TV Review: Much was written and spoken about My Foetus in the run-up to its transmission, and many will have chosen not to watch it, having decided in advance that it was either a nadir of reality TV or a peak of sensationalism.
It was neither of those things. Instead it was a thoughtful film, even if it was imperfect and far too pithy for its topic. Its footage was deliberately blunt. Broadcast late on Tuesday night, it was a programme to be taped and watched at a time when you would be able to process the images rather than take them to bed with you. It was television's latest exercise in showing you things you don't really want to look at.
This, of course, was a programme made for the British viewer, for a society in which abortion is routine, a "reproductive safety net", as the film-maker Julia Black put it. In Ireland, the debate does not go away, but lies dormant for short spells before flaring up again. The images seen in My Foetus may have been unique to British screens, but there will be plenty of Irish who will have been exposed to them in their Catholic school years. Many will recall the day the TV and video were trundled into religion class, the blinds were pulled and the teacher stood to one side as children were exposed to The Silent Scream, a film of unapologetic bias and calculated gore.
Black is the daughter of one of the founders of the Marie Stopes Clinic and has been pro-choice all her life. She had an abortion at 21 and was making this film as her second pregnancy reached its final term. Her conscience was obvious in her large bump - in remarkable clarity in a 3-D scan - and, finally, in her newborn child.
Ultimately, though, it was a programme which set out to break a taboo. Television has developed a fetish for the intimacies of surgery, but abortion - a procedure carried out millions of times each year - has previously been excluded from this. So it showed the abortion of a seven-week old foetus. This took only a few minutes. There was the smack of a suction pump. "All done. How was that?" It was more uneasy on the mind than on the eye.
Afterwards, the doctor prodded at the remnants, floating in a dish, a splatter of tissue and blood, unrecognisable as anything human. Black did not change her opinion, but she had shortened the distance from which she viewed the topic. That, you felt, was always going to be the outcome. Nevertheless, the programme had done a kind of duty because it is always easier to be morally certain if you are unaware of the physical reality.
Prime Time Investigates returned with The Planning Game, in which reporter Mike Milotte shone a light on a selection of planning perversities. Quarries blasting land without planning permission. Buildings going up before the requisite sewage treatment facility. Ships sent to rot in areas of natural beauty.
As the report moved from story to story it passed over a map of Ireland. You could have shouted stop at any point and it would have found another tale. We all know stories from the planning game. They are shared in the pubs, swapped over dinner. Buildings going up before planning permission is granted. Ancient ruins destroyed. The sudden permissiveness of councillors as elections draw close. Villages turned into towns without the infrastructure to service it. How you can drive around a country bend to find a massive housing estate squatting in the dust, isolated, roads half-finished, the raw sewage being sent on a river cruise. It's a not-so-fun game you could all play at home.
The new code on children's advertising was published this week, even if it is not so prohibitive as it might first seem. There will be restrictions, but many of the ads will remain unchanged. It will make a difference to the Irish broadcasters. How much of a difference it will make to Irish children remains to be seen.
In this digital age there are almost 20 channels dedicated purely to kids. They run throughout the day, unimpeded by the news or chat shows or anything that might cause a child to be distracted long enough for him to consider going outside.
Flick randomly through these channels at the top of any hour and you will see the sparkle of tinsel-tinted snake oil. The commercial breaks run freely with cartoons for cereals and animations for crisps. Ads feature daughters and mothers playing together, dads enjoying days out with their kids, parents dutifully feeding junk food to their families. Many of the programmes double as extended ads for their associated merchandise.
These are the busy avenues through which adults sell to children. All the tricks are here: for instance, the way in which the kids in ads are always playing with toys for which they seem far too old, because younger children look up to older ones.
And when a few more tricks are learned, this is where they'll be put into practice. The code will stem a tributary, but for now most kids will still be drowning in ads.
By the way, during Countdown and such afternoon programmes, you'll find ads for stairlifts, sit down showers, security systems and life insurance that are targeted at the elderly viewers. However, perhaps it's best to take it one generation at a time.
Frank Skinner writes and stars in the new ITV sitcom Shane. If you're the sort who can't get enough jokes about women's map-reading skills, then this is the place for you. Skinner also sings the punky theme tune. "There must be something better than this . . ." he whines. Perhaps we should take that as a coded warning.
He plays the eponymous hero, living a life of suburban banality with his wife and two children. It sometimes attempts to mimic Seinfeld when the script takes random digressions into trivia. How did the real cheetahs feel about Tarzan calling his chimp Cheetah? Why do Americans whoop when they're excited? The answers are obvious and pointless. Running jokes drop gasping at the starting line. This opening episode quickly revealed itself to be a fire sale of double entendres and creaky humour.
His family was waiting for a guest to arrive. Shane: "What are we supposed to do until she comes here?" Wife: "We could have a conversation." Shane: "But we're married!" At which point you checked your watch to see if it was half-past 1974.
Most of Skinner's lines are delivered as if in a monologue from his successful chat show, only he doesn't have a studio audience to engage with so instead looks uncomfortably at nowhere in particular. It may be the appearance of a man who has stretched his talent only to be startled by a very loud snap.
What Ron Atkinson heard on Tuesday night will have been less of a sharp twang and more like the sound of his career crashing about him. On Tuesday night's coverage of Chelsea vs Monaco, viewers in the Middle East heard him make an unforgivable racist comment. The consequences will have made the orange run from Ron's face.
The commentator had developed into something of a living legend, mostly because of the way in which he treats the English language as if it is a jigsaw, with ill-fitting words pressed against each other until what appear to be non-sequiturs turn out to be a perfect fit. He has given the football fan countless phrases he didn't know he needed: "lollipops" (fancy step-overs); "giving it the eyebrows" (a player indicating he's unmarked); "playing from amnesia" (past his sell-by-date); "watching cartoons" (a player who tries something way beyond his skill level). I think it was the Irish website, DangerHere.com, who gave it a name: Ronglish.
His ex-pat-in-Marbella chic has always suggested a man slightly out-of-sync with modernity, and his mouth had often backed that up.
On Wednesday night, BBC2 had already lined up a repeat of the Room 101 episode that featured Big Ron, and it must have been with some glee that they found themselves with an instant obituary for his career.
Among those things he wished to consign to history was housework. "It's one of the reasons why women . . ." The jolly gasps from the audience interrupted his point. Host Paul Merton pointed out to them that he hadn't said anything yet. So Ron continued.
"That's one of the reasons why women were put on this earth."
He will have a lot of time for housework now. Ronglish made him famous, but plain, ugly English has been the end of him.
