I felt I didn’t want anyone else doing it, so I’ve written them both” – but said he was unlikely to do the same for Nutshell. “Who knows, I might end up doing it, but I rather think I won’t.”
Room writer Emma Donoghue talks Oscar glory, religion and her new novel The Wonder
The film of Room won an Academy Award – now her new novel is being read by Carey Mulligan on Radio 4
It’s a question that Emma Donoghue has no doubt been asked countless times over the past few months: how does an Oscar nomination change your life? Well, the author says, not much, actually. “I’m reaching more people,” she acknowledges, “but my main job is making things up with words, and that’s much the same as it ever was.” Donoghue’s 2010 novel Room was shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize and she wrote the screenplay for the 2015 film adaptation, which landed four nominations at this year’s Academy Awards, including one for the screenplay and one for its star, Brie Larson, who won Best Actress. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E_Ci-pAL4eE Despite being a writer for 20 years, 46-year-old Donoghue does concede that some things are different since the film’s success: “It’s just non-stop these days, but it’s a good complaint to have. I wouldn’t want to go back to the quiet publication days when nobody calls...” That’s unlikely to happen any time soon. Her latest novel, The Wonder, this week’s Book at Bedtime on Radio 4, is already attracting A-list interest. Lending her voice to the production is fellow Oscar nominee Carey Mulligan – which is a particular coup as Mulligan has kept a low profile since the birth of her first child in September last year. Since 1998, Dublin-born Donoghue has lived in London, Ontario in Canada, with her partner, Christine Roulston, an academic, and their children, Finn, 12, and Una, nine. The Wonder marks her literary return to Ireland, as her first novel set in her native country for almost a decade – but despite her time away, she still feels very much a part of the national conversation: “There’s a huge amount of debating in Ireland – how much is our cultural heritage precious and wonderful and how much is it a cage? And in the last 20 or 30 years we’ve all collectively been examining Ireland’s relationship with the Catholic Church.” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kGqruz_M-bg That relationship is at the heart of The Wonder, which is set in 1850s Ireland, and narrated by Lib, a British nurse recruited to verify the claims of a poor, pious family that their 11-year-old daughter can survive without food. It’s a scathing portrayal of religion, “the absolutist kind,” says Donoghue, “the kind characterised by rules and obsessional counting.” A kind of religion that, she says, “is by no means limited to the 19th century. And of course it’s not just Christianity, either – we see with every religion, with suicide bombers, for instance, how the idealism and gullibility of young people can be actively harnessed by much more cynical masters.” It’s a timely reflection, given the recent spate of terrorist incidents in Europe, especially in France, where Donoghue and her family spent the last academic year. They were based in Nice, where 85 people were killed in an attack in July. Donoghue at the 88th Academy Awards ceremony, February 2016 It’s hard not to notice that The Wonder, like Room, also features a child struggling against malign forces who turns to make-believe to make their limited existence bearable – and both books centre on the bond between the child and their carer in a confined, claustrophobic setting. Donoghue says, “I wasn’t conscious of [the similarities] at the time, but then after wards I thought, ‘Oh, it’s another intense adult-child relationship.’ ” “Intense” is putting it mildly – both books contain depictions of deeply traumatic childhoods. So it’s perhaps surprising that Donoghue’s next publication is a children’s book, The Lotterys Plus One. It came out of writing in the voice of a child, she says, and offers an antidote to the anguish of her adult novels; it has the “retro, almost nostalgic, comfortable feel of [children’s] classics, like E Nesbit or Noel Streatfeild”. For Donoghue, it’s her most intimidating release yet. “It’s scary,” she laughs, “because I’ve seen it with my own kids – if they’re not interested in a book, they will literally drop it and walk away!” Though Donoghue says that “for me, the fiction comes first”, she’s making the most of being hot property in Hollywood, and is currently adapting the work of two other writers for the screen. “No one ever asked me before, and I still feel very underqualified, but now I get all these offers and I couldn’t resist.” They aren’t the only projects that could see Donoghue back on the red carpet: she’s also written a screenplay of her 2014 novel Frog Music, and agrees that The Wonder “could probably make a good film”. Donoghue’s two worlds, film and fiction, will collide early next year – The Lotterys Plus One is due for publication in April, a couple of months after the Oscars in February. And though it’s yet to be seen if Donoghue wins the approval of young readers, she’s certainly won over the Academy – she was made a member in June. So while she may be back on the sofa for next year’s ceremony, the view will be a little different this time: “It’ll be strange – I’m used to watching and complaining about how they vote, but now I’m one of them!” The Wonder is being read by Carey Mulligan on Book at Bedtime: The Wonder, Monday–Friday 10.45pm, Radio 4
