Where there’s a Will, there’s a Grace

When it comes to Donald Trump, Will and Grace are carnivorous plants about to devour him.

I never liked Will And Grace (TV2, Mondays).

I used to call it Grill And Waste. It was wasted on me even if I grilled it. It glorified the sycophantic side of American society, made worse by renta-crowd laughter. If the episode had meaning, it was interrupted by every character delivering 10 smart one-liners, before the narrative could go anywhere.

By then I’d wasted my time and closed the barbecue.

This week, I watched it again after a 15-year absence and instead, it was great. Amazing. It was smart, the humour was relevant and the story-line adequate, even if the rent-a-crowd had swallowed banned substances. They’ll never swim for New Zealand.

Why was I so mistaken at the turn of this century? Have I been seduced by Melissa Mccarthy and Will Ferrell?

Will and Grace have magically come together again, even if she’s renting his spare room. Irritating Jack is still down the corridor and Karen is even ditsier, with black chimney hair.

When it comes to Donald Trump, Will and Grace are carnivorous plants about to devour him so, when they’re both called to Washington, they hide the invitation from each other.

Will wants to meet the chairman of the Energy Caucus, while Grace has been commissioned to redecorate Trump’s headquarters. It’s called the Oval Office because he’s a bad egg.

They suddenly confront each other through a bullet-proof window and, to hide their embarrassment, have a pillow fight with cushions. Now that sounds like gross American humour, and it is, but there are enough inspired moments to make it enjoyable.

Instead of bringing her colour chart, Grace opens a bag of Cheezels and holds one up to ensure it’s the same shade as Donald Trump’s hair. I’m sure there are millions of homes in the United States redecorated like a mild case of jaundice.

The new series of Will And Grace – the ninth – has been heralded as the second coming in American humour. While it’s not even the first coming, it’s good, it’s funny, it’s topical and the four actors fit so snugly in their roles, it suggests they’ve been cryogenically embalmed, waiting for their return.

Decades In Colour (Prime, Sundays) is an indulgence. I looked forward to reliving everything from the 1940s through to the 80s. But, after quarter of an hour of Elaine and Richard and Jeanette and Margaret and Pati’s home movies, I became bored. I took two bites of the celluloid sandwich and was disappointed.

Host Judy Bailey could have played an important role in providing some structure, but she hardly existed. Yes, the footage is priceless, but it requires production values and a commentary to relate the home movies to its audience. Importantly, it failed to engage those thousands of viewers who didn’t live throughout those decades.

I’m left with fading memories of backyards, biking to grandma, church picnics, mum’s eggbeater, Gregg’s instant puddings and a desire never to eat another saveloy, but little context to go with it.

Douglas Henshall has turned boring characters into an art form. In Shetland, he was the dour Jimmy Perez. Now, he’s morose Detective Sergeant William Muncie, who’s out to arrest serial killer Peter Thomas Manuel.

In Plain Sight (Vibe, Tuesdays) is set in 1950s Scotland, in a society that’s as exciting as a plate of cold porridge. We know that, by the end of the mini-series, Muncie will get his man, so the fascination for this true story is in the story-telling.

While Muncie is a cure for insomnia, Manuel is a complex, intriguing sadist and, by the end of the first episode, he’s killed one victim on a forlorn golf course. We’ll need to wait until next Tuesday to find out who’s next and whether he replaced his divot.

My plea to Scottish TV is to run subtitles underneath so we know what they’re saying.

Married At First Sight (TV3 Sunday/mondays) is great entertainment, but should also be called Unmarried At Second Sight as, in the Australian experience, every coupling failed.

For them, marriage wasn’t a word, it was a sentence, something they got early release from for good behaviour.

It’s farcical to call it a serious social experience. Rather, it’s an emotional and physical romp disguised as instant wedlock. But it’s engaging, reality TV, bizarre enough to watch.

One Palmerston North couple, Claire and Dom, are taking part and are enjoying it as much as we’re enjoying them.