Television Roger Lewis
Nothing much was nocturnal about The Night Manager. Indeed, what I’ve always relished about John le Carré is his murky, shadowy, morally blurred and sunless world, populated by crumpled blokes in airless rooms – Alec Guinness as the roly-poly George Smiley or Richard Burton as a pock-marked Alec Leamas. I loved le Carré because he wasn’t Ian Fleming – indeed le Carré has always been an antidote to Ian Fleming. Until now. The television adaptation of The Night Manager was slick and lavish – a veritable travelogue, with no expense spared. ‘Madrid, Spain’, a title informed us, and indeed Spain is where that city can normally be found. We went to Egypt, Switzerland, Mallorca (not Majorca) – where Hugh Laurie lived in a Bond villain castle, viewed with many a sweeping helicopter shot. He made quite a good slimy blackguard, did Hugh. The only thing he didn’t do was stroke a big white pussy.
Future megastar Tom Hiddleston, however, was hardly credible as a chap who’d spend his young life on the lonely night shift in Sheraton hotels telling guests that ‘The cocktails are complimentary’, so it was a good job wobbly Olivia Colman turned up offering to be his ‘Control’. Olivia, incidentally, was playing a ‘character’, about whom Douglas Hodge memorably said, ‘I hope I’m not going to regret the soft spot I have for you, Angela.’
At long last, however, Tom had the chance to ditch his laminated concierge lapel badge and turn into James Bond – which he did convincingly and with alacrity, breaking limbs and leaping about. His charm, poshness and cruelty were perfect for Ian Fleming, none would deny that, but these are not the characteristics I would ever have imagined the le Carré who’d created the monochrome and atmospheric Circus wanting to take a moment’s interest in. Inspired by the feature film, The Real Exotic Marigold Hotel saw a group of elderly demi-celebrities seeing if retirement in Jaipur would be to their liking. They were a jolly crew for the most part. Sylvester Mccoy played the spoons, Wayne Sleep did a wistful pirouette, and Jennifer Paterson, reincarnated as Rosemary Shrager, went to the marketplace and saw chickens being slaughtered.
It added up to the best documentary I’ve seen in ages. Usually I am allergic to ‘celebrities’ appearing in documentaries. They show off and put on a big boring act. Here the only one in danger of that was Miriam Margolyes, who had an obsession with lavatories. She didn’t stop talking about toilets, bowels and windy spasms. I bet she was hard work, and I noticed another member of the group called her ‘the Führer’ – which as she’s Jewish was surely a bit off.
You’ll remember Trevor Howard and Celia Johnson in Staying On? Nearly seventy years since the ending of the Raj we are ready to have ‘Coming Back’. Out east, despite dwindling pensions, the British mob can again live like kings, with servants, stylish accommodation and cheap medical facilities. The group excursion to a hospital was an eyeopener. Operations are ten times cheaper in India than in London. Miriam, Sylvester, and the rest of them, found out all about morbid obesity, gallstones and arthritic knees.
I worried a bit about Jan Leeming, who now resembles a desiccated Audrey Hepburn. She was lonely and withdrawn, almost clinically depressed, and the spirit medium she visited had either given her a quick Google or else that crystal ball stuff works. Jan ended up quite falling for the sub-continent and planned to move there permanently.
I vaguely remember Tracey Ullman from decades ago, and Tracey Ullman’s Show was meant to be her welcome home programme, but it was as wearily old-fashioned as the sketches of
Dick Emery. There was even a gag about John Mcenroe being rude at Wimbledon – how antiquated can you get? Tracey had obviously spent a lot of time being fitted with rubber masks, which turned her into Halloween semblances of Judi Dench, who was found shoplifting and seeing what, as a National Treasure, she can get away with; Maggie Smith, auditioning for unlikely roles; and the Duchess of Cornwall, swilling vodka and shooting fox terriers.