Review: THE MARRIAGE REF

A critical bomb in America, the Jerry Seinfeld-produced MARRIAGE REF has been remade for the UK and aired its first episode last Saturday. Dermot O'Leary hosts (well, ITV need to keep him sweet in-between X Factor marathons), but this format reveals he's just a safe pair of hands who can't thrive on a show that practically demands a comedian at the helm. He can teeter on his heels and nod his head as much as he likes, but with nobody to hug or call "buddy", O'Leary looked lost at sea.

For the uninitiated, The Marriage Ref sees a celebrity trio pass judgement on real-life marital tiffs. This is primetime ITV, so the arguments are trivial affairs like a wife who won't stop writing her husband to-do lists, or an elderly couple's disagreement over pickles. It would admittedly be a very different, edgier show if the marital strife involved serious issues like infidelity, illegitimate children, and bigamy, but The Marriage Ref goes too far the other way. It's impossible to care about each couple's inconsequential annoyances, and most aren't funny enough to entertain. The whole things ends up feeling incredibly petty and a weak idea to base a TV show on.

It does help that there's a tradition of comedy panel shows on UK TV, which this is a loose example of. Still, while the American show manages a star-studded lineup of refs (thanks to Seinfeld's rolodex), the UK version already looks like a bargain basement version. In the US they had Alec Baldwin, Eva Longoria, Tina Fey, Madonna, Ricky Gervais, Larry David, Donald Trump, Sarah Silverman, Bette Midler, and Demi Moore as marriage refs. For the British remake's big launch we had ubiquitous comedians Sarah Millican and Jimmy Carr and, wait for it, ex-Spice Girl Geri Halliwell. A woman who seemed genuinely puzzled when Carr started cracking jokes, as if nobody told her this was a lighthearted comedy show and her absurd role as "UN Ambassador" was genuinely required to sort out some quarrels.

So while the US version has A and B-list guests the audience may be intrigued to see pass comment on ordinary people's love lives, the UK version's just got some comedians to provide quips. And they're the kind of comedians you see all the time on shows such as this, and it's becoming a real pain watching them conveyor belt their way around TV. Carr was hosting 8 Out Of 10 Cats and Millican was a guest on King Of... just the night before. I'm not sure which version of The Marriage Ref is best. The UK's going more for the funnybone, which probably makes it more regularly amusing, but I think I'd like to hear what Madonna has to say more than Millican. That said, the US version's crippled by that horribly cheesy/dumb production style that infects every American show involving real people. So, surprisingly, the UK version's probably a mild improvement, despite lacking any major star-power. But that just means it resides in an outer circle of TV Hell.

Saturdays, ITV1, 9PM

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Review: AL MURRAY'S COMPETE FOR THE MEAT

The idea of a TV gameshow based on a pub quiz, hosted by Al Murray's comic creation the Pub Landlord, must have seemed like a great idea for digital channel Dave. Indeed, whenever Compete For The Meat was relying on Murray talking to members of the public (repartee the comedian's honed over 15 years playing to audiences across the UK), it was on much surer footing--even if Murray's interactions have become annoyingly, half-intentionally predictable.

Compete For The Meat started with a promising 15-minute introduction and set-up, with Murray chatting to the "front row" audience (mocking their names, ages and occupations), before applying the same ridicule to a celebrity "top table" comprised of ex-England goalie Peter Shilton, alleged funnygirl Olivia Lee and gnomic TV consumer activist Dominic Littlewood. From there, four pub team trios were introduced in a Blankety Blank-esque two-tier set, and Murray again poked fun at their gender, nationality and jobs. Three attractive lady retailers, an Aussie, a professional food taster, and a dog groomer inspired decent quips, at least.

So far, so repetitive? Oh yes, but I remember the days of Strike It Lucky/Rich, when a pre-scandal Michael Barrymore's interaction with contestants lasted half the show and was often the main reason to watch. That proved to be true with Compete The Meat, too, but with the insurmountable problem that Meat's quiz was tedious and surprisingly insubstantial considering it had to fill three-quarters of an hour. Questions were asked in a chosen topic, answers were jotted down, papers were collected, scores totted up by ex-Blue Peter presenter/babe Zöe Salmon (who's her agent?), and the lowest-scoring team duly eliminated. Rather confusingly, this meant the shopgirls were asked to stand in a "Sin Bin" skip and be replaced by three people from the audience (who, in this case, had to be referred to as "The Guv's Girls", despite two of them now being men!)

