James reviews The Escapist on Legend, The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning on W and Steptoe and Son on That’s TV.

Hello, I’m James Brook, and welcome to the twenty-seventh episode of ‘I Review Freeview.’ 

This is where I review upcoming Freeview programs. Go to IReviewFreeview.com to search, listen, or indeed read and/or comment on all my reviews. And if you want to see what I’ll be reviewing next time, visit the page ‘What’s up next.’ That’s IReviewFreeview - all one word - dot com.

In this episode, I will review:

The Escapist (2008) on Legend, 

The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning (S1 E2: F*ck Cancer) on W and

Steptoe and Son (S1 E6: The Holiday) on That’s TV.

So, we’ve got what looks like a gritty UK prison drama, a program boasting a most intriguing title and - because after the first two I think I’ll need both nostalgia and a laugh, - one of the - no, the sitcom of the 1960s.

By the way, the image for this episode was generated by a free AI image generator with the prompt:

seen through prison bars, watching the setting sun, are the figures, with their backs to us, of a large shaggy carthorse and a man sitting in a deckchair by an I.V. drip.

I dunno:  the image is so near and yet so far. These AI generators ask for details, but when it’s provided often arbitrarily ignore bits. Take the horse: it’s been everything from a cowboy on an Arab stallion to what looks like a cute Shetland pony. I’ve even had multicoloured dust swirling in the air. So maybe AI is as dumb as I think it is or is basically giving two fingers and yelling yah boo sucks to you. Probably the latter.

Now, before we start: a new, sometimes there, sometimes not section! Wow! Tootle the trombones!

I’ve provisionally called it ‘programs on series record worth series recording.’ It’s a necessary counterpoint to the new section I introduced a few weeks back called ‘series record? Maybe not any more.’ Which featured Dr. Who, the great letdown of my viewing life to that point.

Well, I’ve been watching ‘Douglas is Cancelled,’ at the steady rate of one a week - y’know, how we used to do it. See also - later in this podcast - ‘Steptoe and Son’ for more on the past viewing habits of the nation.

Anyway, having now watched all episodes of ‘Douglas is Cancelled.’ I’d like to say: brilliant! The dialogue is witty, punchy and neatly walking that fine line between realism and conversations people would have if they could say at the time all those witty ripostes and comments that come to them later. The plot is stuffed with character driven twists and turns and the actors … well, from a few minutes in you forget they’re acting.

‘nuff said: no need for more.

So: onwards! Upwards! Downwards….?

The Escapist (2008) on Legend, Wednesday July 17, 9:00pm

In what lighthearted way can I say this gritty, grimy, menace filled mumbly prison escape drama is a fun watch?

I can’t, so I won’t.

Oh, go on then, give it a bash I hear no-one shout.

(Ha!)

In ‘The Escapist,’ Brian Cox plays morose long term prisoner Frank Perry, glumly sitting out his time in one of those brutal prisons so beloved of movie makers. Bars everywhere, locks on all the doors, indifferent guards and simmering violence. Y’know the sort of thing. No greasy sweat shirt unsweated. 

From the title, you know he’s going to try to escape. The film cuts between the attempt itself and the run up to it. This structure works well and is a refreshing change from the usual linear prison escape plots, which take the motorway route from plan to execution to aftermath. 

So we start with convicts desperately digging a hole in the floor, then switch to Frank receiving a letter and - through actions rather than words - planning the escape. Of course he needs people with special skills or knowledge, so he toddles around having mumbled, terse, tense conversations with fellow prisoners. Using domino pieces, they make a plan.

Most of the convicts are the usual stubbly-faced, unkempt types you wouldn’t want to meet in daylight on Kingston high street, except one: Rizza (Damian Lewis, phoning in a cameo). Rizza is clean shaven, wears designer gear and struts. He’s the King, and no one - prisoners or guards - mess with him.

That’s all fine, but he has a brother - also a convict - who’s taken a shine to Frank’s new cell-mate Lacey (Dominic Cooper, looking suitably young, wide-eyed and handsome.)

