BBC period drama hailed as 'one of the best ever' with 'magical' storylines
Consistently ranking on various 'greatest shows of all time' lists, I, Claudius is a 1976 BBC rendition of Robert Graves' identically titled 1934 novel and its 1935 follow-up, Claudius the God.
With a screenplay written by Jack Pulman, I, Claudius showcases a remarkable ensemble cast, spearheaded by Derek Jacobi as Claudius, accompanied by renowned actors such as John Rhys-Davies, Patricia Quinn, Patrick Stewart, Margaret Tyzack, Kevin McNally, Siân Phillips, Ian Ogilvy, Brian Blessed, George Baker, and John Hurt.
As told from the perspective of Roman Emperor Claudius - who also narrates the series - this 13-part period drama unravels the intricate history of the early Roman Empire, delving into its characteristic themes of power, deception, assassination, forbidden love, desire, and moral decay.
The show won three BAFTA Awards in 1977, and in 1978, Tim Harvey claimed a Primetime Emmy for Outstanding Art Direction. Featured at number 12 on the British Film Institute's 2000 list of '100 Greatest British Television Programmes', it also secured a spot on TIME Magazine's 2007 list of "100 Best TV Shows of All-TIME".
Widely regarded as one of British television's most iconic series, as well as a groundbreaking show in the broader context of TV history, I, Claudius has garnered 100% critical acclaim and an impressive 92% audience approval rating on Rotten Tomatoes, reports the Express.
One critic praised the show, saying: "It's amazing. Gripping, dark, complex, compulsive."
I, Claudius is a testament to exceptional television production, leaving an indelible mark on the industry. Another critic gushed over the recent addition to Masterpiece Theater, admitting: "Though it may actually defy basic properties and capabilities of the medium, this latest import to march under the Masterpiece Theater banner proves immensely, compulsively watchable. It's so good it's a little embarrassing."
Praises continued as another reviewer celebrated the series, remarking: "It's one of those magical rare TV classics that is forever-fresh no matter how many times you've seen its often fanciful depiction of the lust and brutality of ancient Rome."
The accolades didn't stop there, with another expert in the field pronouncing: "May be the most addictive soap opera ever made. Certainly the best-acted."
Fans also weighed in, with one declaring their admiration for the show: "One of the best TV series of all time. See it for the dialogue and the terrific performances. The acting overwhelms the lack of production values and risible makeup. In my opinion, Sian Phillips and Derek Jacoby deliver the best acting performances of all time."
Echoing similar sentiments, another enthusiast shared their deep connection with both the series and the original novels: "The cast, the writing, the uneasiness and poison that runs throughout the show cannot be missed by anyone. The book(s) have since become some of my favourite novels and I recommend this show to almost everyone who I become close with. 10/10 TV, almost the best of all time."
A viewer hailed the series as a 'masterpiece' and remarked: "Possibly the best show ever made, certainly in terms of script and acting, which are of the highest level you will ever see on TV. Sian Phillips, Brian Blessed, Derek Jacobi, John Hurt, Patrick Stewart.... all in the same show! (Though all the other actors are incredible too). A masterpiece and a masterclass. This is how it's done."
Meanwhile, fans of the classic can bag episodes of Claudius on Amazon Prime Video for £1.89 each or head over to YouTube where they're up for £1.99 a pop.