Reggie Yates in a Texan Jail: an elaborate set-up that doesn't quite deliver
"The behind-closed-doors format means that Reggie Yates doesn’t have the freedom (pun intended) he had in his more successful documentaries," says Hannah Shaddock
“I’m going to jail,” says Reggie Yates in a voiceover at the beginning of his latest BBC3 documentary. “I want to understand the American justice system, but from the inside.” He’s spending five nights in Bexar County jail in Texas, in a cell, in prison uniform, without any of his own possessions. When he is booked in he is handcuffed and shackled like any other prisoner, and when his cell door clicks shut for the first time, his unease is tangible. Reggie makes the most of the setup, immediately getting to know his fellow inmates on the low-risk unit, including 19-year-old Alex. It’s his first day in jail, and as Alex explains why he’s there – he was arrested for possession of a small amount of marijuana that he was using to manage various mental health problems – you see the reality of his situation hit him. He’s lost his job, his home; he can no longer send $200 every week to his stepfather in Mexico, to help pay for his dialysis. He hasn’t told the prison staff about his fragile mental health, because he doesn’t want to be transferred to the psych unit. Later, we get to see this unit, and the one for prisoners on suicide watch, where they lie on benches in a communal room, naked except for blankets; many of them are visibly distressed. Though Reggie’s empathy and mildness is constant, this is one of a few moments in the film that feel uncomfortably voyeuristic. When he speaks to staff about how prisoners with mental health problems are treated, they seem more willing to tell him juicy horror stories than explain how they look after severely ill individuals. There’s no doubt that both the huge numbers of Americans in prisons and the provision of psychiatric care to those prisoners are topics worth scrutiny. And you’ve got to applaud Reggie’s willingness to embark on such an experiment, which does provide a rare insight into what life in US jails is like – and into the many and varied reasons why so many Americans, especially American men, fetch up behind bars. But the behind-closed-doors format means that he doesn’t have the freedom (pun intended) he had in his more successful documentaries. Such privileged access may well have come with conditions, and the staff he speaks to never stray far from the party line. There’s a similar sense in the second film in the Worst Weeks series (available on iPlayer), which sees him join the Mexican Army as they try and forestall the deadly consequences of the ongoing drugs war. Again, it’s a brave move, and Reggie copes admirably. But only one soldier, Luis (below), speaks English (or so Reggie is told); he acts as a translator, and there are several points when Reggie seems well aware that the translations he is given are not entirely accurate. He’s stationed in Acapulco, where the local economy is heavily reliant on tourism; he worries that he’s part of a campaign to lure international tourists back, as every official he meets insists that the area doesn’t have a problem with violence or drugs, even when everything else Reggie encounters suggests otherwise. This in itself is revealing, but not, you feel, what he and the film-makers set out to uncover. But, as in his Texas film, there’s not a lot Reggie can do about it. He’s restricted by the elaborate setups, which is a shame because he’s proven himself a more than capable documentary-maker; his Extreme Russia series won him the Best Presenter gong at the Royal Television Society awards in April. The most telling, affecting moments in the films are when Reggie quietly draws the truth out of people – when Alex confesses to having suicidal thoughts, when Luis, the young Mexican soldier, reveals that his grandfather died just days ago, but he’s yet to cry. That ability to connect with people is Reggie’s strength – the BBC should use it. Reggie Yates in a Texan Jail is on BBC1 tonight at 10:45
Saving Lives at Sea will restore your faith in humanity – but might put you off sandy beaches
Little fazes the heroic volunteers patrolling Britain's coastline...