Cue some threatening shower scenes. The day a gritty prison escape drama doesn’t have a testosterone fuelled scene in the shower where naked men do things with soap is the day I’ll give up reviewing and .. oh, I dunno - go away and bore myself to death playing that God-awful game from hell, golf. I’m not a fan.

Anyway, in the film, things are cooking along nicely. Frank has got his team together, but then Rizza’s brother discerns what they’re planning and demands drugs and alone time with Lacey (Frank’s cell mate, remember) in exchange for his silence. 

(Ooooo)

But Lacey feels somewhat miffed about this, picks up a chair and kills Rizza’s brother. Well, that’s put the cat among the pigeons, make no mistake.

So lacey joins the planned escape, along with the guy supplying the drugs, a bearded chap who knows the route and a burglar who is good with locks. And doors. And walls. And floors. In fact, almost anything that needs to be flattened, he can flatten. Except another convict in a totally gratuitous bare knuckle fight scene. Oh, why do they do it? It’s almost as if the powers that be said ‘it’s a prison drama. You have to have a fight scene.’ Yeah. Well anyway, there it is, apropos of nothing.

The escapees are a motley crew, staggering along old underground railway tunnels, trying to get to Charing Cross before the power is switched on and they all get electrocuted or caught. Basically Pacman with knobs on.

In fact, more and more - subtlety and not so subtlety - the film takes on a surreal flavour, like bitter almonds tainted by ice cream. 

The simple, almost routine escape becomes increasingly warped with attempts to step outside the usual dramatic conventions of such films. It develops an ambition to be greater than the sum of its gritty parts.

Somehow, it’s become a somewhat dreamy but grand analogue about the journey through life. A feeling accelerated when Frank - the central character - bizarrely appears to be in two places at once. 

(Umm) 

Confusing, but not so completely tilted from reality it becomes difficult to follow. 

For obvious reasons I won’t say how it finishes, but in my mind, the ending makes the film worthwhile. Call me as unimaginative as a suicidal yoghurt, but I didn’t twig what was going on until the last few minutes. A bit of a slog, but I got there in the end.

Worth a watch if you’re in the mood for a bit of menace, unsavoury armpits and absolutely no fun.

Time, I think, for some light relief …. uh-ho … next up it’s:

(Ha!)

The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning (S1 E2: F*ck Cancer) on W, Thursday July 18, 9:00pm 

This is a strange, strange, heartfelt program. A curious and affecting mix of ‘sort you life out,’ therapy sessions and that old MDF warhorse ‘changing rooms.’ 

A rather nice lady, Shana - smiley, middle aged - has terminal cancer. So she asks a team of 3 Swedish death cleaners for help. As one would.

They turn up at her door and are invited in. They are an organiser (Ella), a psychologist (Katarina) and a designer (Johan).

Shana and Johan go to her bedroom. He’s matter of fact. ‘You’ll be spending more and more of your time here,’ he says. ‘So let’s make it lovely and cosy.’ 

Johan is friendly and relaxed. He smiles a great deal. He mentions death as if it is a perfectly natural event. Which, of course, it is.

Next up is Ella. She sweats the small stuff and has turned up with 3 crates: one for things to keep, one for things to give and one for things to dump. She and Shana go through the wardrobes. Shana talks about a top that belonged to her mother. Ella pulls out a pink dress, as fluffy and as light as candy-floss. Shana holds it in front of her and says it’s made for twirling. It was bought for a special occasion, but it’s never been worn. She starts to cry. She and Ella hug.

Katerina takes Shana away for a session of aqua yoga. I’m not sure why ‘aqua’ as there doesn’t seem to be any water around. But maybe I misheard or missed a swimming pool. Katerina talks about trust. Shana needs to trust her death cleaners and - by extension - her family and friends. Trust enough to talk about the elephant in the room (AKA death). They do exercises. Shana ends up arms outstretched, above the floor, supported only by Katerina’s feet, planted firmly in her midriff. Katerina is tall, her legs are long: it would be a fearsomely high drop onto the hardwood floor. But Shana, almost floating in mid-air, smiles serenely: she knows Katerina won’t let her down.

And so the process continues. The physical effort of clearing out, keeping only that which is needed, is therapeutic in its own right. I know this: I’ve been there. But the death cleaners are skilled. In their comforting presence, Shana looks back, examines the present and anticipates the future.