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New Statesman
24 minutes ago
- New Statesman
David Gentleman's pensées for the novice artist
David Gentleman. Courtesy of Pelican Books Among the 400 or so instructional letters sent by Lord Chesterfield to his illegitimate son in an attempt to school the young man in 'the Art of Becoming a Man of the World and a Gentleman' there is one, dated 1747, that touches on the importance of art. 'I find that you are a tolerably good landscape painter, and can present the several views of Switzerland to the curious,' he wrote, 'I am very glad of it, as it is a proof of some attention.' Attention, the nobleman thought, was the key attribute not just of art but of life itself, since 'the world is a country which nobody ever yet knew by description'. Attention is also one of the elements stressed by the artist-designer David Gentleman in his own book of instruction, Lessons for Young Artists. Gentleman's is a more humble endeavour than Chesterfield's and is notable for its simplicity, but he too believes that to understand the world you need to be in it. He is now 95 and this charming, illustrated volume presents a distillation of some the wisdom gained during a near 80-year career. That span has seen him become one of Britain's most ubiquitous though least-known practitioners. On leaving the Royal College of Art in 1953 he set himself against teaching as a way of subsiding being an artist, as many of his peers did, and relied instead on commissions, for whatever was needed and wherever they came from. His first was for a set of wood engravings for a book called What About Wine? and, thanks to his versatility and inventiveness, they have kept coming. He hasn't always warmed to them, and one brief for an American company was, he later learned, for pesticides that had turned out to be poisonous for the farmers who used them. 'I realised that besides finding interesting and well-paid work, it ought to be responsible, too,' he notes. But, as he says in one of the short commentaries that explains each of his artistic nuggets, jobs are a necessity and, faced with a workaday task, 'I just had to get it done.' The reward, he says, was slow accumulation that eventually led to recognition and a reputation. Nevertheless, it was 20 years before he held an exhibition of his work. It helped that Gentleman was not just the son of two painters but was taught at the RCA by John Nash and Edward Bawden. It is a bloodline that links him directly to a group of figures who transformed British art in the first half of the 20th century, Paul Nash and Eric Ravilious among them. In the 1920s and 1930s the RCA was committed to the idea of allying art and design. Its principal, William Rothenstein, was determined to steer the students away from producing 'dreary imitations of Morris designs' and towards work that had a 'more alert spirit'. It was an ethos still prevalent when Gentleman studied there, and this heritage – and spirit – has long been apparent in his work. Indeed, Gentleman confesses that Bawden's influence in particular was in danger of becoming a little too insistent. When he noticed that there were echoes of his teacher cropping up in his own work, he 'consciously tried to avoid them'. This was not to denigrate Bawden but to make sure his own pictures were original rather than an imitation, however reverential. What makes Gentleman a significant figure is both the range and the quality of his work. He has found a form of artistic demotic that, certainly to Britons of a certain age, has a comfortable familiarity that nevertheless sparkles with imagination. Between 1962 and 2000, he created 103 stamps for the Post Office. His designs ranged from British trees, birds and building types to stamps commemorating the Battle of Britain, 50 years of the BBC, and the launch of Concorde. He has designed posters for London Transport and the National Trust and is responsible for a redesign of the Trust's oakleaf and acorn logo. He has created dustjackets for Faber & Faber and the New Penguin Shakespeare series – a staple for innumerable schoolchildren. He is responsible too for the platform murals at Charing Cross Tube Station showing the building of the Eleanor Cross, a 13th century stone monument; the commission came in 1975 with no brief from London Transport other than 'it had to explain how Charing Cross got its name'. He responded with a bande dessinée of 'medieval' wood engravings that were then expanded to life size. Subscribe to The New Statesman today from only £8.99 per month Subscribe Perhaps his most untypical work was with the placards he designed for the Stop the War Coalition following the invasion of Iraq in 2003. Using a typographical 