Snake Hunter: Search For The Giant Anaconda, Five
AT LEAST, Peter Davison got to stick his hand up a cow’s rear-end again. He hadn’t had such fun since playing Tristan the vet in All Creatures Great And Small. Now he was a doctor in
Distant Shores.
He was indeed Bill Shore, whose distance from his fellow man was merely metaphorical until his wife made him relocate to an island. Of course, there’s nowhere more crowded than a "lonely" island, and Bill soon found his snobbish misanthropy challenged by the inevitably engaging and eccentric islanders (yawn).
I yawn for a reason. Written ("and created" - what’s the difference?) by Caleb Ransom, this began as a promising comedy drama. But, while it featured clever writing and craftsmanship, it lost my interest when the stereotypes marched in.
Let’s begin at the beginning, and what a splendid scene-setter for the character, on an Underground train, sitting near a young woman bawling into her portable telephone. Bill notes her blurted number and, later, phones her up threatening to stick her mobile up her arse and insisting her boyfriend doesn’t love her because she’s ugly. Excellent.
Then Bill arrives for work, asking his secretary bluntly: "Nose, tits or arse?" He’s a plastic surgeon: a brilliant one but, as his wife says, a crap human being. She threatens to leave him, adding: "Don’t you want to know why?"
"I’m running kind of late," he explains.
She’s been offered a six-month research job on an island called Hildasay (population 326). This is what first got my interest. There’s a Shetland island called Hildasay (population Alastair) and, I think, one in the Western isles too. But this turned out to be a mythical place off the Northumbrian coast.
Bill snorted at the idea, and promised his wife he’d change if she stayed. Soon, however, he was telling a leaving party: "I think I can cope with a few cabbage-eaters." Would such a materialistic man really countenance such a move? I fear not but, still, on with the story.
"They do say that, if you can see Hildasay from the mainland, it’s going to rain."
"And if you can’t see Hildasay?"
"It’s raining."
Ah, forsooth, the couthy banter. When they (Shore, wife, goth daughter and young son with imaginary friend) reach the island, the couthometer speeds clockwise to the red danger zone: a welcoming committee with a banner; soppy Celtic-style music; sou’westers; accordions; a sing-song in the pub; general rollicking. The island nurse immediately hits on Shore, which accurately depicts what happens on islands when a new man arrives.
However, by the same token, a long-legged islander in wellies eyes up Shore’s daughter, only to be told: "If I catch you even trying to sleep with my daughter, I will kill you. No, I will kill you and your whole family." Unfortunately, Wellies is really after Shore’s wife, and one suspects this flirting will form much of the forthcoming drama (ITV is essentially a women’s channel).
Despite the welcome, Bill hates the place. He’s worried someone might steal his Bentley. He can’t get a mobile signal. He hears noises in the night. As the new GP, he listens impatiently to patients wittering about not being able to bend their knees as much as they used to. Then, to cap it all, he has to treat the above-mentioned cow.
But, despite it all, you know he’s going to change. Already, he’s had sex with the wife ("Prepare yourself for the best 30 seconds of your life!"). Ah, the benefits of fresh air. Distant Shores is almost a breath of fresh air. Ransom has created a potentially great and original character. But what to do with him? Ironically, it’d have been better if he’d stayed in London.
Austin Stevens fancies himself as another original, but he’s straight off the Crocodile Dundee production line. I thought I’d already seen
Snake Hunter: Search For the Giant Anaconda. Turns out I’d just seen dozens like it. If it isn’t snakes on Five, it’s crocs or sharks: there can hardly be a ferocious beast out there that doesn’t have its Equity card.
Not to belittle Austin’s appeal: he’s strong, handsome and enthusiastic. It was his snake that got belittled. First, we were told it’d be 40 times as big as another snake. Then we were told it’d be 40ft. Then 20ft. It turned out to be 17ft. Still, it was a serious killing machine.
Austin, accompanied by dramatic music, wrestled with it in the water, eventually subduing it. They formed a bond and Austin looked tearful as he let her go. He choked: "I’m full of emotion." Full of something, certainly. Which remark - just in case Austin ever fetches up in Shetland looking for 20ft sheep - I retract immediately.
