When two greats sit down to chat

TV REVIEW

WHILE Charlie Sheen was being booed off stage by his many fee-paying followers, his father, the former president of the United States of America and husband to the ageless Stockard Channing, was wooing the future President of Ireland, Gay Byrne.
Hold on, I may be mixing up fact and fiction again… rewind!
Right, while Charlie Sheen was booed by the audience at his one-man show, last I heard his father, the wonderful Martin Sheen, who played the most popular American president ever in political drama The West Wing, hadn’t disowned him yet.
So, while Charlie was plunging ever-further into his pit of despair, his dear papa was chatting eloquently with our own national treasure Gaybo in his series, The Meaning of Life with Gay Byrne.
The two old show biz pros looked very comfortable with each other and the interview was open and honest. Byrne asked a number of far-reaching questions and showed that he hasn’t lost his knack in the art of interviewing.
He puts the interviewee at ease in a manner that has not been replicated by any personality on Irish television since. It is his non-confrontational approach and ability to communicate to people from all backgrounds and walks of life that makes him so good at this and to watch these two men chat about life and times past was, in many ways, an honour.
There is something about two people who have lived their lives coming together to chat that plucks the heart strings and excites the mind.
There must be great peace in having achieved a sense of self. For many years, Martin Sheen was like his wayward son is now. He drank too much, partied too hard and his career and homelife both suffered as a result.
His opening scene in Apocolapse Now was painfully close to home and, on more than one occasion in his life, he found himself thrown into a cold shower and fed coffee to sober up.
However, as with most people, age brings wisdom and Sheen now talks with the conviction of someone who has travelled to the edge and back without the condescension of someone who only nibbled on the fruits of the forbidden tree.
It is clear that he devoured fruit seeds, flesh stalk and all and has come out the other side.
Gay Byrne’s show is a very simple idea but, unlike Ryan Confidential, it avoids pomp and circumstance and instead relies on storytelling and the art of conversation.
There is never any doubt that Gay is in charge but, every once in a while, when he gets a truly interesting guest we see some real insight into journalistic techniques of a bygone year. Check out The Meaning of Life with Gay Byrne on Sunday nights on RTÉ One.
Doctor Who is making a comeback and it promises to be the scariest and most shocking opening episode of all the series. This is what draws us in and despite some disbelief, on chatting with a group of eight-year-olds, I realised I rate the episodes not by storyline or Doctor but by scariness.
The Weeping Angels, from the episodes Blink, The Time of Angels and Flesh and Stone, rank high on the list of most scary creatures. When it comes to favourite Doctors the next generation’s hands-down favourite is David Tennant. Poor old Matt Smith doesn’t even get a look-in and, while I do not believe that he is the character going to be killed off (producers promised one of four main characters will die in the season opener), I could quite easily see Amy Pond or Rory getting the chop.
I don’t know why but I can’t quite get my head around the husband and wife team. They are ok and provide a few laughs but she’s just a bit too sure of herself and he’s just a bit too whipped for my liking.
Doctor Who returns next month and with it comes a new baddie in the form of the Silents – eeek! The premise seems great and the scene is set for an epic piece of science-fiction viewing.
I have to admit that when I first heard about The Only Way is Essex I thought it was a new soap opera to rival Hollyoaks.
Until I actually meet these people, there is no way that I believe this is a reality programme. It has to be a spoof. I refuse to believe that there are people like that in the world.
Firstly let me paint you a picture. Imagine you gathered together a group of fairly good-looking, wealthy (a conclusion based on the houses, clothes and branded gear about and on their persons) dipped them in mud the colour of fake tan and then wrapped them in clothes that should fit a 12-year-old and told them to behave like spoiled brats. Then introduce these tan-dipped creatures to each other, get them drunk and film it.
This is what The Only Way is Essex is like. There is nothing real or likeable about any of the characters. The latest episode was filled with crying. They were all crying, men, women, tiny dogs (I didn’t actually see a dog but I bet there was one in a handbag somewhere). It was horrendous.
Nothing happened, and not in a good arty way, I mean nothing happened. Two people stood in a kitchen and cried and another couple sat on a couch and cried. The programme ended with a voiceover reminding us that these were real people, obviously because the department of health insisted on the disclaimer in case people thought they suddenly had some sort of narcolepsy and kept falling asleep and having neon lipstick nightmares.
It cannot be real. No way, no how and until one of them comes knocking on my door I am intent on thinking that this is a spoof or mockumentary.