'No' spattered with blood, he took advice from Tony Benn, whom he had first met when the latter served as postmaster general and Gentleman started designing stamps. For good measure, Gentleman was responsible for coming up with the 'Bliar' slogan too. So the guidance here comes from a long-lived and engaged mind. What Gentleman offers is the antidote to swathes of contemporary art-think and -speak. There is no talk in his book about 'meaning' or 'profundity', much less the wilful obfuscation and vapidity of much contemporary and conceptual art. Instead he proffers modest advice that in less authentic hands would be mere cracker-barrel slogans. Start with a pencil, he counsels, and draw quickly and then you'll get the essentials without being distracted by detail; sketch whatever is to hand; embrace the accidents of watercolour; return to motifs in different weathers and times of day; choose unlikely angles; look up. Attention, attention, attention. His pensées may not be worthy of Montesquieu but they are straightforward and have a validity that is applicable beyond the mere making of images: 'Keep your expectations slight'; 'Just get on with it'; 'You don't have to like, or be good at, everything'. And he accompanies these crisp strictures with a generous helping of his own pictures – drawings in pencil, pen and ink, wood engravings and lithographs, commercial designs and fully fledged watercolours, many from his travels. Some are from his patch of Camden Town in London (as in the view of Euston and King's Cross from the Regent's Canal, pictured above) and others are of the unshowy Suffolk countryside around the cottage he has owned for more than 40 years in a village ten miles from the coast. These pictures are invariably endearing, both observant and skilled, and, in his more considered watercolours, full of detail too. Part of their appeal is that they show a man in tune with the craft tradition; his are indisputably hand-eye works. And while David Gentleman must have looked into his soul many times over the years, he is far too good natured and well mannered to bother the viewer with what he has found there. Art, for him, is not knotted self-expression, revelation or provocation: 'We make art because it is interesting,' he says. It is not highfalutin, but it is a better definition than many. Lessons for Young Artists David Gentleman Particular Books, 192pp, £20 Purchasing a book may earn the NS a commission from who support independent bookshops [See more: Samuel Pepys's diary of a somebody] Related
Telegraph
24 minutes ago
- Telegraph
‘Celebrities are just like us – idiots': Ricky Gervais on Extras turning 20
Samuel L Jackson was a fan of The Office – one of many celebrity fans whom Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant encountered in the wake of their mockumentary sitcom success. Jackson had watched The Office on DVD, a concept that still amuses Merchant. 'It just seemed so weird,' he says. 'The image of Sam Jackson at home, trying to get the cellophane off of the DVD – having to get a key and scratching it off – then popping the DVD in and putting his feet up with a cup of coffee or whatever.' There was a common theme among their celebrity fans: many stars said they'd like to work with Gervais and Merchant in the future. 'It happened often enough that we thought it would be nice to take advantage of that,' says Merchant. The celebs had unwittingly cast themselves in Gervais and Merchant's follow-up sitcom, Extras, which first aired on BBC Two 20 years ago this week, on July 21, 2005. Across Extras' two series and feature-length Christmas special, A-list guest stars included Samuel L Jackson, Kate Winslet, Ben Stiller, Patrick Stewart, Ian McKellen, George Michael, Daniel Radcliffe, Orlando Bloom, David Bowie, and Robert De Niro. Most played what Gervais and Merchant described as 'twisted' versions of themselves: egomaniacs, oddballs, fantasists, buffoons. 'It wasn't as common at the time to have these A-listers ridiculing themselves,' says Gervais. 'It was before social media – before everyone found out that celebrities are just like us. They're idiots!' But the celebs were, ironically enough, just supporting players to Extras' real lead characters: Andy Millman (Gervais) and best friend Maggie (Ashley Jensen). 'We didn't want it to be, 'look at my celebrity mates,'' says Gervais. 