You don't have to be 'Mad Men' to work here, just a bit paranoid

TV REVIEW: THE HOUR (BBC2, Tuesday) is the BBC’s attempt to capture some of the mid-20th-century glamour that has been the fuel…

TV REVIEW: THE HOUR(BBC2, Tuesday) is the BBC's attempt to capture some of the mid-20th-century glamour that has been the fuel for Mad Men's fire; these, though, are two very different beasts. Mad Mentakes place in the sleek, groomed 1960s offices of an advertising agency; The Hourhas confined itself, at least in its first episode, to the musty dankness of the BBC's corridors in the 1950s, which have all the drab postwar appeal of a bomb shelter.

The plot revolves around the team on an ambitious new current-affairs show, which hopes to shake up the broadcaster’s approach to television news. Freddie Lyon (played by Ben Whishaw) is a firebrand idealist, doing his level best to change the world and infuriate his colleagues; Bel Rowley (Romola Garai) is a glamorous producer working twice as hard as her male colleagues to make her way in the world; and the vulpine Dominic West plays Hector Madden, the face of the news show.

Elements of a dark conspiracy are slowly unveiled when the murder of a leading academic in the Underground is covered up by government agencies. As the conspiracy starts to take shape and cigarettes are smoked furtively in doorways, there are echoes of the excellent TV version of Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy.

With one eye on the grit and one eye on the ratings, the production can't fully commit itself to rooting around in the shadows. In scenes where there should be genuine menace, an odd soundtrack of vibraphones and slapped piano chords lightens things, and wouldn't sound out of place in an episode of Scooby-Doo.

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The script is snappy and smart, though, and the casting seems spot on. Romola Garai has the persuasive allure of Kate Winslet, and Ben Whishaw is irritatingly charming in the lead role. There is something about Dominic West that makes him seem to fill up the screen; one wolfish grin is enough to convince you that when they coined the word "cad" they had West in mind. It takes a while to shake off the ghost of McNulty from The Wire, but there is no mistaking his lecherousness when a girl brings him a coffee.

The conspiracy element, though, is hyped up, with breathy pronouncements and dire, opaque warnings. On the whole, this is shaping up as solid entertainment; here’s hoping the ensuing episodes put more dramatic meat on the bones.

IT WAS SOMETHING of a boon for the BBC to start The Hourin a week when the media's role is under such scrutiny. However, it was also difficult to tear yourself away from the real-life drama taking place live on the news channels. The scope of the News International scandal seems to be eclipsing all others, though even in a different week, the most recent instalment of Dispatcheswould probably provoke little more than a muted reaction. In How to Buy a Football Club(Channel 4, Monday), the investigative team posed as an Indian consortium keen to invest in an English Football League team. No harm there, but the consortium said they wanted to buy two teams – which would breach football regulations – and they found a company more than willing to help make this happen, London Nominees. Among its key players are John Sim (a close friend of Alex Ferguson) and Bryan Robson. The pair were seen telling the consortium that the best way forward is to buy a team and then get players on loan from larger teams (which is standard practice), and that Sim and Robson's connections with football luminaries such as Alex McLeish, Harry Redknapp and Alex Ferguson can easily make this happen – for a price.

The documentary was strangely unfulfilling. It failed to land any real knockout blows, other than to reveal that London Nominees was willing to arrange a system to get around the ban on owning more than one club. Robson was forthright in his opinion that football is no longer a sport, “it’s a business”. It’s worrying, if not surprising, to see just how complex the paper trail is for club ownership, and you don’t have to look far and wide to find football club owners of dubious character. This film was a toothless affair, though, and is unlikely to be giving the FA sleepless nights.

THERE ARE WEIGHTIER matters in this world to deal with than sharp practices in football – such as who will be Britain and Ireland's Next Top Model(Sky Living, Monday). The show has expanded its franchise, and it rolled into Dublin on a blustery night so that Elle Macpherson could cruise the streets looking for the next Erin O'Connor. At least that was the theory. Instead, viewers got a few minutes' chat between Macpherson and the local modelling experts Ronan and Yvonne Keating an the Clarence Hotel before Macpherson donned her bulletproof sunglasses to stalk the floors of a department store like one of the long-limbed alien craft from War of the Worlds. (Incidentally, the shop stocks her range of lingerie, and Macpherson is not above heckling the crowd to buy some. She'll go far, that one. All the way to Moore Street.)

But back to Ronan, who had clearly done his research, and was sheathed in a leather jerkin that looked fresh from the set of Game of Thrones. Where will she find her perfect Irish girl, asked the strangely personality-less Macpherson. "Grafton Street: it's where we all hang out," enthused Ronan. "It's got the best shops, the best restaurants. The young, cool kids all hang there." So now you know.

GAY BYRNE'S latest show, For One Night Only(RTÉ2, Friday), has been hitting the right notes. It's a breezy, comfortable format of a one-on-one interview broken up with musical performances, focusing each week on one celebrity guest, with Byrne's inimitably steady hand on the tiller.

Imelda May got the treatment last week, and deployed her charm and talent in full, which is quite something to behold. This week it was the turn of Bob Geldof, who has just been added to the bill at Electric Picnic.

The most entertaining section was Geldof and Byrne recalling the former's first appearance on the show, when he "scandalised the nation", according to Byrne, by saying he wanted to "get rich, get famous and get laid". He infuriated viewers then with his arrogance – Geldof told Byrne that he was convinced he "would never be on television again, so this was it" – but he swore to be back on the show in a year with a number one hit, much to the scorn of Gaybo. "So, one year to the week, we were back with that song, Rat Trap,at number one," Geldof told Gay, before dropping his voice to a reverential whisper: "So f**k you."

In fairness to Byrne, he took it all on the chin (no doubt he was expecting this most well-intentioned of blows) and responded with a boisterous: “After all I’ve done for you, that is poor repayment. But I understand, Robert; you were angry.”

Things took a turn for the serious later on, as Geldof matter-of-factly discussed how he considered suicide in the wake of Paula Yates’s death. It was honest and eloquent, and handled with the lightest of touches by Byrne. Good television, great stories and plenty of charm.

tvreview@irishtimes.com

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What a performance by Rupert Murdoch in front of the Commons culture, media and sport committee this week, brilliantly channelling Junior Soprano. Dispatches: How Murdoch Ran Britain(Channel 4, Monday) will examine how the media mogul reached his position of power.