The elephant in the room fades and becomes see-through.

It’s noticeable Johan seems to vanish. Which brings me to my main criticism. I’d like to know what he was doing. We discover this magically towards the end, but why wait until then? I can’t see a reason not to. Also, I like detail. For instance, how long did the whole process take? A couple of days? A week? And where did Shana live while it was happening? I suppose all this might have been mentioned in the irritating commentary, but by then I was tuning it out, as one does a buzzing fly or a droning politician.

The endings - or, to be precise - the new beginnings, are like waves on a beach. The first big, the second much, much larger.

The first is the unveiling of her redecorated, reorganised, decluttered home. Shana cries at her new bed, the peach colour scheme, her new wardrobe doors. Before and after images! Candles galore! All the cliched ‘changing rooms’ shtick. 

She is taken to the back door and there is her rejuvenated patio. Cushions everywhere! Padded seating!

Shana says ‘my whole world has changed around me. You’ve made all my space beautiful.’

And she is not just saying that: it is heartfelt and genuine.

The final wave comes maybe a week later. A dinner party with friends. Shana is wearing - for the first ever time - her pink dress. Her guests arrive. Without a trace of embarrassment, Shana introduces Ella, Johan and Katerina as ‘my death cleaners.’ They sit down and eat. Chatter. Laughter. Smiles.

For several days now, Katerina has been preparing Shana for this. Shana has practiced saying ‘death’ and ‘cancer’ out loud. 

Now, amid her friends, she taps a spoon on a glass. The room goes quiet. Shana stands. She tells them she is dying. Of terminal cancer. That she will get weaker. That she will be asking them for help. 

There are many tears, mine among them.

Later, there is just her and the death cleaners. Johan and Shana dance, the pink dress swirling.

And the program concludes with her date of birth, her date of death. 

A thought: many people say you should live every day as if it were your last. Maximise your experiences. Umm, makes sense. But then, what room would there be for the Swedish art of death cleaning? Maybe it is only valid when you know time is short.

I was deeply affected by this program. In many ways I wish I’d seen it, or become aware of the therapeutic process during several crucial stages of my life. But those times have passed. Now, I’m barely into my eighth decade. My arms arms are getting scrawny, I have some liver spots and I recently bought hearing aids, but I reckon I’ve still got about 10 years.

So everything is peachy and hunky-dory. Who needs death cleaners, eh?

(Ha!)

As if.

And, finally:

Steptoe and Son (S1 E6: The Holiday) on That’s TV, Thursday July 18, 12:50pm

In those early TV days of the 1960s, if you wanted to watch a program, you had to anchor your bum in front of the TV at the time they showed it. No internet, no streaming, probably no zapper. Imagine that? Having to get up from the sofa to change from BBC to ITV. And from ITV back to BBC.

Sounds primitive now, but at the time, it was wonderful! Two channels! OK, so you had to give the set a thump now and again, but there were moving pictures in your living room! It was amazing!

And the programs we had: ‘What’s My Line?’ They ought to revive that, just to remind everyone how truly terrible it was. And ‘Come dancing.’ Well, they did revive that and added a superfluous ‘strictly.’ (Ha!) As if the world hadn’t suffered enough.

But it is the comedy I recall. Hancock’s half hour. Bilko. Harry Worth. Till Death Us Do Part. And, like a colossus in my memory: ‘Steptoe and Son.’ 

We’d never seen anything like it. A strange hybrid of comedy and tragedy. Suffering with laughter. Characters so real temporary suspension of disbelief hardly got a look-in.

So: the inevitable question. How does ‘Steptoe and Son’ stand up now, some 60 years later? Well ……. we’ll come to that.

Briefly, for you youngsters under 50 unfamiliar with the program: The Steptoes are a father (Albert) and his son (Harold). They are rag-and-bone men. Harold is 37, Albert some undefined age between about 60 and total decrepitude. They live in a house stuffed with junk. Life is hard. They scrape a living, surviving on other people’s unwanted stuff.

They’re depended on, and resentful of, each other.

So they argue, whine, complain, make up, complain, whine and argue.