'They had to be bonuses, appendages. Because it was really about a guy who was struggling and selling everything for an ambition.' In the first series, Andy – a film extra and frustrated wannabe actor – scrabbles around film sets for one meagre line of dialogue, sucking up to and putting his foot in it with star names. In the second series, Andy's dreams seemingly come true when he gets his own BBC sitcom. But ratings-chasing compromises – broad gags, funny wigs and catchphrases ('Are you havin' a laugh?') – turn his modicum of celebrity into a series of humiliations. He sells any semblance of artistic integrity to cling on to fame while grumbling to Maggie that he should be higher up the showbiz ladder; that he deserves more respect. 'No matter how successful you are, you'll never be famous enough,' Maggie warns him shortly before he signs up for the ultimate profile-boosting indignity: Celebrity Big Brother. Who's who in Extras Maggie is the heart and conscience of Extras, Andy is the snark and insecurity, and his hilariously useless agent, Darren Lamb (Merchant) is the s--t-for-brains. The tragedy (and all great British sitcoms need a touch of something tragic) comes from the lower rungs of showbiz, a source of imagined desperation. Les Dennis lays his personal and professional woes bare (while also baring his backside) and Shaun Williamson – best known as Barry off EastEnders – plays himself as a down-on-his-luck sad-sack. He's so unable to shake the EastEnders image that even his agent, Darren, calls him Barry and describes him as having 'an undercurrent of tragedy'. Looking back, Gervais remembers an old sketch idea that now feels like a precursor to Extras. It was a Braveheart-like scene, with a Mel Gibson-like star, in which a camera would pan across the battle lines until one extra suddenly asked, 'What time's lunch?' 'Imagine being at the bottom of the pile and ruining it,' says Gervais. 'That was the funny seed.' Gervais likens it to a moment that sums up the first series, when Andy tries to edge into a shot – in the background of a Ross Kemp period drama – then hears the director say, 'Cut before that fat little extra gets his face in.' 'It was an absurd world' Extras was also inspired by the fact that Gervais and Merchant were, at the time, new to show business. 'It was such an absurd world that we'd entered,' says Merchant. 'It was bizarre encountering award ceremonies and film sets and celebrities. It was hard not to think of that as a fun subject. We felt like outsiders.' 'I worked in an office for nine years, so I wrote about it,' says Gervais. 'After that, my job was sort of show business. It's irresistible to write about your own job. Write what you know.' Merchant recalls that they originally planned to use A-listers as actual extras. 'They'd literally be walking around in the background,' he says. 'You'd see Sam Jackson or Kate Winslet, but they'd say nothing. They were just extras in the show. At some point, we thought if we got them all the way to the set, it seems silly to squander them. We started to think about how they could interact with the characters.' It wasn't a new idea. The Larry Sanders Show and Curb Your Enthusiasm had featured Hollywood stars playing fictionalised versions of themselves. In Extras, the celebrities are there to make Andy squirm under the backstage power dynamic and to hold up the cracked mirror of fame – they reveal themselves as out-of-touch with reality, or as massively out-of-step with their public persona. 'Famous people behaving badly' Ben Stiller turns his hand from comedy acting to directing a war drama. But he's a tyrant, threatening to shoot a child actor's mum in the face and screaming about Meet the Fockers' box office take. 'When I sent Ben Stiller the rough idea, he said, 'You've tapped into my inner soul,'' says Gervais, laughing. In another episode, Kate Winslet plays herself as a foul-mouthed nun in a Second World War film. She dishes out advice on dirty phone calls and admits that she's only doing a Holocaust drama for an Oscar. 'And then she wins an Oscar for a Holocaust film!' says Gervais, in reference to The Reader (2008). As smart as Extras is – tinkering with multiple levels of the fourth wall and playing out the John Updike quote that 'celebrity is a mask that eats into the face' – Gervais agrees there was some childish glee in getting their A-listers to say and do outrageous things. 'It was famous people behaving badly,' Gervais says. 'That's what it could have been called.' 'The more that these people said that they were interested, the more it became a game of what would be the most unpleasant or funniest version of themselves – the one that was most incongruous with their public image,' says Merchant. He adds: 'Normally, we'd get a tentative yes and we'd write a script with them in mind to see if they were happy. They almost all were. I think Kate Winslet had a couple of lines that were particularly offensive that she wouldn't say, but other than that she was game for it. They were just game for a laugh. There was very little push-back. It was surprisingly easy.' A personal favourite from the first series is Patrick Stewart, who begins by bellowing out a speech from The Tempest then tells Andy about a script he's written himself, in which he controls the world with the power of his mind – a power he mostly uses for making ladies' clothes fall off. ('Even before she can get her knickers back on, I've seen everything ... I've seen it all.') 