logo
Bergerac, episode 1, review: you'll recognise the name, setting and car – but you'll miss the Eighties fun

Bergerac, episode 1, review: you'll recognise the name, setting and car – but you'll miss the Eighties fun

Telegraph27-02-2025

So there's this new TV show called Bergerac (U&Drama). It's about a detective on the island of Jersey. Wears a brown leather jacket and owns a Triumph Roadster. Great idea. If only someone had thought of it before.
Yes, the 1980s series has been reborn, rebooted, reimagined, or whatever they're calling it. Obviously, this is a good marketing ploy, because you will spot the name, be hit by a wave of nostalgia, and tune in. And what you will find is a competent, well-acted series with a good leading man. But it's not Bergerac.
John Nettles was a heartthrob who could hold his own in an action scene. His Bergerac was a recovering alcoholic but had a twinkle in his eye. The new Jim Bergerac, Damien Molony, is far less rugged and extremely miserable, grief-stricken over the recent death of his wife (Nettles's character was divorced and had a succession of gorgeous love interests).
Old Bergerac cruised along the coast in that beautiful car. New Bergerac has the car on bricks in the garage, and travels by taxi. In a recent interview with The Telegraph, Nettles generously said of his successor: 'I was like Cliff Richard. He's more Clint Eastwood,' but in fact it's the other way round.
Meanwhile, the character of Charlie Hungerford, once Bergerac's roguish father-in-law played by Terence Alexander, has been transformed into a no-nonsense mother-in-law played by Zoë Wanamaker. She swoops in to take care of Bergerac's 14-year-old daughter while he sorts out his drink problem.
The original show made Jersey seem thrillingly glamorous; I remember it always being bathed in sunshine, but perhaps that's a false memory because I dipped into an episode the other day and the skies were grey (to be fair, Bergerac launched in the same year as Triangle, a drama set on board a North Sea Ferry, so Jersey really was glamorous by comparison).
The new version doesn't promote the island in the same way. Jim does live in a house perched enviably above the beach, so it's not all bad. The police force is lovely and diverse, and run by a female chief, which I suspect may not be a facsimile of real-life Jersey.
Molony is the best thing about this new iteration, quietly impressive in the starring role, while his rivalry with fellow officer Barney Crozier (Robert Gilbert) sparks nicely. The murder mystery – which spans the whole series, rather than the old crime-of-the-week format – is serviceable, featuring Philip Glenister as a businessman whose daughter-in-law is found dead at their home. But it's lacking any sense of fun.
What they've done here is taken the name, the location and the car, and attached them to another detective drama. And the theme tune? It has survived, but only just, in such a wishy-washy form that they shouldn't really have bothered.

Orange background

Try Our AI Features

Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:

Comments

No comments yet...

Related Articles

He was right all along: the lessons we learnt from Dad
He was right all along: the lessons we learnt from Dad

