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Park Avenue, too, was an investigation of political influence: the influence of private wealth on American politics. It drew a grim portrait of both present and future — grim, that is, unless you happen to be one of the super-rich Republican Manhattanites who live at No. 740 Park Avenue, an apartment building devoted to billionaires. We were taken on a brief visit to the South Bronx (at the northern end of Park Avenue) in order to compare its miserable poverty with the stacked-up fortunes on Manhattan — but this field trip was the work of a few moments; once it was out of the way the film got on with its real purpose: to rootle about in the bank accounts of the very wealthy very few. Unfortunately, the reek of agenda had overpowered the content and spoilt the programme — I’m a soppy old sod, but even I couldn’t stomach the whiff.
We did learn a couple of useful money-saving strategies that I will repeat here for any billionaire readers who missed them: (1) only tip your doorman $50 at Christmas, and (2) fund a political party to cut your tax bill. Scribble those down on your ‘to-do’ list.
Clambering out of the quagmire, I washed my face, straightened my tie and set off to find Sir David — but then stumbled headlong over Peep Show (Sunday, Channel 4) and simply couldn’t resist it. Peep Show has had seven previous series. Seven! How can it still be this good? Why hasn’t it become stagnant, self-consciously wacky or dulled by the dead-eyed stares of contractually obliged actors?
The answer, I suspect, is that boredom, lunacy and frustration have always been the cornerstones of its success. Mark (David Mitchell) has always worn the same expression: ‘I do not belong here. Please get me out of this dump. I should be presenting a quiz show on Radio 4.’ Jez (Robert Webb) has always skirted the fringes of crazy — threatening his therapist with his knob comes as naturally as eating two curries in a row. Because unlikely events and worst-case scenarios have always occurred, they will never be queried — the sudden and unlikely death of Mark’s rival, for example, doesn’t seem like the invention of a desperate writing team, but absolutely typical of Mark’s outrageous fortune. Peep Show is hilarious.
And so, 60 Years in the Wild. Of all three films, and of their ceaseless pleasures, these are the two moments I will mention: the bit when Sir David was whizzing along in a speedboat next to the flying greylag geese and he whooped and said, ‘Look at them! Isn’t it wonderful?’ (I had to stick my pen in my ear to stop myself from blubbing), and the bit when he created life on earth. You missed it? Well, he held up a dinosaur’s bone and the dinosaur grew round it, blinked, snatched a mouthful of foliage and walked away. I could have believed my eyes.
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