Miriam’s Dead Good Adventure
Sunday, BBC2
MotherFatherSon
Wednesday, BBC2
Rating: 
But for sheer dreadfulness:
Rating: 
I don’t know if it’s likely that Miriam Margolyes will ever come round your place or mine, but you can rest assured she will always bring her own radishes, which has to be a relief. No last-minute dashes to get some in, which is always such a pain. In fact, Miriam and her radishes appear to be rarely, if ever, separated. She was pictured driving around with steering wheel in one hand, radish in the other. ‘Just to perk me up,’ she said, as she took a big bite. She later visited the home of 71-yearold Laurie, whom she met at the Revolution Against Ageing And Death Festival in California. Laurie practises and teaches ‘sex magic’, which uses ‘your sexual energy’ to ‘keep you youthing’.
Miriam’s Dead Good Adventure is a naff title for what was, in fact, an excellent, if radish-heavy, hour of television
Miriam bought her own radishes in a plastic bag. ‘I was wondering if I could rinse my radishes,’ were her first words on arrival. She then sat through a ‘sex magic’ session (everyone imitated having orgasms; it was weird), having refused to participate and with a face of thunder. ‘My sexual energy is deeply my own,’ she then said, rather primly, ‘and I am not generous enough to share it.’ She reclaimed her radishes and exited. ‘Would you rather have sex or a radish?’ she was later asked. ‘If it were good sex I would rather have sex,’ she said, ‘but if it were bad sex I would rather have a radish.’ She was not then asked if she was ever generous enough to share her radishes, but I expect not. It may even be that she sleeps with them under her pillow.
Miriam’s Dead Good Adventure is a naff title for what was, in fact, an excellent, if radish-heavy, hour of television, as Miriam confronted her own fear of ageing and dying, travelling from homes for dementia patients in the UK to proponents of the ‘super-longevity movement’ in America. Some have complained that she was ‘ill mannered’ and ‘insensitive’, although you don’t hire Miriam to behave well – Brand Miriam is never about behaving well – and anyway, she wasn’t. She was blunt, yes, but ‘insensitive’ to whom exactly? The Californian crackpots who say ‘the physical body doesn’t have to die’? In this instance I longed for her to be more ‘insensitive’, in fact.
She was always compassionate when it counted. In the care home she led a rendition of ‘Daisy, Daisy, Give Me Your Answer Do’ for one woman and had tears in her eyes as another woman repeatedly asked for her dinner. ‘It’s depressing and scares me. I expect it’s what I’ll come to and I don’t know how to deal with it,’ she said, and I was moved. She is 77, and the average life expectancy for a British woman is 82, so this came with a sense of urgency unlike, say, Grayson Perry’s series about mortality.
Her travels in California then brought her into contact with those who believe humans are capable of immortality. ‘Ageing is ugly and death is horrible. Who wants it?’ preached one. ‘We are out to win against sickness and dying,’ said another, to an audience that stood up and cheered. Oh great, I thought. Even death has to be the result of personal failure now. But while Miriam remained cynical she didn’t really call them out, or point out, robustly, that if you’re alive you will die. (Being Alive remains the No 1 killer globally, I think you’ll find.) Also, disappointingly, while the radishes played big, she did not eat a whole raw onion for breakfast as she did in The Real Marigold Hotel. But this is only the first of a two-parter. So there is still hope. Fingers crossed.
And now, let’s take a moment to consider this week’s episode of Line Of Duty, and those final two minutes, which I saw coming. Joke. Such a shock, although not as surprising as Ted bringing Gill Biggeloe back to his grim Travelodge room with the bust toilet. Ted, what is happening to you, fella? And send that money back! But we must press on to MotherFatherSon, which concluded this week, so it’s our last chance.
It was dreadful. I think I only kept watching it because I couldn’t quite believe how dreadful it was. Richard Gere’s performance as Max, the newspaper magnate, was dreadful (utterly wooden), while the dialogue was so dreadful I sometimes screeched with laughter at the dreadfulness of it. No one said anything to each other that wasn’t IMPORTANT. Whatever Max said was so IMPORTANT he couldn’t ever get it out in whole sentences, so it was: ‘If you win. Prime Minister. I’ll be back. Here like. I always have.’
And it was catching. Certainly, his young Mexican wife had caught it. ‘But can you. Love. Un. Conditionally?’ Meanwhile, Helen McCrory’s wardrobe was transfixingly bizarre – ‘Man alive,’ I yelped several times per episode, ‘what is she wearing now?’ – and as for what it all added up to, haven’t a clue. And the ending? Frighteningly unresolved. Oh. No. It’s not going to. Return for another. Series. Is. It?
