Stigma

 "It's the old religion. I read about it in a book."

Hmm. It has its moments but... I'm not sure about this one.

It's 1977. The year I was born. Up to now the BBC's Ghost Stories for Christmas strand had focused on adaptations of old ghost stories, chiefly those of M.R. James. This time, we get a contemporary take.

It's eerie that the first contemporary ghost story should showcase the year of my birth so powerfully.The cars, the fashions, the sound of an old rotary phone ringing, news of the Voyager missions on the radio... and, of course, contemporary 1970s horror tropes- folk horror, complete with stone circle, and the poltergeist trope, complete with creepy teenage girl.

It'a very simple, straighforward half hour, with few twists and turns until the very end, and even that could be predicted. Yes, the atmosphere is there- it's Lawrence Gordon Clark, after all- and the relatively unknown case is very good, Kate Binchy in particular. But it's all a bit... by the numbers, if well made.

Oh, and if you're scared of blood... give this one a miss. You couldn't make this today.

The Prisoner: A. B. and C

"This is a dreamy party..."

Well, that was certainly different.

I suppose this is early in the series, it's too soon to have fully explored the possible formats, but this one is decidedly odd. Yes, we again begin with Number Six waking in the village- will we always? There's a new Number Two- will there be a different one each time? I was amused to note we had the same opening dialogue between Numbers Six and Two, but with a different Number Two. Will this be a thing?

All that was familiar. And yet...

This week we don't really explore the Village, although I note Number Two has by now accepted a maid. No, instead we follow a science fiction scheme to control Number Six's dreams to attempt to find out which of three possible individuals from within the spy world Number Six was attempting to sell out to. And we may actually have discovered something; we don't know why Number Six resigned, but he wasn't switching loyalies to another side.

And that's pretty much it. Number Six gets a bit of agency in that he realises what is happening and ends up taking control of his own dream narrative. But it all feels suspiciously like filler, as I understand many of the seventeen episodes pretty much were.

This isn't a bad episode. But compared to its two predecessors it feels a little perfunctory.

I, Clavdivs: Old King Log

"The man who dwells by the pool shall open Graves..."

The first episode, which seems so long ago, featured an interesting bit of breakage to the fourth wall early on as, while Augustus, Marcus Agrippa and co reclined and chatted, a couple of minor characters discussed how the old days never truly existed, that the past is an illusion. That was a clear acknowledgement by Jack Pulman that we rely on sources but we can never arrive at real historical truth, and certainly not via Suetonius.

And so it’s appropriate that, in this final episode, realism breaks down somewhat and the fourth wall is constantly pointed at- and not only in the above quote from Claudius’ farewell speech to the Senate, where he refers to Jack Pulman and Robert Graves. No; in this final episode Claudius has become convinced that he erred in ruling wisely; he reconciled Rome to monarchy instead of discrediting it. So Old King Log resolves to “let all the poisons that lurk in the mud gat h it”, leaning into the Sibylline Prophecy. So he marries his niece and favours Nero as heir over his own son Britannicus. In doing so he raises himself from a mere principal character almost to the status of author, truly Claudius the God. This is often humorous, as when he exasperates Agripinilla by anticipating her every wish without hiding his contempt. (How come such a noble couple as Germanicus and Aggripina spawned such a nest of monsters?). He exerts control over his own death. Yet the ferryman waits for us all in the end.

There is one thing Claudius can not control- his honourable yet naive son, Britannicus, who refuses to  go along with Claudius’ secret plan because “no one believes in the Republic any more”. Instead he chooses to put on his manly gown and face death. Claudius is not omnipotent, after all.

So Claudius gets his big death scene, and a chat with the Sibyll. We get the cameos we’ve longed for from the characters we missed. We get to know the loathsome Agripinilla and Nero (interesting casting!) who, as we won’t be following their exploits after Claudius, can be portrayed with relish, with Nero noting “What a pretty thing a fire is”. No subtext there...

A fitting end to a drama that is justly seen as one of the finest ever. Who cares about the obvious staginess. This is superlative telly.

Victoria: The Luxury of Conscience

"You have been a great prime minister!"

And so we reach the rather gripping season finale, full of incident and excitement as we knew it would be, and an impressive piece of writing in drawing all the threads together.

We start with family. Leopold is at court to make amends to a cold reception, but Vicky becoming deathly ill, although at first leading to clashes between Victoria and Albert, brings the whole family together. Except that Victoria finishes up by letting Lezhen go. Not because Albert says so, but because Victoria has outgrown her, It's an emotional parting.

