Dracula drained the lifeblood out of viewers pushing BBC’s ‘woke’ agenda
NEVER got Dracula, or any of the cape-flapping nonsense that went with him.
For starters, I couldn’t work out what he was. Man or bat?
Or why anyone would be dumb enough to get sucked into his orbit, let alone get bitten on the neck when the arthritic old creep must have had a prostate gland like Miley Cyrus’s wrecking ball.
And that’s before we even get to the obsessive fans, who are far too into the dressing-up box games for anyone’s comfort.
So, emphatically, I am not the person to give a fair hearing to last week’s BBC1 Dracula trilogy, starring Claes Bang in the role played by Christopher Lee and immortalised by Ted Hankey.
Nevertheless . . .
A bit to my surprise, I found myself getting drawn in by the first episode, on Wednesday.
It had suspense, brilliant production values and a funny script, which was hardly surprising given the writers, Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat, had borrowed some of its best lines from Beverly Hills Cop, Crowded House and even Some Like It Hot.
“You’re a monster.”
“You’re a lawyer. Nobody’s perfect.”
Above all, Dracula seemed to prove that, if it had the talent, the BBC could actually make a drama without belly-aching about the British empire, homophobia, racism, misogyny and international capitalism.
It still does prove it, in fact.
However, not long after the Count emerged starkers from inside a wolf, outside a nunnery, something odd happened.
Dracula lost it and instead of being enjoyable, it turned into an interactive viewing experience, with the very lifeblood draining out of me the more I sat and watched.
Part of the problem was that it began to get lost in those vampire health and safety rules which always make it sound more like a Romanian version of Gardeners’ World: Bed down in a light Transylvanian soil, store in a cool dark place and avoid direct sunlight.
The overriding issue, though, was that it all just went on too bloody long.
It wasn’t helped, of course, that halfway through the first episode, when it began to stutter, I knew there were still well over three hours and another couple of episodes to go.
But whaddayaknow?
Exactly the same thing happened, both nights. Dracula had me, then it lost me.
First of those episodes was a boat-based re-hash of the 1972 Peter Cushing classic Horror Express, with all the accompanying cliches: “I’m telling you this ship is cursed.”
VIEWING BECAME A REAL CHORE, YET I KEPT AT IT
While the finale was set in contemporary England and got far too bogged down in the subject of physical beauty, which would’ve worked a lot better if the actress playing Lucy Westenra, Lydia West, had been as “beautiful” as everyone kept insisting.
Viewing became a real chore, yet I kept at it, right until the death, for three good reasons. One. Professional duty (you’re welcome). Two. The outstanding Dolly Wells, as Sister Agatha Van Helsing, who stole every scene from Claes Bang, who’d pitched his Count in that grey area between Steven Seagal and Engelbert Humperdinck.
And three, the vain hope that, after so much unedited self-indulgence, it might have a good ending.
It didn’t. Dracula just came to an abrupt halt, with the actual moment to bail out being his sodden arrival on Whitby beach, at the start of episode three, when he asked: “How long have I been in the water?”
“123 years.” “Is that all?”
It felt much longer. A pity.
Great Sporting Insights
MATT Le Tissier: “Have West Ham players improved? Yes, probably not.”
Clinton Morrison: “If I’m not being myself, I’d be being someone different.”
And World’s Strongest Man commentator Danny Wallace: “Brian Shaw, unshakeable at this moment. Apart from the slight shakes.”
(Compiled by Graham Wray).
Boldest claim of the week?
GOOD Morning Britain, hospitalised MP Emily Thornberry: “I ended up in A&E and some very sweet person came up and said, ‘Oh, it’s Emily Thornberry.
“You look ever so much prettier in real life than you do on telly.”
The eye hospital, right?
Great TV lies and delusions of the week
DANCING On Ice, Holly Willoughby: “There’s a lot more to look forward to on ITV, including the brilliant Masked Singer.”
The Greatest Dancer, Todrick Hall: “I don’t really want to drop any names, Taylor Swift, Ariana Grande . . .”
Good Morning Britain, Emily Thornberry: “The General Election wasn’t a General Election.”
Yeah, it wasn’t a General Election and Labour didn’t get its biggest pumping since Hamilton Accies last made the Scottish Cup Final.
NUUURSE!
Patsy and pals? I'll head off
A NEW Year’s Day kick in the plums as Joel Dommett tells our Bizarre TV column: “Each year I think I’m not going to work again.
“Then something comes up.”
Hell, doesn’t it just.
A Wicker Man karaoke horror, in this instance, called The Masked Singer, where four ITV spare parts – Jonathan Ross, Rita Ora, Davina McCall and American irritant Ken Jeong – have to try to identify a heavily disguised singer without raising expectations too high.
Because you and I both know it’s far more likely to be Arg or Piers, in the fat monster suit, than Stevie Wonder.