Telegraph

time3 hours ago

  • Telegraph

He was right all along: the lessons we learnt from Dad

Father's Day is upon us and whether you celebrate it with abandon or believe it is nothing more than another American import designed solely to line the pockets of wily marketeers, it does perhaps serve the purpose of making us consider the men who helped bring us into being. Father-and-child relationships can be fraught – certainly the teenage years can test even the most placid of tempers – and who does not remember those years, scowling in indignation, resolutely promising to never, ever become like the man who had just given you a dressing down for some transgression. But that was then and this is now and, just in time for Father's Day, a recent survey has been published that finds that, as we get older, the vast majority (91 per cent) of us agree that, now we're older we realise our fathers were right about most things. That is certainly the consensus in The Telegraph offices... He told me I should try working in London – I ignored him Melissa Twigg The moment I told my father I was moving to Hong Kong, he responded with the level of enthusiasm he once reserved for cleaning the hamster's cage. This was confusing: his own mother and stepfather had lived there for decades and used to wax lyrical about it, as if it was some kind of tropical utopia. My father, though? Not a fan. He found it too hot, too crowded and too frantic. At the time I was 29 and a magazine writer in Cape Town – a city that, while outrageously beautiful and full of people who look frighteningly good in swimwear – was starting to feel too sleepy. I was also recently heartbroken and suffering from the kind of emotional upheaval that could only be soothed by moving continents. My father was baffled. 'Why not just go back to London?' he kept asking. 'You're a journalist and you grew up in one of the great media hubs of the world – surely you should at least try working there?' Of course, I ignored him. Fast-forward a year and I was miserable in a cramped flat in Sai Ying Pun. I had a job that was superficially glamorous, working for a glossy society magazine, but it turns out that spending your days interviewing heiresses isn't all that fulfilling. Also, I discovered, I am not a natural party girl and would rather be reading a book than downing shots with junior bankers. After three years, I booked a one-way flight to Heathrow and exhaled audibly as the plane landed in familiar greyness. Back in London, I got a job on a broadsheet, a husband and, eventually, a baby – all those things I had wanted so fervently at 29, but which had felt so out of reach as I had wandered alone along the baking, crowded streets of a foreign city. And my dad? He never once said, 'I told you so'. I wish I could have told him he was right about the values of hard-work and self-reliance Mick Brown It was the length of my hair and Mick Jagger. Those were the two main abrasions I recall in my relationship with my father. He had fixed opinions on both things. Girls had long hair, not his son. And whenever the Rolling Stones appeared on television there would be a sigh of disgust, almost equal to the volcanic eruption that would occur whenever George Brown, the bibulous Labour minister whom Dad felt disgraced the family name, hoved into view. Dad's father had walked out on my grandmother shortly after he was born, leaving her to bring up her only son on her own. Her family were Salvationist, and he was a dutiful son, who became a dutiful father. He had been brought up on the principles of self-improvement and working all the hours God sends – a very Dad phrase. He had left school at 15, and worked for a building company. Money was tight and on Sundays he tended the garden of a big house nearby, while I explored the shadowed corners of the huge lawns and counted planes flying overhead. On Remembrance Sunday, at 11am, Dad looked at his watch, put down his rake and we both stood silently in the garden, observing the minute's silence. A disciplined man then, but an extrovert who brought joy to everyone who knew him. The church was packed for his funeral. He died when I was 22, and there's not a day when I don't wish I'd have known him for longer, and could have told him he was right about the values of hard-work and self-reliance. He was wrong about Mick Jagger – or should I say Sir Mick Jagger – whom even Dad would have had to acknowledge became a pillar of the establishment. But he was right about his habitual instruction to 'get your hair cut', as much as I argued and protested at the time. Sadly, the passing years, and the receding hairline, have taken care of that. I think he'd finally approve. Always have enough cash on you for a taxi home Celia Walden Now there's a piece of advice that could have been delivered in the Middle Ages. Over the past few years, I've had people burst out laughing when I've offered them cash. I've seen people back away, hands in the air, from the diseased little note I was offering up. But of all the great pieces of advice my dad [former Tory MP George Walden] has given me, this remains one of my favourites. It's about safety, he used to explain. About always having the ability to get home and never finding yourself relying on another human being at the end of a night out. It was also, I suspect, about a very healthy mistrust of technology, which has been proved right time and time again. The ATM isn't working, it's miles away or it's run out of cash, so again, you're at someone or something's mercy. As a teenager, I remember thinking it was a weird thing for Dad to be so stuck on. Now that I have a 13-year-old girl (to whom I have given the same advice) I can see that what he was really stuck on – and wanted for me above all else – was independence. His advice to me would be to try to be a bit more like him William Sitwell When it came