Like in Spartacus, rail fans in pink and yellow chanted: ‘I’m Portillo’
No matter how many times you see it, this iconic moment of screen history will never fail to stir the soul. the charismatic, square-jawed rebel leader is surrounded by his faithful followers, all claiming to be him. No, it isn’t Kirk Douglas in Spartacus, but Great Australian Railway Journeys (BBC2).
‘I’m Portillo!’ cry the devoted disciples, clad in salmon pink and canary yellow while brandishing their Bradshaw’s guides. ‘I’m Portillo! I’m michael Portillo!’
Hard though it was to believe, this touching spectacle was not set up by the director. By sheer coincidence, as michael boarded the Ghan express to roll across the Northern territory on his way to the Pacific ocean, a band of dedicated Portillistas and their wives were embarking, too.
they all sported cravats, floral shirts, technicolor chinos and luminous jackets, in tribute to their travelling hero. this trip had been eight months in the planning. Imagine their amazement when they discovered the magnificent mike himself was booked onto the same train.
a party of nuns from Knock could not feel more surprised if the minibus hired to take them to Lourdes turned out to be driven by the archbishop of Dublin. michael was having a marvellous time, even before he stepped onto the halfmile-long train with its four kitchens and five restaurants.
He shovelled coal on the footplate of a narrow gauge steam loco, always a task guaranteed to put a boyish smile on his face. He bottlefed an orphaned kangaroo and learned how to transmit laughter in morse code.
He was enjoying himself so much that he had even taken to greeting locals with a plummy, ‘morning! G’day!’ this hour-long episode, whisking him the 1,850 miles from Pichi richi station to Darwin, looked like it might prove a slog at the start but, despite 40c (104f) heat in the desert north of alice Springs, michael was squeezing into a freshly laundered pair of slimline slacks and smiling all the way.
though his shows are more about history than geography, he manages to maintain a light touch even at sombre moments.
He listened respectfully to stories of how, just a couple of generations ago, the children of white settlers and aboriginal mothers were shut away in institutions, for the ‘crime’ of being mixed race.
and he was up long before dawn on anzac Day in Darwin, determined not to miss a minute of the remembrance ceremonies to honour australia’s war dead.
even at such an hour, he was evidently pleased to be there. the rest of this six-part series promises to be a bustling treat.
World On Fire (BBC1), writer Peter Bowker’s evocation of the first months of World War II, has been a treat, but only in places.
there are flashes of cinematic spectacle, such as the vision of a ghostly column of refugees and exhausted allied soldiers straggling along a misty road on the Flanders horizon.
and the battle sequences have been staged with imagination. as the Stuka dive-bombers screamed down and gouts of flame erupted across the Dunkirk beach, we could almost taste the terror of warfare.
But these powerful set-pieces alternate with self-indulgent scenes in which characters compete to see who can be the most saintly. I am getting fed up with the way Harry Chase (Jonah Hauer-King) rescues dogs, children, crashed pilots, lost african troops and anyone else he meets.
the only character I really like is Polish resistance fighter Kasia (Zofia Wichlacz) who lures sadistic SS men to their deaths by asking them to light her cigarette in dark alleys. atta-girl.