"THINGS change, was all Gerry Adams would say, when I suggested to him, at the launch of his book this week, that his treatment on the previous Friday's Late Late Show was in stark contrast with his original, hand shake free appearance. Indeed they do. Two years ago, Adams arrived as the main man on the country's top television show, to be confronted by an outlandish, own goal, RTE version of the Nuremberg Trials.
The original Adams show was a rude, ill conceived and amateurish ambush, which, not surprisingly, generated waves of studio and viewer sympathy for the guest under attack. It wasn't that Adams didn't have legitimately tough questions to answer. Of course he did. But the form of the show - its smug, sanctimonious demonising and ludicrous imbalance - inevitably cast the Sinn Fein leader as a beleaguered victim. What more could a West Belfast republican want?
This time was different. Despite the fact that the long since broken IRA ceasefire was in place during the ambush debacle, Adams did not face a lynch mob during this, his third appearance on the programme. Setting the parameters of the chat, Gay Byrne decreed that, this time, the talk would be about Gerry as Gerry, not, as such, about "the situation". For his part, Adams was there to promote his autobiography, Before The Dawn.
In fairness, packing Mammy Oasis, Christy Moore, Mike Murphy and Gerry Adams into one show made first rate television. The fact that Kenny Live was about to return the following evening, had, of course, nothing to do with Byrne and his team stockpiling worthwhile guests. Perish the thought. It was just pure coincidence. But, even if it had, the tempo of this Late Late was consistently high. It wasn't quite a classic - it lacked the necessary thunder or exuberance but it was commendable.
Given the depth of feeling over Gerry Adams, viewers find themselves confronting themselves - and their core ideologies - whenever he appears on television. The range of reactions swings from perceiving him as messianic to dernonic. He is neither, but in a media world increasingly fixated on personality over policy, he is (though logic suggests, over exposed) very hot property. Vanity Fair, which has a nose for such matters, is on his case at present.
The guff between Byrne and Adams, with respective pro and anti Adams contributions from Moore and Murphy, took place, for the most part, within the parameters set by the host. Gerry's honeymoon and holidays were discussed and the conversation remained typically chat show anecdotal. By and large, the studio audience seemed keen to redress the notorious attempt at demonising which had characterised Adams's first appearance.
Then it happened. Gaybo inquired about Gerry's financial arrangements and Gerry hedged. Worlds were about to collide. A matronly woman in the audience demanded more specifics. In principle, this was pushy but certainly admissible. But, becoming more specific herself, she proceeded to the nub of her interrogation. Here came her verbal, 200 watt bulb in the eyes: "Who pays your mortgage?" she snapped in anger.
Having survived Castlereagh interrogation centre, Adams was unlikely to be cleaved by this query. But, he swallowed slightly, before replying. "Er, I don't have one," he said. "Humph, lucky you," said the questioner, with a shrug of disdain intended to incinerate her victim. And there you had it - a perfect illustration of the gulf between, what generically might be termed, the self-satisfied, South Dublin worldview and the rather more bleak, West Belfast experience. Ironically, it was a moment that was, at once, enlightening and depressing. Principally though, it was embarrassing.
Then it was time for handshakes. Gay Byrne stood up and shook Gerry Adams's hand ... and then, uncharacteristically, walked over to reshake the hands of the earlier guests who had been relegated to the pundits' seats. It was hard not to think that the abundant handshaking was meant to dilute the significance of the one that symbolically mattered. Leopards and spots came to mind.
Still, the original disaster had been, if not eradicated, at least addressed. Not long after the original, own goal attempt to demonise Adams, there were whispers that the decision that: Byrne should not shake Adams's hand was taken at the top of the tree in RTE. Who knows? Certainly, though he is no Sinn Feiner, a crafty and super experienced operator like Byrne might have been expected to anticipate that insulting a guest only serves to create sympathy for him.
Whatever the truth behind the lynch mob show, RTE's PR on this occasion suggests that they realise that it is the licence paying public which pays a large chunk of their mortgage. Some hate Adams, some love him ... most, with varying degrees of understanding for his position and prevarications, remain content to give him a chance. That has always been the public's position since the start of the peace process. It should have been RTE's all along too. Some things change, others don't.
IF you watched Witness: Love Child this week, it is likely that your view of 1960s Britain will have changed. Swinging London, The Beatles and George Best dominated media attention at the time, creating a lasting glow of liberal exuberance for the decade. It was post war party time, a shimmering era of abandon and hope. Not for everybody, it wasn't.
