You've heard the formula followed so many times before, usually in RTE's documentary slot. First, take an emotionally charged social issue, preferably one set in the not-too-distant past; it helps if the Catholic church behaved abominably on whatever issue you choose.
Then round up a handful of the victimised and heartbroken, and get them to tell their stories, hopefully with a radio-friendly sob or two. Throw in some poignant music - you have three-quarters of an hour to fill, after all - and, if you're feeling arty, a few echo-chambered sound effects (whispered prayers, children at play, etc). And there you are.
An experienced radio man like John MacKenna could probably make that documentary in his sleep. And so, when he came to make a programme centring on the experience of stillbirth and the tragic indifference of the clergy towards these unbaptised dead, he did nothing of the sort.
Yes, The Children At The Bottom Of The Garden (RTE Radio 1, Thursday) has the music and the sound effects, but MacKenna's programme is an altogether more interesting, more literary effort than the standard issue-based documentary. Its multiplicity of voices, including MacKenna's own, surround just one story, the true story of his parents' lost children, those buried, in the stillness just before dawn, deep under the wildflowers near the ditch at the end of an acre garden.
MacKenna, it seems, didn't know about these stillbirths until after his mother's death. So the programme begins with that event, and is peppered with the programme-maker's own resolutely rosy memories of her, of childhood. The other voices are those of actors, speaking monologues that together evoke both the emotional and social settings of these events.
The enduring image is of a woman lying in bed, tiny brown body beside her, the silence punctuated by her husband tearing a sheet, hammering a little box, thrusting a spade into the soil. Other images are more startling. MacKenna recalls the same old sheets being torn to bring to games in Athy, Newbridge and Tullamore; we hear a woman's throaty roar, "Come on Kildare!" and imagine her waving that "lilywhite" flag.
Another character, a sort of local chorus who swings all too easily from sympathy to cruelty, recalls many nights coming home from dances "so late it's early" and recognising the men with little parcels on their bikes, on their way to bury stillborn children in a field or fairy rath.
At times The Children At The Bottom Of The Garden is as powerfully illuminating as a fine novel. If you missed it, you're still in luck: it's repeated tomorrow at 8.02 p.m.
When real lives are so interesting, why oh why do we allow our culture to be swamped by the nonsensical, millennarian obsessions of our neighbours to the west? The latest case for the era's depressing X-files is Contact, the movie starring Jodie Foster as an astronomer in search of a close encounter.
Don't get me wrong: science fiction is ace - I love it in general, though I can't comment on Contact sight unseen. A heightened interest in such fictions in society at large is itself an interesting phenomenon.
But refusing to see the gap between fiction and reality? That's sick. Even a pretty sensible film reviewer like Dave Fanning on Daily Record (RTE Radio 1, Monday to Friday) seemed to discuss Contact as a documentary about something that hasn't happened just yet. "They're out there, of course they're out there," was his judgment.
Of course. Sure it's self-evident. Friday's After Hours (BBC Radio 5 Live) proceeded on a similar assumption, though the panel did manage to contain one sceptic. (It also contained an astronomer amused at the thought of Jodie sitting all night with her headphones listening for contact - "I'd love her budget" was the gist of his contribution.) Get real.
Around here we're used to the sound of our colleague, Sean Hogan, quietly singing light opera. It's nice to think of FM3 listeners getting the benefit of this enthusiasm via his Gilbert and Sullivan series, Strange Adventure (Thursday), though he leaves the singing to the recorded professionals. It's a thoroughly entertaining "cherry-picking" romp through the pair's lives and work, with a strong dose of the less familiar. Refreshing stuff.
