Upfront with Katie Hannon: RTÉ's bonfire of the Tubridys has been good TV

The problem with Upfront with Katie Hannon (RTÉ One, Monday, 10.30pm) is almost entirely one of aesthetics. Why is the latest in a long tradition of RTÉ current-affairs shout fests filmed in a glorified coal bunker? To ensure everyone looks extra miserable? Obviously, RTÉ is in a pinch finances wise. But surely the broadcaster could have afforded a few extra light bulbs?

The RTÉ current affairs department has been waging war on good studio design for several years. There was that disastrous overhaul of the Prime Time set, which nowadays looks like something from one of the lesser Transformers movies. For a good six months, I tuned in each night expecting to find Fran McNulty replaced by a giant robot and for the programme to have been renamed Optimus Prime Time.

But on Upfront the broadcaster has outdone itself, with a colour scheme of grisly greys and bleak browns. You’re braced to have all the hope sucked out of you before any of the assembled politicians and journalists open their mouths.

As the series returns for a second season, the tone is one of giddy self-flagellation. There’s been lots of excitement over the Ryan Tubridy scandal and the funding crisis that has convulsed RTÉ. Particularly at RTÉ, where the self-immolation has been covered with an enthusiasm bordering on gleeful.

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[ Upfront with Katie Hannon: Strait-laced, a bit po-faced, except when it’s trying to be cuddly. Then it is unbearable ]

That’s the register here as Katie Hannon invites members of the public to explain why they’re refusing to pay their licence (followed by a shorter segment on climate change, pegged on the cream-pie attack on Ryanair chief executive Michael O’Leary). One woman complains about the shoddiness of RTÉ's daytime schedule, an older man says Montrose stitched up Tubridy and that the executives who facilitated his off-the-books payments need to be called to account.

Hannon is a former print journalist and generally effective at keeping the debate on track. Only once does she lapse into the cliche of Paxman-esque Rottweiler interrogator – an archetype that has fallen from fashion in other countries but continues to enjoy currency at RTÉ. This is when she pins Minister of State at the Department of Public Expenditure and Reform Ossian Smyth to his collar over whether people should go to court for not paying their TV licence. “I’m asking you if people are breaking the law, whether they should they be prosecuted.”

Smyth, who was educated at Gonzaga, takes the Jesuitical stratagem of speaking while saying as little as possible. “If people break the law, they should be prosecuted,” he shrugs, as neutrally as he can.

Hannon’s attempt at gotcha moment doesn’t work. However, she is otherwise an effective host. She understands that while her name is on the title, it isn’t all about her. But if she speaks softly, the opposite can be said of guest Ivan Yates, a former government minister and presenter who isn’t above a huge creaking metaphor.

“The deckchair on the Titanic is Ryan Tubridy,” he says, suggesting that the sinking vessel is the broadcaster itself. “RTÉ will go broke ... the only reason they’re not in here worrying is they believe the Government will give them a bailout.”

A chorus of grumbling rises up from the audience. RTÉ's bonfire of the Tubridys has been good TV – but, for all the entertainment value, the last thing anyone wants is more taxpayer cash poured atop the Montrose dumpster blaze.