Critic and popular historian Dominic Sandbook understands the power of the soundbite, so he supplied one of his own to sum up his new series: "We do still make one thing better than anybody else – we make stories."
This was the fifth and last in a series of hour-long programmes amounting to a vivid, varied and extraordinarily lively history of Britain. Although ostensibly a history of portraiture, the images have been hooks for Simon Schama, that most ubiquitous historian who bears a rather charming resemblance to Tigger – very bouncy, very chatty, very enthusiastic, a little self-regarding – to subtly engage us in a journey through the political and social landmarks of British history.
I always like watching Matthew Macfadyen, so I was appalled to see him horribly slain barely 20 minutes into this gutsy new adaptation of Bernard Cornwell's Saxon Stories. Not just slain, but then nailed to a post by the Vikings, who put a flipping great bolt in his mouth and hammered it through the back of his head.
It’s nearly 10 years since Gareth Malone’s series The Choir first brought amateur choral singing to an improbably appreciative television audience. Like baking, amateur choral singing is quintessentially British – most other cultures leave them to professionals – and their affectionate place in the national psyche has created successful viewing brands.
Oliver Sacks, peerless explorer of the human brain, has today died of cancer aged 82. Inspired by case histories of patients suffering from neurological disorders, Sacks's eloquent musings on consciousness — which he termed 'neurological novels' — included The Man Who Mistook His Wife For a Hat and Awakenings, the former adapted into a Michael Nyman opera, the latter an Oscar-nominated film. His combination of intellectual rigour, philosophical expressiveness and powerful compassion illuminated numerous conditions for a readership extending far beyond the medical community. In memory of Sacks, theartsdesk republishes our 2011 review of Imagine: The Man Who Forgot How to Read and Other Stories, BBC Two's glimpse into his remarkable work.
The man who mistook Oprah Winfrey for Michelle Obama. Or indeed, the man who mistook his own reflection for another distinguished-looking bearded gentleman. Yes, the world’s most famous neurologist, Oliver Sacks, has confessed to “face blindness” - a lifelong inability to recognise faces, even his own face or the faces of the preternaturally famous. Last night’s Imagine found Alan Yentob revisiting Sacks (who he last encountered three years ago for a documentary on the mysteries of musical appreciation) to follow up on this story.
Dramatic music by William Goodchild underlined this narrative of wild life – nature vividly, even horrifyingly red in tooth and claw – of a surviving pride of lions in Botswana’s Savuti marsh, a wetland plain next to the Kalahari desert that attracts a huge range of animals.
What exactly do we expect when a drama opens with the declaration, “This is a true story”? The Scandalous Lady W, based on Hallie Rubenhold’s biography Lady Worsley’s Whim, brought us some unusual 18th century marriage shenanigans that ended in one of the most scandalous court cases of the era. But, despite its central legal scenes, “the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth” wasn’t the order of the day.
London, 1905. For the Stephen siblings, setting up an independent household in Bloomsbury freed them – especially the sisters, Vanessa and Virginia – from Victorian familial conventions. It resulted in a heady mix of creative endeavour and endless conversation, especially about sex. As some wit commented, the Bloomsbury set was to be found living in squares, loving in triangles and talking in circles.
Poirot curls an eyebrow and Miss Marple twinkles, but there haven't been a lot of out-and-out laughs in Agatha Christie’s television career. Partners in Crime comes as a pleasurable surprise. It stars David Walliams and Jessica Raine as Tommy and Tuppence Beresford, a married couple on their uppers who take up detective work almost by accident.
Lucy Worsley, historian and TV presenter – or perhaps that should be the other way round, since the BBC seems to give her a new series about every six weeks – is the unrivalled queen of the soundbite. Subtitled as Worsley's "100 Years of the WI", this canter around the stately circumference of the Women's Institute, now 100 years old, was niftily pinned together with sonorous adjectives and cacophonous alliteration.