All the “Celebrity Detectives” and audience have to go on, though, is their singing voice and some pretty cryptic clues offered up by a pre-song VT.
“I’ve got these large arms ’cos I’ve come to grab every opportunity.”
“More often than not I’m most active at night.”
Harvey Weinstein? Ted Bundy?
And, yeah, I know he’s dead, but it can’t be a longer shot than some of the suggestions the panel offered up to host Joel, which included: “Miles Davis”, “Margot Robbie”, “Sir Ian McKellen”, “Ray Winstone” and “Helen Mirren.”
The reality of this aberration, though, is that, after nearly 90 minutes of teasing, the “Butterfly” is eliminated, the studio crowd chants “Take it off, take it off, take it off,” a giant insect head is removed to reveal . . . Patsy Palmer.
And, as one, several million viewers chant back: “Put it on, put it on, put it on.”
If there’s a more demented show this year, emigrate.
Filing their own crits (Part 1,793)
Kelly Brook to The Sun TV Mag: “When I was approached to do Midsomer Murders it was a no-brainer.”
Down with the flakes
FIVE series into SAS: Who Dares Wins, Ant Middleton and the boys have hit generation snowflake and the culture clash is a wonder to behold.
On one side, five special forces veterans (if you include Jay Morton, the mole), with about 50 years of elite service between them, who are in love with the brutal surroundings of the Western Isles of Scotland, “homeland of the SAS”.
On the other, gym-bunny civilians like 21-year-old Amos, who claims: “My self-belief wavers. Some days I’m untouchable. On other days . . . ”
He’s flapping around, like the last haddock on Peterhead harbour, while Ant screams: “Is he having a f***ing laugh? Leave him. He’s not drowning.”
He’s not taking any further part in the series either. Nor is builder Korey, who began whimpering with the cold before they’d even reached base camp.
One thing generation snowflake can do, though, is talk about themselves.
A Zen master of the art is Jerrome, who describes himself as: “A spirit wrapped in clay called a human being,” like he’s Tony Hart’s mate, Morph.
Another is “Alpha female” Kirsty who, probably for the first time in her adult life, is encountering men who won’t put up with the fact she can talk for hours without saying anything, just because she’s beautiful.
They were already grinding their teeth with frustration when Kirsty dropped the J-word, before she pushed them too far with a fitness boast.
“There’s something inside me that wants to go on a journey and discover, you know, what my capabilities are and if I have any limitations, ’cos I train at a high level at CrossFit and . . . ”
“F***ING BORING. GUAAAAARD!”
Outstanding television. (Channel 4, Sunday, 9pm)
Lookalike
- Emailed in by Shane Allen, of London.
- Picture research: Alfie Snelling.
Unexpected morons in the bagging area
CASH Trapped, Bradley Walsh: “The Brooklyn Bridge links Brooklyn with which other New York district?”
Dan: “Los Angeles.”
Tipping Point, Ben Shephard: “Which spread made from brewer’s yeast was launched in the 1920s as an Australian alternative to Marmite?”
Ryan: “Butter.”
Celebrity Mastermind, John Humphrys: “A large chain of coffee shops is named after the first mate in the novel Moby Dick.
What’s his name?” Paul Chuckle: “Kenco.”
And of course, John Humphrys: “The 2019 book No One Is Too Small To Make A Difference is a collection of speeches made by which Swedish climate-change activist?”
Amanda Henderson: “Sharon.”
Second best Celebrity Mastermind answer of the week
JOHN Humphrys: “A cob is the male and a pen is the female of what bird?”
Levi Roots: “A tit?”
Yes and no.
Random TV irritations
SAS: Who Dares Wins contestants who can’t swim.
Last Leg guest Sue Perkins claiming her “highlight of the decade” was “the rise of grassroots activism.” (You’re meant to be a comedian).
Dancing On Ice host Holly Willoughby announcing Michael Barrymore’s replacement Radzi Chinyanganya has been “thrown in the deep end.” (Let it go, woman).
The show’s same-sex couple receiving the biggest avalanche of virtue-signalling since records began.
And This Morning’s Ruth Langsford seriously asking Gemma Collins’ former partner Matt Evers if: “Doing the lift is slightly different with a male partner?”
Yeah, well, it’s different in as much as it’s now possible without a forklift truck, Ruth.
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TV Gold
THE return of SAS: Who Dares Wins. BBC2’s beautiful Snow Cats And Me, with Gordon Buchanan.
Masked Singer contestant Alan Johnson visiting a plague of boils and locusts on Walk Like An Egyptian.
The Goggleboxers watching Jane McDonald singing Ray Of Light (”Bury it, darling.”) and Lee discussing the dos and don’ts of Christmas gifts with Jenny: “Jane at work, her husband bought her scales and a suitcase. If you don’t lose weight, you’re off.”
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