“Our job is just to rescue people who are in distress,” says Danny, an RNLI crewmember. And that’s what is so uplifting about new four-part BBC1 series Saving Lives at Sea – the nonchalantly brave men and women risking their lives to save others don’t even get paid to do that job; they’re volunteers. They may have very different occupations – a GP, an architect, a boat painter, an undertaker, a firefighter, a solicitor, a mechanic, a kitchen designer – but they’re all masters of the understatement: “I wouldn’t call myself brave… I just like to help out,” says Paul, a software consultant. Little fazes or bemuses the utterly professional volunteers. In one rescue in Blackpool, a woman experiencing mental health problems is pulled from the water. “I’m going to Jesus!” she says, once she’s safely aboard the RNLI dinghy. “We told her, you know, we can’t take you to Jesus,” recounts Danny, “but we can certainly take you back to shore.” In another incident, in London, the crew must wrestle with two naked, muddled young men who have jumped into the Thames. “I feel dry!” one cries – yes, because you’re in a boat now with a towel round you, comes the patient reply. The high seas bring high drama, too; helmet cams provide immersive, pulse-quickening footage of the deceptively slight-looking orange dinghies contending with crashing waves, stranded walkers and struggling swimmers – and there is not always a happy ending. But, as is always the case, it’s the human element that proves most fascinating. We hear not just from those who are rescued – looking much neater, and drier, than when we first encounter them – but also from the volunteers, who, inevitably, have plenty of tales to tell. Take Alan, a school caretaker, who’s volunteered for the RNLI in Eastbourne for 15 years. In 2012, he was commended for his actions during one particularly difficult call-out, to Beachy Head. A man had driven his car off the cliff; the beach he landed on had been cut off by the tide. Alan swam in to reach what he thought would be a dead body – but the man was still alive. As Alan describes that night to the programme-makers, his mother, who he lives with, listens nearby – it’s the first time she’s heard him speak about it. We also see the lovely way that history and community gather around a lifeboat station like barnacles; how for many, it becomes a way of life. In the first episode, current volunteers at Mumbles Lifeboat Station near Swansea remember the loss of eight crew during an attempted rescue in 1947; it’s clear the tragedy is still strongly felt seven decades later. And in Cornwall, fishmonger Gareth (“Have you lived in Newquay all your life?” “Not yet!”) describes his lifesaving pedigree – his great-great-grandfather was on the very first outing of the Newquay lifeboat in 1864. Be warned: this absorbing, moving series does have a couple of side effects, one more welcome than the other. Yes, it will restore your faith in humanity, and in the sheer grit and courage of ordinary people – but a sunny, sandy beach may not look so inviting. Saving Lives at Sea begins on Wednesday at 9pm on BBC1
An ode to Desmond – the Norfolk native with the most luxuriant eyebrows on TV
Dazzling. Unkempt. Always on the brink of flying off his face.
Like this? Share it! It’s easy to scoff at people with plummy accents living in beautiful stately homes in the country, but there’s more to Desmond than his privileged background. The series follows his battle to make the Wiveton Hall estate profitable, and his inventiveness and business nous wouldn’t be out of place on Dragon’s Den – although his tweed jacket might. Desmond doesn’t leave it to the professionals – and why should he? He’s got years of experience on the estate, which he inherited when he was still a teenager. Whether it’s tidying up the kitchen garden or putting the finishing touches to a newly renovated holiday cottage, he’s always there to lend a hand. Just about anything will elicit a “Well done!” from Desmond. Laying some stepping-stones in a front garden? Well done! Found a rogue swarm of bees for Desmond to corral back into the hive? Well done! This must be the secret to keeping his workers happy while they slave over a hot, er, asparagus field. Episode two opens with a shot of Desmond at work in the gardens, with a scything action that would make Ross Poldark proud. He then proceeds to give a scything master class (“It’s rather like carving Serrano ham”) to his gardener that includes a lament about once-great France and an anecdote about family picnics. It’s not all work at Wiveton Hall. Whether it’s throwing a 100th birthday party for his mother Chloë or hosting a hoedown in a barn, Desmond knows how to enjoy himself. As evidenced in the first episode, where he enjoys himself a little too much… Luxuriant, unkempt. Always on the brink of flying off his face. Don't miss Normal for Norfolk – on BBC2 tonight at 10pm
My Baby, Psychosis and Me: an unflinching look at “the most severe illness we see in psychiatry”
"This film, and the BBC’s In the Mind season, is an important first step in raising awareness – but there is clearly so much more to be done," says Hannah Shaddock
