Homicide Los Angeles
Netflix
Susan Calman’s Grand Day Out
Channel 5, Thursday, 9pm
Linford
BBC1, Thursday, 8.30pm
The Olympics Opening Ceremony
BBC1 & RTE1, Friday night
Netflix’s series Homicide: New York was quite a success for the service, a docuseries about New York murder investigations told mainly from the police point of view, that was perhaps a little bit slick but didn’t overdo the drama (or the gore for that matter).
Inevitably they’ve gone back for more, though this time to draw from a different well: the new series performs the same trick, but in Los Angeles.
And I suspect you have already worked that out from the no-nonsense title, Homicide: Los Angeles.
LA’s culture and character are quite different from New York’s, one significant difference being the celebrity-heavy population.
And the first episode smartly explores the famous drama that unfolded in the mansion of the legendary music producer Phil Spector, where Lana Clarkson’s body was found in 2003.
That’s enough to grab your interest if you remember the man or the case, and the rest of that hour follows the usual process: early mystery, blood spatter analysis, then a case that initially delayed for years by lawyers and failed on first hearing.
What was also interesting were the unique pressures on the LA County Sheriff’s Department, still stung from losing the OJ Simpson murder trial and torn between pushing for a second trial and saving face.
For all that material and those backroom, less-than-obvious thought processes, you need the police’s involvement, and the show is strong on that: detectives and attorneys appear here who are not only interesting characters, but who seem to be almost dangerously invested in solving their cases (PTSD is mentioned here).
It gives an extra level of humanity to it all.
Of course there’s also a danger that police involvement could make it feel a little polite, a little too keen to show the force in a good light; you do suspect there are at least some details left out for that sake.
At the same time, the bare facts they do deliver seem fairly free of spin. Certainly it doesn’t have the gnarly moral debates, or the analysis of crime and punishment and their impact on people, that could make it a must-watch.
But it’s a solid look at police procedure in the hardest of cases, and who knows, maybe there’ll yet be a deeper, both-sides-talking spin-off series.
Sometimes you think we must be near the end of celebrity travel shows: surely there can’t be many more celebs left to go treading where previous celebs have already trodden with their fragrant golden feet?
But the celebs keep going, so the shows keep coming – and the latest one is Channel 5’s Susan Calman’s Grand Day Out, in which the somewhat small and somewhat shrill Scottish comedian goes “vanping” in an old van she calls Helen Mirren.
Of course I’ve learned since that this is not really a new series after all – somehow this is season seven of the show, which I just haven’t watched before.
And I only mention it now because the first episode of the new run followed Calman driving through Derry, kayaking on the Foyle, and, yes, visiting Donegal.
She did indeed have a grand old day out around Inishowen, visiting Wild Ireland (and interviewing its founder Killian McLaughlin), the Grianán of Aileach, and Malin Head to see where parts of Star Wars: The Last Jedi were filmed (Calman is a Star Wars fan).
It all looked very well, to be fair – the weather worked out (mostly) for her, and footage of the narrow, grass-lined lanes of Donegal was offset by good sharp drone shots of the coastline.
It feels a bit cheaply made (not necessarily a criticism), and Calman can often be a bit screechy and hard to listen to.
But here at least I prefer to think she was just fizzing over with excitement, and she did seem to genuinely like the area, giving it an unusually generous bit of screentime.
That was good to see.
Still, I’m not completely sure I could sit through her more far-flung episodes all in one go.
Linford Christie, after a long spell away from the spotlight, has re-emerged recently, with Linford, a new film about his life and struggles with fame, screening to coincide with the Paris Olympics.
For those who might not remember, he had a long, dominant sprinting career (including gold medals at the Olympics and World Championships), quite a lot of media coverage, and then a career-ending incident in 1999 when he tested positive for nandrolone.
Among other things, this film addresses (though doesn’t quite resolve) all of that, bringing in (as well as Christie himself) Christie’s old colleagues and friends to give their views, as well as some of the doping authorities from the time, and even some journalists who covered the story that killed his career.
As well as those controversies, Christie talks about the racism he faced even after becoming internationally successful, and about his hurt during the ludicrous “lunchbox” press coverage.
It’s a good watch, and you can feel his frustration and his anger at times.
He still denies the allegations of drugtaking, even suggesting that officials in the athletics world know the truth but won’t let it out.
Actually, you do wish the makers had pushed him more on that particular subject, and if you come here for a definitive answer, you’ll be disappointed.
Still, it’s a strong portrait of a man who was once a towering figure in athletics, and had a busy and sometimes controversial life even off the track.
But however Christie’s career ended, we all knew at the time that it would end.
There were times last Friday night when it was not at all clear that the Olympics Opening Ceremony would ever do so.
There might even have been times when I wasn’t sure it had properly started yet.
We were constantly introduced to various characters dotted along the Seine, playing accordions and climbing roofs, luxuriating in blue paint and, in Lady Gaga’s case, singing in French on some deadly-looking stairs.
And yet, the boats bearing the athletes kept coming in alphabetical order, and…oh God, you mean we’ve watched an hour of this stuff and we’re only just reaching D now?
To be fair, the rain did hamper things a little. Just a little.
And that silver horse galloping across the river at the end was quite good, and even if you don’t like Celine Dion’s voice, it was impressive to see her performance given her illness.
It was easy to appreciate the ambition and effort that went into it, not to mention the €150 million. But did it need to be so blingy and theatrical?
Did the catwalks need to be so interminably long? Did it – does anything – deserve four hours of our time? Isn’t an hour (including speeches) plenty?
Plenty of people liked it too, of course.
I suspect the divide will be along the same lines as the divide between people who love stage musicals and people who just find them too ritzy and schmaltzy.
But I did laugh at Michael Johnson, who in the BBC studio was immediately asked what he thought of it all.
“It was different” he offered politically, “And the athletes seemed to enjoy it.” We hear you, Mr Johnson; we who were about to die (of boredom) salute you.
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