'One of the most dignified Shakespearian actors in the world talking about knickers,' sniggers Gervais. Another highlight is Ross Kemp, who lies about feats of hard-nuttery ('I headbutted a horse once') and boasts he could batter Vinnie Jones – until Vinnie turns up to show him what being hard is all about. There's a touch of melancholy to Kemp – a wounded, lip-quivering Billy no-mates. 'He was a little bit nervous,' says Gervais. 'He did talk about portraying himself and going too far. He said, 'Well, it's OK if you're Sam Jackson!' He was very conscious and worried about perception. But he still did it!' Les Dennis goes close-to-the-bone The celeb who played the riskiest version of themself was Les Dennis. The episode is daringly close-to-the-bone, portraying the former Family Fortunes host as a washed-up has-been who – between panto performances – showers a much-younger girlfriend with £50 notes and calls up Heat magazine to report celebrity sightings of, well, himself. The lowest moment comes when Les discovers his girlfriend is cheating. He slumps into his dressing room chair, traumatised and naked. Gervais rates it as the best episode. 'It was the one where we sailed very close to the wind as to the public perception of him,' says Gervais. 'As opposed to playing against type or making something up.' 'It was a way of exploring how celebrity works,' says Merchant. 'It chews you up and spits you out.' It came after Dennis's real-life divorce from Amanda Holden and a maudlin stint on Celebrity Big Brother that made him a tabloid target. One headline read, 'Is this the most pathetic man in Britain?' 'My agent called to say Ricky Gervais wants you to call him,' says Dennis. 'I thought, 'What? Why would Ricky Gervais want me to call him?' It wasn't long after Big Brother. The phone wasn't exactly ringing at the time. Ricky asked me if I wanted to play a 'twisted, demented' version of myself.' Dennis visited their office to talk about the episode. 'They said, 'How far can we go?' and I said, 'Go as far as you like!' On the way out, Ricky said, 'How do you feel about the arse shot?' I said, 'What?' He said, 'You'll be naked in the dressing room. Do you want a double?' I said, 'No I'll do it myself.'' When they shot the scene, he wore nothing but a cricket box. 'Ricky said, 'I'm not having Les's offal in my face! I want him to wear something!'' Dennis recalls, laughing. 'There were tea and biscuits around and Ricky picked up the ginger nuts.' Dennis's friends were concerned about him taking the role – they were suspicious that it might be a Brass Eye-type set-up – but Dennis knew he had to do it. 'At the time I was known as 'Les Miserables,'' he says. 'I came out of the Big Brother house and had a lot of stuff going on. People thought I was grumpy, but I just didn't like being invaded by the press. I thought, just go for it and show you've got a sense of humour about all this stuff that's being written.' Dennis came up with lines to ridicule himself even more. For one climactic scene – in bed with a woman he's just pulled – Dennis suggested blurting out his Family Fortunes catchphrase: 'If it's up there, I'll give you the money me-self.' Dennis remembers that Gervais was laughing so much filming the scene that Merchant ordered him off set. 'He said, 'Ricky, you've ruined the take, you've laughed over the dialogue, you've got to go out,'' says Dennis. 'He got thrown out of the room by Stephen.' The role changed the public perception of Dennis and boosted his theatre career. 'They helped me reinvent myself,' he says. Orlando Bloom told us to 'go harder' Dennis wasn't the only celeb insisting they go more extreme. Orlando Bloom told Gervais and Merchant to 'go harder' when he's trying to prove he's a bigger heartthrob than Johnny Depp. 'Orlando Bloom said, 'Go harder, let me go after Johnny Depp harder, make it worse!'' says Gervais. 'Willy Wonka? Johnny w-----r! ' says Bloom, trying to impress Maggie on the set of a courtroom drama. In other ridiculous celebrity appearances, Daniel Radcliffe plays himself as a randy teenager and accidentally flicks an unravelled condom onto Dame Diana Rigg's head. Gervais had to delicately position the condom on Rigg's head himself. 'When Daniel Radcliffe flicks it, we had to get it to land,' says Gervais. 