| TV Review Diana Wichtel
On Filthy Rich, defenestration is all in a day’s work.
What an irate little nation we are. Perhaps it’s worth all that NZ On Air funding to find this out. The second season of TV2’s alleged drama, Filthy Rich, opened with everyone suiting up as though they were the Light Brigade about to ride into the Valley of Death. They were going to a fashion show, FFS.
The Real Housewives of Auckland counted more as documentary than drama, but despite the tantrums, headless chookery and general bitchery, those ladies never went so far as to throw each other off high buildings. On Filthy Rich, defenestration is just another day at the office. The first series began with tycoon John Truebridge landing on a car in a blizzard of bank notes. Series two sees Savannah hooked up to beeping monitors in hospital after the evil Fisher threw her off a building. Anger management, people.
Maybe I nodded off when we found out how in the name of plausibility Savannah survived. Details, details. No doubt she will be cross too when she wakes up. As for Brady, she seldom cracked a smile even when she was in charge of the Truebridge empire. Now she’s out, she’s stalking around on high heels snarling “Assholes!” and forgetting her daughter’s birthday.
Brady looked so relentlessly dyspeptic it made you long for last season, when she had some grim fun, even if it involved the mentally scarring scene where she had sex with her trainer while Wendy Petrie read the news in the background. The only character enjoying himself is John Jr. Carrying the lols for the entire cast, he is now so perky all he needs is a red nose and a clown horn.
This being local drama, time not spent snarling is devoted to characters explaining the plot to each other: “The Hathaway Foundation was set up by Ford’s grandmother to help needy women and children …” There’s the deathless dialogue. There was nothing quite up there with Mercy Peak’s “I’ll put on the broccoli”, but “Lloyd and money: it’s like watching a stray dog guard a kebab” scored best meaningless food-related simile so far.
Rich people. There was a Krystle versus Alexis-style catfight, but Dynasty was a long time ago. In a world where Ivanka Trump – I cannot believe I am writing this sentence – sits around the table with world leaders at a G20 conference, the fictional machinations of the Truebridges have been so comprehensively outgunned by reality that the trope needs an urgent rethink.
On Three, Westside is also back and fairly grumpy as well. As Rita West, Antonia Prebble had to scowl her way through every scene. She and Ted are back from the US. Their house has been trashed by a girl gang – is that a young Cheryl? – and (spoiler alert) Lefty has lost all the gang’s ill-gotten gains. With no tall building to hand, Ted is forced to nearly throw him off a high point of Auckland’s geography.
Here is further evidence that no one watching a New Zealand drama is ever in danger of having to figure anything out for themselves: “I have news for you. It’s 1982.” Still, the writers have a lighter touch on this one. Period detail floats by, to be caught or not, depending on your demographic: “Well, I wouldn’t be calling from America. Costs an arm and a leg!” Or “I’ve got a mortgage. Only 10% interest!” Or “They’re having overseas trips and dinner at Antoine’s.”
Quite good fun but, as with Filthy Rich, all a bit predictable. Westside lacks the effortless humour and heart of Outrageous Fortune, from which it sprang. Or maybe it just lacks
Robyn Malcolm, the late great Frank Whitten, Van and Munter … With Outrageous, it felt like you were hanging out with the Wests. Westside often feels like you’re just watching people play them. FILTHY RICH, TV2, Tuesday, 8.30pm; WESTSIDE, Three, Monday, 8.30pm.
No one watching a New Zealand drama is ever in danger of having to figure anything out for themselves.