The format was weak and flawed, as you can tell. Compete For The Meat should have kept things simpler, perhaps cleaving close to what The Big Fat Quiz Of The Year does annually on Channel 4. I'm still perplexed by how this quiz only managed to deliver two quick rounds, before reaching the final--where each team leader just answered general knowledge questions solo. Perhaps Meat's two biggest mistakes was trying to keep things fresh by involving an embarrassingly stupid "pub game" towards the end, where two women had to play a miniature game of curling with food, "greasing" the runway with condiments. It was so unfunny, pointless and protracted that both women looked embarrassed to be taking part, and often didn't want to play the game by its own rules as drizzling gravy had zero effect on any outcome.

And why were there celebrities involved? They weren't necessary. The points the celebs earned during the pub quiz could be distributed to the teams in the final round--so, understandably, in not wanting to pick a favourite and guarantee an easy victory, they spread their points out across every team to instead level the playing field. It was the honourable and sensible thing to do, but it effectively meant success in the previous rounds meant even less.

Overall, Compete For The Meat is a decent idea and a reasonable way to give Al Murray's Pub Landlord a new format to apply his brand of jingoistic idiocy (following stand-up, a Sky1 sitcom and ITV chat-show), but the mechanics of the format need serious attention and 20-minutes of fat carved away. The decision to have a frozen chicken mascot called "Mr Giblets" silently hovering in the aisles was notably stupid, and why not make the whole set resemble an actual pub?

This was mild enjoyment when Murray was chatting with real people, in what amounted to a "warm up" before the first advert break, but Compete For The Meat ironically fell apart when the meat of the quiz arrived on the plate.

Dave, Thursdays, 9PM.

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'SING IF YOU CAN'; watch if you dare

Do you remember Distraction, the Channel 4 gameshow hosted by Jimmy Carr, where contestants answered general knowledge questions while being distracted in painful ways? ITV have taken that basic concept and merged it with karaoke for new Saturday night series Sing If You Can, hosted by love-or-hate comedian Leigh Francis (as alter-ego Keith Lemon) and X Factor runner-up Stacy Solomon; a double-act almost as inept as Brits flops Sam Fox and Mick Fleetwood. Lemon's is even less amusing when his dependency on crudity's removed by the constraints of primetime on a mainstream channel, and Solomon's speaking voice is a mostly unintelligible hitching gasp between keywords.

The concept behind the show is painfully simple: two bargain-basement celebrity teams compete in a variety of games where they must sing-a-long to songs while being put-off by silly distractions. To that end, Jodi Prenger (ironically the winner of I'd Do Anything) sang while covered in snakes; a crinkled Brigitte Nielsen sang while strapped to a rotating wheel having knives thrown at her (they all missed, unfortunately); Pineapple Dance Studio's Andrew Stone and Strictly Come Dancing's Brendan Cole did a duet while being vibrated and gunged (it's more wholesome than it sounds); and, uh, the blonde one from defunct X Factor boyband G4 sang while, um, balloons were inflated and popped.

It's TV for idiots, as you expected it to be. Even the studio audience didn't seem to be enjoying themselves, whenever you caught their blank expressions in the darkened background, listlessly holding studio-made banners expressing their support for the has-been celebs. Even a careful edit to ensure some reaction shots of people laughing or gasping didn't manage to convince you everyone watching wouldn't rather be elsewhere. What exactly is the point to it all? Who cares if the celebrities fluffed the lyrics or stopped singing altogether? That happened occasionally and never seemed to matter too much. Is is a thrill for viewers to see snakes and balloons bursting? I'm not saying silly gameshows need to have a point to be worthwhile, but it sure does help. There's nothing exciting or compelling about watching celebrities (most of whom were trained singers) do karaoke in less-than-ideal conditions. The singing didn't matter and most of the distractions were restricted by what can be achieved in a TV studio. It's hard to imagine what the games will be in future weeks -- other than variations on distractions involving water, gunge, vibration, spinning, circus acts, scary animals, and loud bangs.

