An intriguing catch-up with Theroux’s past interviewees
‘ILouis Theroux: Life on the Edge (BBC Two, Sunday) found the endearingly gawky film-maker looking back at 25 years of his award-garlanded documentaries. For the opening episode, Theroux revisited his early work, mainly late 1990s series Weird Weekends, to ponder the theme of belief. Much of the footage remained riveting. His stand-off with a Neo-nazi skinhead demanding to know whether Theroux was Jewish was still chillingly uncomfortable.
How he kept a straight face while meeting his more eccentric subjects is beyond me. UFO hunter Thor Templar (presumably not his real name), self-styled “Lord Commander of the Earth Protectorate”, boasted that he’d killed 20 extraterrestrials. Reverend Robert Short claimed to be a conduit for aliens, which comprised putting on a robotic voice while sitting in a special armchair. He died last year but was “channelling” until the end.
Via Skype, Theroux caught up with memorable interviewees to learn how their lives had changed. Results varied. Surprisingly likeable patriot survivalist Mike Cain had found a kindred spirit in Donald Trump. Twins Lamb and
Lynx Gaede, once a white supremacist pop duo called Prussian Blue, had renounced their racist beliefs. Less happily, hypnotist-cum-snake oil salesman Marshall Sylver was still peddling his preposterous promises to make gullible people millionaires within a year, despite a prosecution for obtaining money by false pretences.
This was fairly light fare, amounting to little more than clips and chit-chat, but an hour spent in Theroux’s company is rarely wasted. He was self-analytical and wryly witty. Montages showed his evolution from faux-naive Harry Potter lookalike into the hardened, grey-stubbled reporter of today.
Fans got a rare glimpse of his home life. He might have chic decor, a designer loft conversion and enviable picture windows, but it was oddly reassuring that otherwise he’s just like the rest of us. He served oven chips and ketchup to his unruly children. He hoarded memorabilia and received novelty 50th birthday cards.
In other hands, such a retrospective might have been self-indulgent. Theroux’s fierce intelligence and insatiable curiosity ensured it was less a backslapping session, more a thought-provoking essay about the power of belief – and a reminder of the comedy value of American oddballs.
‘Strike up the band, hit the lights, we’re back on Saturday nights,” went co-hosts Ant and Dec’s swinging, Rat Pack-style song to herald the return of Britain’s Got Talent (ITV) for its socially distanced semi-finals. Sadly, like everyone’s jazz-hands, it was a tad too sanitised.
The variety contest’s audition phase – always the most compelling part – aired this spring. After a pandemicenforced delay, it was belatedly back to business. Trouble was, after four months off-air, we’d forgotten who most of the hopefuls were. The sob stories had faded from memory. Any emotional investment had evaporated.
Behind the judges’ desk, Ashley Banjo (who won the 2009 series with his streetdance troupe Diversity) deputised for Simon Cowell, still recovering from a broken back after falling off his electric bike. In Cowell’s absence, Amanda Holden was designated as head judge – much to her delight and David Walliams’s hammed-up chagrin.
Banjo impressed as a stand-in and even more so when he nipped up on-stage for a guest performance with Diversity. Their visceral routine portraying the year’s events, from the pandemic to the death of George Floyd and the Black Lives Matter protests, was a powerful interlude.
Many acts wilted under pressure or found their limitations exposed, however. Fancy-dressed dance troupe Urban Turtles were more suited to a children’s party than prime-time TV. Climate change choir SOS From the Kids were an exercise in bland, Boden-catalogue wokeness. The judges unanimously elected to send juggling comedian Steve Royle straight through to the grand final. His slapstick set was game, goofy and winningly old-fashioned. The rest now face the public vote to decide who joins him.
There were too many ad breaks, as ever. The “virtual audience” was essentially a supersized Zoom call projected onto a wall. Ant and Dec did their best with some slick, sparky links but this was a two-hour slog lacking in wow factor and, perhaps understandably, atmosphere.
Louis Theroux: Life on the Edge ★★★★
Britain’s Got Talent ★★★★★