This first episode of the return of the series was a documentary about the thousands of single parents, who, as London swung, The Beatles beatled and Best bamboozled Europe's best defences, were forced to give up their babies for adoption. The storm troopers of the pressure groups were, not surprisingly, the churches. But they could only act with society's approval, and British society of the period clearly approved.
It made you realise that, in the 1960s, there were underworlds which had nothing to do with the Krays or experimental acid rock. Teenage girls who became pregnant were banished to this purgatory of 200 mother and baby homes gynaecological gulags, where they would endure prison conditions to supply babies for "proper" married couples. Cutting tearful recollections with giddy, period pop like The Hippy Hippy Shake magnified the discrepancy between real reality and media reality.
There was talk of the most used contraceptive practice of the time, coitus interruptus, a Russian roulette manoeuvre, which requires timing, under pressure, more exquisite than an Eric Cantona pass or a Frank Sinatra song. Inevitably, as at Dunkirk, some of the withdrawals were too late. Women, now well tucked into middle age, spoke of the consequences.
"Sometimes there would be a crocodile of 15 or 20 pregnant women marched late to church and forced to leave early, so as not to offend the other church goers," said one. The camera fixed on crucifixes and grottos, lingering to let the imagery burn to the bone. Strangely, it was like watching an Irish made documentary. It could have been a slowed down Alan Gilsenan. But in secular Britain, this was unusual indeed.
The awful moment of severance still haunts many of the women 30 years later. Grief stricken at the loss of their babies, they can function fine in the world, but the scars bleed easily. Midwives - never was the term so apt - recounted the despair of the teenage mothers and the joy of the new parents. Often, just a corridor separated such agony and ecstasy. Somebody used the word "medieval about the period. "The medieval Sixties" . . .? Things change, alright.
WELL, some things do. Others like The Legacy of Reginald Perrin, are just resuscitated and rethreaded. The main problem for this reworked sitcom is that its eponym is dead So of course, is the period - the 1970s - in which Leonard Rossiter, as Reggie, exploited the absurd hierarchies and ultimate meaninglessness of much modern work. Now, Reggie's foils are all unemployed and haven't found much meaning in that either.
So, the set up: all the past cast members are summoned for the reading of Reggie's will. (Reggie has been killed by a falling billboard, which advertised the insurance company with which he was insured.) They will each receive £1 million if they can prove, to the solicitor's satisfaction, that they have done "something absurd". The original writer, David Nobbs, relies heavily on once original jokes and catchphrases. Clearly, he didn't get where he is today without relying heavily on once original jokes and catchphrases.
And so it goes. Unlike The Late Late Show's corrective re run, this one would dearly like to capture the spirit of the original. In a cliche, it is, of course, Hamlet without the prince. But, dubious as the idea may be, the real concern must be that 1990s British sitcoms (appallingly feeble beside the best US ones) are so poor that a lame version of a 1970s hit will still better most of today's originals. It won't be quite "Super, Reggie" - but nostalgia buffs will get a few laughs.
FINALLY, two Irish language programmes which debuted this week: Leargas and Beo le Bridog. The former is a subtitled documentary series. The latter, if my Irish hasn't completely died, translates as Alive With Young Bridie. Anyway, Beo had a sort of Celtic supper club ambience of music and chat and was amiably presented, in confidential, late night tones, by Brid Og Ni Bhuachalla, wearing a very snazzy little black number. If legs as Gaeilge is your ideal nightcap, then Brid Og is your man.
Leargas, presented by Pat Butler, used the Schindler's List theme music over horrific pictures from Bosnia. Strangely, while music heightened the sadness of the slaughter, it was anaesthetising in regard to its ghastliness. But this was a valuable little documentary, reminding us of the fragility of political and social constrictions. However, it was inappropriately framed in a slot sandwiched between a soap opera and a fashion magazine.
Irish language programmes have regularly been among the best of RTE's output in recent years. Subtitling may irritate some purists, but if it holds an audience, that's fine. Ms Ni Bhuachalla's chat show included tiny snippets of English, but it was no Trom agus Eadrom. In broadcasting terms, it is certainly sexier than Liam O Murchu, but an almost exclusively Irish language chat show cannot expect to be a ratings topper. Things change, but not that much.