Vernon Kaye was originally supposed to present this show, but looks to have avoided a bullet after ITV replaced him at the last-minute. It seems likely ITV knew the show was a stinker (soon to air alongside the all-conquering Doctor Who), so thought adding Keith Lemon would at least make it appear edgier, crazier and a more intentionally frolicsome. It would certainly have been even more boring with Kaye treating it like The Generation Game, but Keith Lemon just brings a different set of problems to proceedings. Francis's track record with comedy ('Bo Selecta!, Celebrity Juice) is puerile and sexual in nature, so Sing If You Can instantly reduces him to peddling a sanitized version of his act. And he's nowhere near as lovable as people believe him to be, on account of the fact he looks and acts like a creepy, grownup, mustachioed Cabbage Patch Doll.

But the real insanity comes from some ITV dope deciding that Stacy Solomon should present television because the public love her. In other words: she was voted I'm A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here's "Queen of the Jungle", so it's their duty to fill the airwaves with as much Solomon-starring material as possible, because her millions of votes equal loyal viewers. It's "Operation Kerry Katona" all over again -- a habit ITV need to kick, as they just make themselves look unpardonably naff and self-obsessed. I'm A Celebrity's Shaun Ryder even appeared as one of Sing's "judges" here (a pointless X Factor-ish element of the show), together with erstwhile popstar Coleen Nolan (cruel compensation for axing her from Loose Women?) and comedian Dave Gorman (who should have words with his agent.)

Stacy's a decent singer and a memorable personality (enormous horsey teeth and a speech pattern that sounds like she's constantly out of breath), but that doesn't mean she'll be a natural presenting a TV show. In fact, it's quite the opposite. Stacy could barely read the autocue and had zero chemistry with Lemon, so was mostly relegated to reminding viewers that the celebs are making arses out of themselves on behalf of, well, their showbiz profiles... but also Teenage Cancer Trust.

Oh yes, the charity tie-in. In what soon turned into a Comic Relief appeal night, Sing If You Can spent an inordinate amount of time plugging Teenage Cancer Trust (along with Argos), and even played a five-minute VT about the charity's work towards the end. It's a worthy cause, don't get me wrong, but it was used almost as an excuse for the awfulness of the show. A calculated attempt to make viewers feel bad for hating a show that's just meant to be an hour of jovial silliness that's giving a potential £20,000 to a good cause. Well, by all means donate to Teenage Cancer Trust, but you don't need to watch Sing If You Can to do your bit in that regard.

16 April 2011, ITV1, 7.20PM

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'DREW CAREY'S IMPROV-A-GANZA'; whose format is it, anyway?

Improvise your way over to Obsessed With Film, where I've reviewed the first episode of DREW CAREY'S IMPROV-A-GANZA, a brand new improvised comedy show that reunites many stars from the American remake of Whose Line Is It Anyway?

Atrocious title aside, this improvised comedy gameshow is a worthier successor to Whose Line Is It Anyway's crown than BBC2's recent Fast & Loose, primarily because it's the same basic show with only minor differences. A svelte Drew Carey (host of Whose Line's US remake) ostensibly takes charge, supported by a bunch of all-star improvisers: Whose Line veterans Ryan Stiles, Colin Mochrie, Greg Proops, Chip Esten, Jeff David and Brad Sherwood, teamed with Jonathan Magnum and Sean Masterson from Drew Carey's Green Screen (a short-lived post-Whose Line improv show), and joined by Kathy Kinney and MADtv's Heather Anne Campbell.

The series was shot at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas, giving Improv-A-Ganza the unshakeable feel of Whose Line Is It Anyway: Live In Vegas. It's pretty much the same format, just with a more impressive stage and trivial tweaking. The biggest change is the lack of a "host" to coordinate everything. Despite Drew Carey's name being in the title, the performers themselves marshal each game, venturing out into the audience to select volunteers to bring up on stage to get involved. The feel of a "live show" is increased by noticing most of the audience are drinking alcohol, and in the first episode Colin Mochrie gets more than he bargained for when he chooses a drunken woman to assist with a game, and the tipsy lady's inebriation ends up being the funniest part of the episode. Continue reading...

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