And that’s probably about it. And - oh - one more thing: actual gags are virtually unknown. The comedy is almost totally character driven and reliant on facial expressions, hints, tips and the situations they manage to get themselves into.

This episode: ‘the holiday’ is typical. 

After a hard days totting, Harold comes home and he and Albert have an argument about threepenny pieces.

Remember, this is a decade before we went decimal. There were still 12 pennies to a shilling, 20 shillings to the pound. Currency calculations were an absolute nightmare.

Anyway, some holiday brochures have arrived for Harold. This leads to a discussion about their annual vacation. 

Albert is scornful about Greece. “Look at it! It’s all falling to bits!”

“That’s the Acropolis. Haven’t you heard of it? The four horsemen of the Acropolis?”

(Ha!) Is that a gag? I’m not sure. But it’s a neat bit of writing.

Harold yearns for the south of France: Saint-Tropez. (complete with the ‘z’) But his Dad wants to go - as they have done for many years - to Bognor. To stay at the same boarding house as always (‘Lovely Grub!’)

So a tired, resentful argument happens, as Harold knew it would. Finally, he admits he wants to go on his own. It’s a bombshell.

Albert’s face implodes. His lower jaw wobbles.

“By yourself? Without me?”

Which gives rise to a beautifully calibrated, poignant word dance, covering loneliness, abandonment, aging and guilt.

In the end, Albert gives up, accepts he might have to go on a coach tour of Scotland, declares he’s not feeling well and goes to bed:

“See you in the morning……. God willing.”

Downstairs, on his own, Harold tries on sunglasses and a jaunty hat. He’s shuffling through the brochures again when the coughing from upstairs starts and the long drawn out, last gasp cries of ‘Harold …’

Upstairs, we see Albert deliberately overturning a table and slumping onto the floor.

Harold charges in, kneels and cradles his dad in his arms. Albert’s face is haggard and motionless, his pupils vanishing behind his eyelids. He really does look near the end, if not dead.

A touching scene.

The doctor is called. After examining Albert, he and Harold have a chat. In the end, Harold makes a huge concession. “Oh, OK!” he says. “I’ll take him. Only what he’s going to do in Saint-Tropez is anyone’s guess.”

The doctor looks up. We all know exactly what he’s going to say, and how it’ll finish.

He takes in a long, long breath, like a car mechanic imparting bad news.

“Oh no, that won’t do. In his condition it’s important he’s content. He’s been telling me about Bognor…..”

(Hmmm)

The program finishes with the short, inevitable coda: Harold and Albert, on the Bognor promenade, walking into the distance, forever joined resentfully, lovingly, together.

(Poof!)

Right at the beginning, I asked how does ‘Steptoe and Son’ stand up now, in 2024? On the evidence of this single episode, the answer is: tremendously well. The casting, the sets, the direction, the timing and, above all, the pitch-perfect writing, give it an emotional and comedic depth never seen before and seldom since. 

A true classic.

But .. oh, isn’t there always a ‘but?’ Well, I watched other episodes, one after the other: bing bang bong. Y’know: like we do nowadays. And when you do that, it’s very noticeable the same themes emerge time and time again. And the same basic plot is repeatedly used: Harold wants to escape, Albert thwarts him.

And, to me, this somehow diminishes the whole. One delicious cake is a delicious cake. 6 delicious cakes on a tray are all a bit samey. You think, where’s the scones? 

Which leads us back to the pre internet 1960s. We watched ‘Steptoe and son’ once a week. There was no other option. Each episode - even those below par - were washed clean by a whole week of activity: eating, sleeping, playing badminton, brushing your teeth and worrying about money. So when the next episode arrived it was - to pick up on a previous analogue - a perfectly delicious cake in its own right.

So ‘Steptoe and son’ is firmly recommended, but be aware and bing-watch with caution: familiarity breeds a lusting for scones.

And that misquote from Aesop concludes the reviews for this episode of ‘I Review Freeview.’

Don’t forget, contact me via email to contact@ireviewfreeview.com or through the website Ireviewfreeview.com where you can also click on the page ‘What’s up next.’ to see what programs I’ll be reviewing next time.

Thank you for listening, and goodbye for now.