Lumley’s Indian odyssey was absolutely fabulous
‘Not another celebrity travelogue,” is what viewers doubtless sighed. It’s certainly what cynical TV critics huffed. Yet, despite the TV schedules’ wearisome reliance on this overstuffed genre, Joanna Lumley’s India (ITV) was utterly irresistible.
Lumley was born during the last days of the Raj and her family called India home for several generations. Now she returned to the nation of her birth on a personal 5,000-mile journey.
The three-parter began with the actress travelling from the country’s southernmost tip to the foothills of the Himalayas. En route, she tracked elephants, ate curry with her hands and got measured by tailors. “When I was a model, I was 34-24-35,” she confided with that winning smile. “What happened? I’ve tripled in size.”
She rode pillion on a motorbike, telling her companion: “I won’t wobble. I was trained in The Avengers, remember?” At the world’s biggest film studio complex, Tollywood in Hyderabad, she was digitally transformed into a screen goddess. “I was born to the role,” she guffawed with glee.
Lumley’s natural warmth and people skills shone through with every encounter. Everyone was “sweetheart”, everything was “thrilling”. Meeting the marginalised transgender community of Calcutta, she embraced them and declared: “You are all my daughters!”
The usual travelogue fare – visiting landmarks, meeting locals, mucking in like a good sport – was mixed with sepia-tinted reminiscing and personal history. As Lumley looked through family photos and letters (“I tell you, emails are not as good”), it frequently felt like an episode of BBC genealogy series Who Do You Think You Are? but with a bigger travel budget.
Finally, Lumley hoped to visit the house where her mother spent her childhood but was denied access until a new friend pulled some strings. Lumley came out gushing: “I swear I saw, dancing amongst the flower beds, the little spirit of my eight-year old mother with her dogs and her pony. Fabulous.” It absolutely was.
The Prince of Wales called Theresa May “that awful woman” and “the worst Prime Minister since Gordon Brown”. Mrs May and the Duchess of Cornwall brawled on the plush palace carpet, with pearls and mid-heel court shoes flying in all directions.
No, this wasn’t leaked footage from the Prime Minister’s latest weekly audience at Buckingham Palace.
It was right royal romp The
Windsors (Channel 4).
As the spoof monarchical soap opera returned for a second series, the UK was struggling for trading partners post-brexit, so May (Gillian Bevan) persuaded a kilt-clad Charles and a chain-smoking, gin-soaked Camilla (Harry Enfield and Haydn Gwynne) to host a banquet for the Chinese. Cue “hilarious consequences”, as is industry standard in sitcom.
Elsewhere, Harry (Richard Goulding) was worried that his newfound love for American divorcée Meghan Markle (Kathryn Drysdale) – “Do you recognise me from TV drama Suits?” “No, from the Mail Online” – could cause an Edward Viii-style rift. It was unlike the prince to take an historical view – until he admitted he’d been “binge-watching The Crown on Netflix”.
Jealous Pippa Middleton (Morgana Robinson) put a “gypsy curse” on sister Kate (Louise Ford), while hapless William (Hugh Skinner) was trying and failing to be a hands-on father. “The wheels on the Rolls go round and round…” he sang.
The odd decent one-liner aside, this wasn’t sophisticated satire. It had all the subtlety and nuance of a Donald Trump tweet. Mrs May was depicted as potty-mouthed, whereas all indications are that in reality, she doesn’t appear to swear. When the writers couldn’t think of a gag, they simply replaced it with an elongated vowel.
Most of the characters remained one-joke caricatures: Charles talked to plants, Edward was a useless luvvie, Beatrice and Eugenie were permanently on holiday, Fergie was exploiting her increasingly tenuous regal connections to flog her range of Right Royal Juicers.
More promisingly, the scenestealing Vicki Pepperdine joined the regular cast as austere Princess Anne – channelling Mrs Danvers and Miss Trunchbull as she terrified the feckless young royals into submission.
Broad, brash and camp, this was panto-style comedy. Entertaining enough but lewd and low on actual wit. Forget Mrs Brown’s Boys. This should be renamed Mrs Windsor’s Boys. I don’t mean that entirely as a compliment.
Joanna Lumley’s India The Windsors