to our father's advice, my brother and I agreed on a simple strategy: always do the exact opposite of what he suggested. This, of course, was meant with great affection. My younger sister, elder brother and I all had wonderful relationships with him. And I say relationships, plural, because he had a wonderful ability to take a different approach to each of us, according to our character and needs. But when it came to strategising, from work to relationships, we enjoyed the conversations, we just didn't take the directions. My father, Francis, was born in 1935. He made, the obituary writer of this paper, noted: 'a very good fist of a difficult birthright', living in the shadow of towering ancestors. Neither a sportsman nor an academic star, he stayed under the radar at school and, eschewing the family bent of writing, he worked in the City, not as a financier but in public relations. He made very little money and we never looked to him for business advice. Or if he offered it, we'd politely ask if any of his friends might help us. And therein lies a clue to his great worth. He died in 2004, a death at 67 brought on by what I call long lunchitis. He was the arch practitioner of lunching. He was one of the best-connected men in the City. He was one of the most loved. At his memorial service a senior British politician told me: 'You know, your father had no enemies.' So where my Daddy's advice might have been lacking, he made up for this by his example. He was loved because he was companionable, affable, funny, generous, charming, self-deprecating, very huggable and always warm. He told great stories and he was always giggling. He was too modest to have ever said this himself, but if I imagine what his advice to me would be now, it would be to try to be a bit more like him. I hated being deprived of my teenage rights, but I'm inflicting the same wholesome trauma on my own children Rosa Silverman As a child, I felt certain I had a raw deal. My dad (in close collaboration with my mum) adhered to a style of parenting that my siblings and I called 'brown bread,' consisting of bans on various activities that constituted fun in the Eighties and Nineties. Watching Neighbours was out (not educational), likewise eating crisps (unhealthy), riding my bike without an ugly polystyrene helmet (unsafe) and playing with Barbies (too gendered, I think was the reason for that one, though confusingly I was allowed dolls). I have great lacunae in my cultural knowledge from that time, particularly where ITV was concerned. No, my dad wasn't religious. He was (and remains) an adventurous, fun-loving, idealistic hippie who envisaged a healthy, wholesome childhood at least for his first three offspring. (He and my mum gave up by the time of their fourth, who had an XBox, watched Friends as a toddler and essentially parented himself.) I was outraged at being deprived of these basic rights enjoyed by all my peers and tried not to look bemused when they discussed soap-opera plotlines, or over-excited when offered a Penguin bar. Then I became a parent myself and, oh boy, have I inflicted that intergenerational trauma on my own children. My dad was right, I discovered. Crisps actually aren't that good for you. Going anywhere at all without a helmet could be disastrous. It's kind of weird to give a plastic woman with lovely pert breasts to a young child to play with. I haven't managed to impose quite so wholesome a childhood on my kids as my dad managed, but the intention is there. They feel tortured by my insistence on vegetables and screen-time limitations. No one but them suffers such injustices, they believe. One day, perhaps, they'll realise: they have my father to blame. His determination to take notice of others' genius made my life so much richer George Chesterton My father was not someone you could rely on to give sound advice, unless it was another lesson in how not to do something, but I still feel gratitude for how his determination to take notice of others' genius made my life so much richer. Listening is a tree that bears fruit many years later. My father's simple habit was always to highlight something he thought was wonderful for its own sake, something he thought I needed to take notice of. Like most children, I either paid the most perfunctory attention or just passed it by entirely. But this acknowledgement of the brilliance of others must have worked its way into my mind. For him, it was something like the effortless skill of Peter Sellers switching from one voice to another in The Goon Show, or Orson Welles grilling Paul Schofield in A Man For All Seasons. He would insist I listen or watch or read – probably a thankless task at the time. For me, it is especially powerful in music: in the call and response of A Boy Like That from West Side Story, Cole Porter's lyrics to You're The Top, Chaka Khan screaming perfectly in tune, or something really obvious like the second movement of Beethoven's Seventh Symphony. That feeling can be summarised by Ian Dury (no stranger to brilliance himself) when he sang There Ain't Half Been Some Clever Bastards. This is a lot more than just admiring something remarkable – it is being aware of the magic another human being can conjure and allowing it to give you comfort when you need it most. Brilliance is the word that always comes to mind, since what these moments provide are sources of light, little explosions that split the creation from the creator, who – let's be honest – are often not the best adverts for humanity themselves (Wagner, anyone?). Recognising the brilliance of others is also a healthy thing to do. It's an ego-less moment of reflection beyond your own petty concerns and something my dad and I would both have benefitted from having more of over the years. But we should give thanks where it's due, whether that's to those who inspire us or our fathers. Sometimes both.