“They ARE suffering. They are at the root of where suffering lies, in the head – and that is gruesome to watch.” This is how Dr Alain Gregoire, the psychiatrist in charge of a specialist mother and baby unit in Winchester, describes mental illnesses. And, he says, postpartum psychosis – psychosis that develops in women after childbirth – is “the most severe illness we see in psychiatry”. Dr Gregoire’s unit is the setting of My Baby, Psychosis and Me, a raw, powerful BBC1 film depicting the impact of postpartum psychosis on mothers and their families. It follows two women undergoing treatment at the unit: Hannah, who is admitted three months after the birth of her first child, and Jenny, who developed symptoms just six weeks after having her second baby. Millions have been watching Stacey Branning (Lacey Turner) struggle with the illness on EastEnders; this storyline and the documentary are both part of the BBC’s In the Mind season, which begun yesterday [Monday 15 Feb], and which aims to improve our understanding of mental health. Turner’s portrayal of postpartum psychosis – which causes paranoia, delusions, extremes of emotion, depression, even suicidal thoughts ­– has been widely praised, but to see Hannah and Jenny’s very real suffering is something else entirely. It is difficult to watch at times, so must have been unspeakably difficult for them and their families to experience. For the women to allow themselves to be filmed while in their grip of illness is a remarkably brave thing to do. Because mental health is, if no longer a taboo subject, then certainly an unpopular and challenging one. People struggle to admit that they are suffering, for fear of how others will see them – because they worry they will be misunderstood, rejected, or seen as “mental”, faulty, weak. But the truth could not be more different. Hannah and Jenny want desperately to be better for their babies, for their partners; their strength, the huge effort they are making to be well again, is evident. As someone who has had their own mental health problems, I know films like this one are so important. As well as showing how mental illness can happen so easily to anyone, it also demonstrates how disabling it can be, and will hopefully encourage empathy and understanding, not dismissal, or even fear. Though a woman with postpartum psychosis rarely poses a threat to her baby, she can be a danger to herself, which means appropriate care is a matter of life and death. Despite its severity, women often make a full recovery – like all mental illnesses, it does not have to mean the ruin or end of a life. Fortunately, Hannah and Jenny do get the specialist care they need, but 80 per cent of women with postpartum psychosis do not. This film, and the BBC’s In the Mind season as a whole, is an important first step in raising awareness and starting a vital conversation about mental health – but there is clearly so much more to be done. My Baby, Psychosis and Me airs Tuesday at 10:45 p.m. on BBC1.
My Transgender Kid: “All they want is to be loved for themselves and accepted for themselves”
Channel 4's Born in the Wrong Body series kicks off with the first of three incredibly honest films about the lives, challenges and bravery of transgender people and their families
Channel 4’s Born in the Wrong Body series – which gives young transgender people and their families the chance to show what life is like for them – starts with My Transgender Kid, a film about two very different seven-year-olds who have one big thing in common: they both identify as a gender they weren’t born with. Paddy is remarkably articulate and clear when discussing her gender identity. When an off-camera film-maker asks her if she’s always “wanted to be a girl”, her reply is firm: “Actually, I don’t want to be a girl, I am a girl.” George is less vocal but no less determined. Though the programme is ultimately a positive one, both families are upfront about the difficulties of raising a transgender child. Teasing by George’s peers meant he was forced to move schools; when his mum asks him how that made him feel, he draws a picture of a broken heart. Paddy is yet to even dress as a girl at school, in case her peers react negatively; their parents admit that their own worries may be affecting their daughter. But that’s the main virtue of all three of the Born in the Wrong Body films: honesty. In the second programme, three young trans men lay bare the physical and mental toll of transitioning. They make video diaries of their worries and fears, and share images of their surgery; in a world first, one man, Billy, even agrees to have his operation filmed. And they do this because they know that to share their experiences is to help others: for young trans people struggling to feel understood, and unsure what their future looks like, such frank testimony is vital. Because the thread that unites all three films is that acceptance is everything; for all of the young people featured, the happiness they feel when they are able to inhabit a body that finally feels like it belongs to them is emphatic – even more so when they can share that happiness with their friends and loved ones. In this, too, parents of transgender children can find reassurance. Paddy and George’s parents’ constant fear is that they are allowing their child to make a decision that they may regret in the future, or that will cause them hurt and suffering now. But they realise that their role is simple: to love, support and listen to their children when they’re trying to tell them who they are. As Paddy’s mum Lorna says, “All [trans children] want is to be loved for themselves, and accepted for themselves.” My Transgender Kid is on on Tuesday 6th October at 10pm on Channel 4. Born in the Wrong Body continues at the same time next week with Girls to Men