'So, at one point I was putting it over her eye a little bit. I was saying, 'Can you see? Is that alright?' She said, 'Yeah. That's alright.' And I just thought, that's a weird day at work.' Elsewhere, they cast George Michael as a kebab-chomping, joint-smoking troublemaker. The much-treasured singer uses his community service lunch break to scout Hampstead Heath for sexual encounters. 'What a performer,' says Gervais. 'Just willing to be cottaging, smoking a joint, eating a kebab … He'd just done that community service, so we had him in trouble with the police.' In the episode, George is in trouble for fly-tipping a fridge freezer with Annie Lennox. Sting grassed them up to the council. 'Because he's a f----er do-gooder,' says George. Gervais and Merchant were, of course, the new darlings of British comedy at the time. Stars wanted to be involved. 'We had a blank cheque of kudos that we could cash-in,' says Merchant. 'Ronnie Corbett said his grandchildren told him, 'You've got to do this,'' says Gervais. 'And then we've got him in the toilets at the Baftas taking coke! It's mad what they were willing to say and do.' 'Two celebrities turned us down' Gervais and Merchant can only remember two celebs who turned them down. One was Syd Little of Little and Large. 'He read the script and thought it was too much, the swearing or whatever. He was an old family entertainer,' says Gervais. The other was Orville the Duck ventriloquist Keith Harris, who thought the show was some kind of wind-up. 'But I think Ian McKellen said he thought it was a wind-up,' says Gervais. Looking back now, do Gervais and Merchant have favourite celebrity appearances? For Merchant, it's the one and only Robert De Niro, who appears briefly with Merchant in series two. 'We were making the show and kept on referring to Robert De Niro without knowing if he was going to do it,' says Merchant. 'Finally, he gave us an hour. Because of my giant height [6ft 7in] and his relatively normal human size, there's a wide shot where I look three times as big as him – because of the weird perspective. There were conspiracy theories that we were never in the same room. I was like, 'Are you kidding me?! We worked so hard to get me in the same room!'' Merchant adds: 'Ricky was behind the camera and gave me a couple of notes. Robert De Niro said, 'Any notes for me?' We just started laughing! ' Yeah, we're giving you notes!'' Gervais chooses Bowie. 'Working with my hero David Bowie – writing a song with my hero David Bowie – is off the charts.' In the episode, Bowie listens to Andy's complaints about the sitcom, at which point Bowie bursts into his song. Gervais admits it's a bit surreal in contrast to other celebs. 'You meet David Bowie and then he writes a song!' says Gervais. 'It's almost like cheating, that. But it was well done and I think we were allowed. If you've got David Bowie for the day and he's written a song, he's allowed to sing it!' Twenty years on, Gervais is still amused by the idea that their A-listers were – to quote When the Whistle Blows – very much up for having a laugh. 'Surprising,' Gervais says. 'Just surprising that they said yes and then went along with it.'
Spectator
an hour ago
- Spectator
Tim Davie isn't fit to lead the BBC
Those within the BBC might be afraid to say so, but an ex-producer like me has no such qualms: Tim Davie, the BBC's Director-General, isn't cut out for the job. For the good of the BBC, Davie must go. The last few weeks have been painfully bad for Davie. The Masterchef saga, which led to the departure of not one, but both main presenters, is the final nail in the coffin, after blunders over Glastonbury and Gaza. A review of the BBC's February documentary Gaza: How to Survive a Warzone, which was released last week, found the programme had breached editorial guidelines for accuracy, having failed to disclose that its child narrator was the son of a Hamas agricultural official. The review didn't, however, find any breaches of impartiality. The BBC exonerated, then. Except Davie himself wasn't. Because instead of having backed the filmmakers over the row, he and the BBC Chair, Samir Shah, ran for cover as hard as possible and let them take all the incoming flak. The feeling within the BBC is that both Davie and Shah have been hopeless and craven in their response to this saga. The programme was not 'a dagger to the heart' of the BBC's claim to impartiality, as Shah jumped the gun by saying in March. But don't hold your breath for Shah to apologise for those comments, and to reassure filmmakers that, as their boss, he is protecting their backs. Or for Davie to do so. BBC management's main concern has been to put the blame on somebody else. Some hapless line producer will be made to walk the plank – and the independent company that made the film hung out to dry – so they can retain their crowns, as happened at Glastonbury, where the BBC failed to cut the live stream of an act leading an anti-IDF (Israel Defense Forces) chant. Part of the problem stems from Davie's background. As Ben de Pear, director of another film, on Gaza medics, which Channel 4 screened after the BBC refused to show it, said recently: Davie is 'a PR person' who doesn't understand journalism. 