Jeremy Clarkson makes 'separate ways' comment in rare romance insight
Jeremy Clarkson makes 'separate ways' comment in rare romance insight

Daily Mirror

time18 hours ago

  • Daily Mirror

Jeremy Clarkson makes 'separate ways' comment in rare romance insight

Jeremy Clarkson has been dating Lisa Hogan for five years after they met at a party - but Lisa says she has 'no ambitions' to wed or have kids with the former Top Gear host Jeremy Clarkson has candidly opened up about life with Lisa Hogan, whom fans adore from his successful series Clarkson's Farm. Audiences have taken a liking to the couple while watching their antics on the Amazon Prime Video show, which follows Jeremy's unexpected foray into agriculture at Diddly Squat Farm. ‌ The 65 year old presenter values the genuine representation of himself on the programme. Commenting on his farm life, he said, "It's the real me on the farm show," stressing that there's none of the 'Top Gear nonsense' and that it's much more soothing not performing a role. ‌ On the farm, Jeremy is supported by his sidekick Kaleb Cooper and his partner Lisa, who is often spotted lending a hand at the farm shop, reports Yorkshire Live. Jeremy reveals their pleasant work relationship, noting: "It's all good. It's not like we're doing the same thing all the time." He sees the benefits of their routine, saying, "I think it's a happy way to live, to have breakfast together, go our separate ways, and then you've got plenty to talk about in the evening." Discussing their evening routine he added, during an interview with The Telegraph, "You can go out for dinner and you don't sit like normal old people, not talking to each other,". Lisa and Jeremy sparked their romance in 2017 after meeting via mutual friends at a party Even after five years together, Lisa expressed to Fabulous magazine that marriage and children are not on her agenda with Jeremy. ‌ Putting it plainly, she says: "Mrs Clarkson? No, thank you, I like Lisa Hogan." She also conveyed: "We're at a stage where we are not going to have kids," emphasising their contentment. "I'm just happy pootling along. I think because of our age, it's much easier. You go, 'God, is it you I end up with? OK, that's it'." ‌ Jeremy has tied the knot twice previously; his first marriage was to Alexandra James from 1989 to 1990, followed by a union with Frances Cain from 1993 until 2014. Together with Frances, he fathered three children: Emily, aged 30, Finlo, 27, and Katya, who's now 24. Lisa, on her part, shares three children with her former spouse of three decades, the affluent Baron Steven Bentinck. Looking back at the dawn of her relationship with Jeremy, Lisa confessed she took her time to confirm his sincerity before they became an item. "We'd both come out of quite long-term relationships, and I was really happy being single," she disclosed. Hence, she was adamant: "So I was like, 'If I'm not going to be single any more, I don't want to be with a messer'." She recalled a defining moment, saying: "There was [a moment]. I had given myself three months, but it was way before that, where I thought, 'OK, I really like this person'." Lisa also praised her beau's intellect, stating: "He has a laser brain and will take you down", and she enjoys the thrill of the challenge, noting: "And that's where the fun and the challenge is with him, trying to take him down."

Annabel Croft shares what 'saved her from sinking' after husband's death
Annabel Croft shares what 'saved her from sinking' after husband's death

Daily Mirror

timea day ago

  • Daily Mirror

Annabel Croft shares what 'saved her from sinking' after husband's death

Strictly Come Dancing star, Annabel Croft, has praised the BBC dance show after reaching the semi-finals of the star-studded series in 2023 with Johannes Radebe Annabel Croft admits she was 'saved' by Strictly Come Dancing after signing up to the show within a few weeks of tragically losing her husband. The tennis star, 58, was bereft when her husband and the father of her three children, Mel Coleman, died in 2023 aged 60, just eight weeks after being diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer. Insisting she didn't want to be a "professional widow", Annabel said yes to Strictly and wowed the audience and judges alike, reaching the semi-finals with her professional partner, Johannes Radebe. Praising the show for 'stopping her from sinking' while she navigated her grief, she said: "Literally within a few weeks [of losing him] I was on the phone to my agent. I don't know what I would have done without being busy. I would have sunk." ‌ ‌ She continues in The Telegraph: "There is so much to be positive about. I don't want to be a professional widow. I understand that a lot of people can identify with what I've been through, but I don't want grief to define me." Annabel recently revealed that her husband had heartbreakingly kept his symptoms from her before he saw a doctor. Speaking on the podcast, she said: "We were making the bed one day and he just turned to me and he said 'I haven't told you this Annabel, but I've got these funny pains in my side and they're just not going away, they're getting worse'." The mum-of-three continued: "It never dawned on me that it could be something so absolutely catastrophic." After the results of Mel's scans came back, Annabel said the doctors were "absolutely horrified because they knew that he wouldn't have much time left" She explained: "Outside before we went in, Mel had said to me in the car park 'I'm really worried about this meeting', and I said 'Oh, don't worry about it - of course it's going to be fine. You know, maybe you just have a cyst that's going to have to be removed'. "But the very first thing out of the surgeon's mouth was 'I'm afraid your life expectancy's not very good." After being dealt the devastating diagnosis, Annabel said Mel's cancer had spread to the liver and kidneys and possibly the brain before he eventually died from sepsis. ‌ She shared: "People don't realise this. He had stage four cancer. It started with colon cancer, but it could have been across everywhere at the same time. But it spread into the liver, it was spread into the kidneys, even possibly into the brain as well. But what he actually died of was sepsis and there was a perforation from one of the tumours. "We'd gone on this flight to Portugal thinking he was going to get some sunshine and some respite from all of his treatment. I think maybe on that flight it may have just swollen something and perforated one of the tumours." During the first Strictly pairing show two years ago, Annabel opened up about her husband's unexpected death and heartbreakingly admitted that Mel would have loved to have seen her on the dance floor. She said that it was always his "dream" for her to be on the show, saying she 'wished more than anything' that Mel could see her performing.

DOWNLOAD THE APP

Get Started Now: Download the App

Ready to dive into the world of global news and events? Download our app today from your preferred app store and start exploring.
app-storeplay-store