We also have romance between Mrs Skerrett and Mr Francatelli, and a heartbreaking moment where Ernest has to dump Harriet rather than propose to her because his syphilis symptoms have recurred. Never mind that none of this happened in real history; it's damn good telly.

But ultimately the focus is on Sir Robert Peel and his repeal of the Corn Laws, egged on (not always helpfully) by all the characters we like and opposed rather rudely by those we don't. It's a final triumph for Peel and, indeed, for Nigel Lindsay. You'd never guess from his excellent performances on Victoria that he was Barry in Four Lions.

But there's a final shock, the killing of Edward Drummond which somewhat ruins the already doomed relationship between him and Lord Alfred; sadly, this is narratively the only way of concluding a same sex budding romance set in this era without it taking up a lot of narrative time and focus, but I have to say that it isn't very brave writing. Still, it's a lovely touch seeing the Duchess of Buccleuch being so sympathetic to poor Lord Alfred. And at least Drummond gets to live three years longer than he did in real life.

Victoria may be somewhat easy telly and shy away, perhaps, from doing things other than predictably, but I'm glad a series like this exists and I'll bev watching at Christmas.

Victoria: A Soldier's Daughter

"It may be your regiment, Albert. But it is my army."

Victoria is back on ITV. I'm afraid I'm late to the party; I assure you I'll catch up quickly.

We pick up as we left off, with Vicky having just given birth to the future mother of Kaiser Bill. And the subject of patriarchy, always foregrounded when it comes to the hereditary principle, is uppermost not only in the incredibly sexist assumptions by the mean surrounding Vicky that she should retire to the nursery and leave affairs of state to the manly hands of Albert- and, indeed, that the scarcely born princess should one day marry the King of Prussia!

There's slow-burning stuff; Vicky struggles to connect with her daughter, both her relationship with Sir Robert peel and his premiership is soon to develop, and the imperious Duchess of Buccleuch arrives in the formidable form of Diana Rigg playing an old battleaxe, for Mrs Peel, incredibly, is now 79. Below stairs, the newly minted Mrs Skerrit is promoted, and Mr Francatelli is eventually persuaded to return.

But the episode, set as London awaits the awful news from Kabul of 4,000 troops being massacred, is about how Victoria always has to fight the patriarchal attitudes of the men who surround her, including her husband. It'll be interesting to see how all this develops, but for now this is a splendidly written, performed and shot bit of telly.

Victoria: Engine of Change

"The Queen has requested a dish of bacon and peas."

Vicky is the Queen, and thus has privileges; personal performances by no less a personage than Georg Friedrich Handel, for example. But she has no exemptions from the experiences of pregnancy, and the first part of this episode charts the general realisation that pregnant she certainly is. Albert is lovingly overjoyed, but she is justifiably afraid; the precedent of Princess Charlotte is not an encouraging one.

Lord M may still be PM, just about, but the focus now moves to Sir Robert Peel, for he is the future; Albert likes him. The Queen is still unconvinced. This difference of views is echoed by their respective views of the railways, also the future, and a trip to a staunchly anti-progress Tory household in Staffordshire sees all this play out. Peel and the railways are, of course, aligned, with Albert being tempted from a lonely Vicky's bedside to play trains.

Annoyingly, Vicky must appoint a regent in case she should suffer Charlotte's fate; her choice of Albert is not popular with the many anti-Europeans in Parliament (they're just as uncaring of the country's true interests today), but supporting her allows Peel to curry her favour, and perhaps we can see the beginnings of a thaw.

Meanwhile there's a rather sweet romance going on downstairs involving decadent helpings of chocolate, and Vicky gets her own invigorating train ride. As ever this is history brilliantly sculpted into the shape of drama, and Coleman is deeply likeable as always.

Victoria: The Queen's Husband

"Ten times?"

Vicky is married, very much enjoying the bedtime activities that come with that, but rather concerned to avoid children for the time being. Abstinence is, of course, not an option, but the only options for contraception that she's made aware of are somewhat, er, Victorian.

Meanwhile, continuing Tory wariness towards Vicky manifests itself at dinner; it is not Albert but one of Vicky's uncles who must escort her every evening. Yet Vicky soon deploys her Machiavellian wiles to engineer a victory here, while Albert begins to find a role in supporting those causes that the Sovereign cannot, making a well-received speech against slavery. The history is very logically turned into a narrative structure that works, but leaves us in no doubt that the problem of Albert's role is only partially solved. He is an intelligent man, not an ornament.

Meanwhile, Miss Skerrit discovers that Francatelli's liking for her may be less creepy than she'd assumed; he risks his life to help her relatives and all he want in return is her first name this, I begin to suspect, may be a budding romance "downstairs" to balance out the events "upstairs"; ordinary people matter too.