'Davie is taking editorial decisions which, frankly, he is not capable of making,' said de Pear. It's hard to fault that analysis: Davie has never made a programme in his life. When he worked in PR, the only thing he is remembered for is his role in helping Pepsi turn their cans blue (sales went up by 0.1 per cent, so that went well). As an ex-BBC producer, I know things would have been different under Davie's predecessors. BBC Chairs like Michael Grade would have been bullish in their defence of their staff. Alasdair Milne resigned as DG rather then let the government walk all over the BBC in the 1980s. Both men had been filmmakers themselves. Unlike Davie, they had served on the front line. They knew what it means to make difficult editorial judgments. And they knew, above all, they would only retain the loyalty of their own staff if they defended them when it was right to do so. Davie doesn't. If things were going fine for the Corporation, having a lightweight at the helm wouldn't matter. But there are some weighty issues the BBC needs to address and is conspicuously failing to do. The BBC strategy over recent years has been to compete with streamers like Netflix and Amazon by producing its own prestige dramas as justification for the licence fee. This strategy has been failing, and licence fee avoidance growing, because it simply does not have the same deep pockets as its rivals. The BBC couldn't even afford the proper shooting of a sequel to Wolf Hall, which should have been a shoo-in. Producer Peter Kosminsky has revealed that many scenes had to be cut because there simply wasn't the money. Instead, the BBC needs to regain its ambition when it comes to factual television. That this can be hugely successful has been shown by both Netflix – their recent Trainwreck series on disasters – and HBO. It also has the signal advantage of having become far, far cheaper. While drama has got absurdly expensive, technology allows documentaries to be shot by just a handful of people these days and edited on a laptop. There is a real and unfulfilled appetite for knowing how others live in our increasingly compartmentalised world. Yet not only is the BBC failing to meet this challenge, Davie seems blithely unaware it's a challenge at all. The BBC's Annual Report last week – top-dressed with bland words that read as if written by AI, like 'Our goal is to deliver outstanding value' – didn't bother even to properly quantify their documentary output. Davie and the BBC are in a unique position to make factual programmes about Britain for a British audience very cheaply, if they wanted to, and secure the corporation's place as a national treasure. But that would need a huge reset to direct resources away from the current dull schedule of occasional marquee drama projects and police procedurals, bulked out with endless repeats ('Who do you think you are kidding Mr Hitler?' – for the thousandth time). It would need a Director-General with vision and drive and the confidence of his staff to make this change. Instead, 100 BBC staff recently wrote to complain about the behaviour of BBC management over the Gaza medics documentary, but had to do so anonymously. It's hardly the sign of a happy organisation. Davie has had five years in post, with nothing to show for his £547,000-a-year salary (executive 'remuneration' is another issue at the BBC that needs addressing). It is simply not enough for Davie to manage decline and deal with the regular upsets which broadcasting, like politics, will always provide; particularly when he is reacting to them so badly. Never has the BBC needed to have a visionary in post more if it is to survive. And never has it had someone so clearly inadequate for the job. Davie needs to go. Not just because of the MasterChef and Gaza and Glastonbury mistakes, but because, in five years, he has shown no vision for the direction the BBC needs to take to reclaim its position as a broadcaster worthy of the licence fee. When the BBC comes to replace Davie, as it soon surely will – and should – perhaps they might choose somebody who's actually made a programme in their lives. Or Netflix will be making 'Trainwreck: The BBC'. Hugh Thomson won the Grierson Award and has been BAFTA-nominated for his series for the BBC
