TV round-up: The Durrells, Grantchester and Little Boy Blue

All the shows that used to go out either in the dying days of autumn or in the winter are on the box now. The Durrells (ITV, Sunday), Grantchester (ITV, Sunday) and soon Poldark – all period dramas – are shows we associate with a cosy Sunday evening’s viewing in front of a blazing radiator. So it’s jam today apparently. Rejoice?

Well, let’s see what we have as replacements in the autumn. 

It’s impossible to dislike The Durrells. 

It’s also the best thing to happen to Greece since Nana Mouskouri. Sun, sand and “Roger the Dog” are bringing joy to Sunday nights, regardless of when ITV wants to broadcast it. And for those who are quite fussy about their animal dramas, we have “otter excreta” for you. Put that in your pipe. 

This is faultless period drama, beautifully shot, edited and with an evocative soundtrack that spirits you away to Corfu every Sunday night. It’s not really about anything, which we applaud. That would defeat the purpose of Sunday nights. 

Last week the most important piece of plot saw Louisa (Keeley Hawes) cooking dodgy Scotch eggs (aren’t they meant to be?), which she was trying to sell to unsuspecting Greeks. This delicacy had apparently been poisoned by the Durrell’s evil landlady, who suspected Louisa was a love rival. “You English… you treat us like slaves!” she shrieked at Louisa’s daughter Margo. And your problem is? 

Then, shockingly, poor Roger the Dog got himself shot by son Leslie, who firmly believes that the way to bring a family together is to spray bullets around the living room. 

Still, I admired his Brexit-like strategy for selling English goods to foreigners. “COME AND BUY!” he bellowed. Meanwhile, Margo became infatuated by a friendly monk. “I love the way you talk about love and beauty,” she told him, breathily. He looked deeply in her eyes and replied: “God is my girlfriend…”. We can expect great things from this relationship.

I have ceased to expect great things from Grantchester. Are these the thinnest plots since Magic Roundabout? Actually it could do with a walk-on from Dougal. It might spur my interest. It’s main shortcoming – there are many – is that I simply don’t believe it. 

Right from the very first scene, I found very little reason to watch as the new archdeacon met Sidney (James Norton). Would our vicar, in the 1950s, really carry on with Mrs Hopkins, who is separated from her husband and has a new baby? Of course, not. 

As they got to know each other a little more while examining the inside of a darkened doorway, only true devotees of James Norton can have thought that this scene had any relevance to the story. From here on, he shall be known as “the snogging vicar”.

Without James Norton, you wonder whether this drama would ever have reached ITV’s baptismal. And why persist with Grantchester and axe something like the excellent Home Fires with better stories, performances and setting? 

If you can find a sub-plot in this series that doesn’t involve the snogging vicar swooning about like a lovelorn fool, you can have a newly varnished pew on me. The most creative thing in the episode was the name of the asylum, House Of The Feeble Minded, where most of the Grantchester storylines are kept.

Little Boy Blue (ITV, Monday) was the most harrowing hour of TV this year. This is not a good thing, nor do I think this drama was actually worth making. To watch doctors and nurses try to save the life of young Rhys Jones as his parents stood over him was as close to unwatchable as you can get. 

What is this scene meant to achieve, other than to ramp up the emotional investment from an audience over a tragedy that none of us will ever forget anyway? We don’t need reminding actually.

I would much preferred to have watched a documentary about this case, rather than feel “manipulated” by this drama. Indeed, there is no drama here. What has happened since the case? Has gangland violence been tackled?

And so on. Just as in any crime case, it’s the suspects versus the police (how to gather the evidence). True crime rates, so ITV make it without a quibble. If it’s sensational, all the better. And to make matters worse, it’s always brilliantly done by Jeff Pope. 

It’s a perfect storm, all four hours of it. Having said all this I do hope the parents feel it is a fitting memorial to their son, who was simply riding across a pub car park when felled. 

AND finally, Top Gear (BBC2, Sunday) has been on. Didn’t notice? Nor did most people. Its ratings of a measly two million makes it as popular as a rerun of Triangle but not half as fascinating. Why so low? Because it’s incredibly dull. 

Presenter Chris Harris reviewed a fast Porsche sports car, during which I found myself thinking about doing the mowing. Twice. 

Then singer Jay Kay appeared to talk about having 50 cars. At one point, he was mooted as a presenter. Gosh, that was a near miss. 

Mind you, who could do worse than the current three chumps? At the end Matt Le Blanc, who “anchored” the final episode, said: “Have a good summer. See you soon.” If it’s all the same, I’m watching the grass grow.