Cheat proves that Danny is in Dyer need of new agent
EASTENDERS is now deep into Harold Bishop territory.
Following a frantic nine-minute car ride from London to Dover with wife Linda at Christmas, Danny Dyer’s Mick Carter character was lost at sea and the cast must now all pretend he’s dead.
Everyone knows, of course, it’s entirely results-dependent and if the gangster movies don’t work out, he’ll probably reappear 18 months from now with the explanation: “You were all doin’ me nut in.”
In the meantime, Danny’s trying to stave off the inevitable with a quiz show called Cheat on Netflix, which has so far released eight episodes of this guff, like silent farts in the night.
If you’ve seen one though, you’ve effectively seen the lot, as they all play out the same way.
Danny’s been given a roving commission alongside question-master Ellie Taylor and four contestants who are a London TV executive’s idea of “diverse” and therefore represent every race, creed and colour in Britain, except Welsh, Northern Irish and Scottish, who have, at time of writing, filled just one of the 32 slots.
They’re all young as well, so their unearned self-confidence is matched only by their ignorance, which may be the reason they were considered ideal fodder for this quiz, where the twist involves a secret cheat button that allows them to crib the right answer.
It’s subject to accusations and forfeits if they’re caught, obviously, but it has, at a stroke, almost completely removed the one thing I love about quiz shows. Stupid answers.
A huge shame as Cheat could do with some sort of distraction from the immutable, unavoidable, swaggering presence of Danny, who’s arrived with all his usual Cockney “hard man” blather — “Get ’old of that” — plus the most ill-advised catchphrase ever heard on quiz shows.
“Do you want to say the C-word?”
Like you wouldn’t believe, Danny, for all sorts of reasons, including the fact that, as the admirably restrained Ellie Taylor was quick to spot, once he’s discovered a “joke” it’s flogged to death and back alive again.
“Gogglebox? Or was that Gogglebollocks?” “Robin Hood? Or was that Robin bollocks?” “Breaking Bad? Or Breaking bollocks?” “Grand Theft Auto? Or Grand Theft . . . ”
You get the point. Not for Danny the fast-moving charm of The Chase’s Bradley Walsh or rapier wit of Michael McIntyre on The Wheel.
He likes to put contestants on the back foot from the word go and ask: “ ’Ow’d you unwind? Got any ’obbies abaatcha?”
“I go bird-watching.”
(Pause)
“Are you into tits then?”
On a technical level, this is awful, but as you’ve probably guessed, contrary to earlier suggestions, I’m weirdly transfixed by the sight of Danny attempting to host a quiz show and vaguely touched also, because he’s clearly using the experience as post-Walford therapy, as became apparent when a contestant called Obi said: “My mum loves you ’cos you’re Mick off The Vic.”
“Not my stage work then . . .?” Because no one who saw Nativity! The Musical at the Eventim Apollo will ever forget Danny’s performance as a singing Christmas tree bauble.
I understand his frustration however, and also the reason why he looks so happy to be alive again on Cheat, which must represent a sweet relief from the agony of pretending to give a toss about Janine’s partial placental abruption on EastEnders.
I fear for him though, because there are just one or two people who benefit from having their hard or annoying edges removed by the soap.
Shane Richie’s one and Danny’s another. But if he thinks his new host broadcaster is going to help us forget his most famous role, he may also be in for another disappointment.
For if Cheat serves any wider purpose it’s to remind us that, despite its veneer of quality, Netflix is, with the odd comedy exception, just row after row of programmes nobody needs to pay for or watch.
It’s bloody awful, in fact, which rather begs the question, how soon will Mick be returning to EastEnders?
Put the kettle on, Linda. I think the C-bomb’s about to be dropped.
GREAT TV lies and delusions of the month.
The Apprentice, Avi: “This is not the last you’ve seen of this tall, dark, handsome gentleman.”
The Last Leg, Josh Widdicombe: “We’re a comedy show.” Citation needed.
DNA Journey, John Bishop: “I’m 65 per cent Irish. Jayzus! I knew it, I knew it. That’s some result, isn’t it?”
Not for the Irish it isn’t.
Unexpected morons in the bagging area
TIPPING Point, Ben Shephard: “The Briton Tommy Fleetwood is most famous for playing which club and ball sport?” Louise: “Rugby.”
Cheat, Danny Dyer: “Which US singer was born in 1992, three months after her dad had a top three hit with Achy Breaky Heart?”
Karina: “Elvis Presley.” And Ben Shephard: “In a 1999 referendum, the Australian general public decided to keep which British female monarch as their head of state?”
Anne: “I’ve no idea.”
Ben (with barely concealed contempt): “The Queen.”
TV name of the week was, of course, Hugh Bonneville’s great aunt from ITV’s DNA Journey. Fanny Beater.
Although there’s absolutely no truth in the rumour that was also Hollywood’s original working title for the movie Million Dollar Baby.
Great sporting insights
LEE HENDRIE: “Foden’s always got his head up. But I like the way he just got his head down and worked hard.”
Paul Merson: “West Ham players have got an extra yard of air in their lungs.”
Gary Neville: “Gakpo should get man of the match but Salah’s been the best player on the pitch.”
(Compiled by Graham Wray)
TRUTH bomb of the week, Channel 4, Mucky Mansions: “Katie Price has a huge build-up of horse manure she’s been ignoring until now.” But she’s free to catch up with it at More 4 On Demand.
Lookalike of the week
TV GOLD
ANT and Dec’s priceless hidden camera stunt at a hotel check-in, on Takeaway, which made me laugh until I wept.
Roger Allam reminding everyone he’s always the best actor on camera, in ITV’s Endeavour.
BBC2’s latest sting-in-the-tail episode of Parole. Chris Rock’s brilliant riff about racist yoga pants and OJ Simpson on Netflix’s Selective Outrage.
And Bill Maher at his sublime best on trigger warnings: “We can’t say ‘virgin’? As opposed to what?
“Person experiencing not getting laid.”
Random TV irritations
DANCING On Ice contestant The Vivienne claiming “Drag is fully under attack.” (From who? Wagner mercenaries?)
Jonathan Pearce looking like he’d spent the night on LA’s Skid Row before appearing on Football Focus.
BBC1’s increasingly flaky 6pm News actually leading on Gary Lineker’s virtue- signalling tweets and Alastair Campbell’s partisan opinion of them.
And Casey’s contribution to Love Island’s “talent contest”.
Not since Zara Holland lost her Miss Great Britain title, in the hideaway, with Alex Bowen in 2016, has a trumpet been blown more disastrously.
SATURDAY Night Takeaway, the Murder At Bigwig Manor filler, Dec: “Dermot O’Leary and Judi Love have been killed in cold blood, but who did it?” A television fan?
EXPECT ZIP ON PROBE
CHANNEL 4 chose to mark the 25th anniversary of the Wham! singer’s toilet arrest with George Michael: Outed, a two-part documentary driven by neither a love for the man or his music but by a middle-class loathing of the tabloid press and its readers.
Subtle, it wasn’t.
To the point even that an image of our brilliant, mood-capturing “Zip me up before you go go” headline was accompanied by the sort of sinister music that usually accompanies a serial killer.
There were also some obliging celebrities on hand, like Will Young and Olly Alexander, to pour scorn on the amount of coverage we devoted to the story, the day after his arrest – “Nine pages!!” – which takes a fair amount of brass neck when you’re in the process of devoting two prime-time hours to the same subject, a quarter of a century later.
Towards the end of all this high-horsery, though, an off-camera voice revealed the production’s real issue with the tabloids’ response was, “The language that’s used, the word ‘shame’. Sexuality isn’t used in a positive way if they’re gay”.
I’d be lying here if I pretended there wasn’t a good deal of truth to this claim.
Handily, however, it also absolves everyone else of any responsibility, including television where, well into the 1990s, Have I Got News For You was referring to Harvey Proctor, who featured on Outed, as a “shirt lifter” and Channel 4’s Countdown, which was still merrily including the seven-letter word “poofter” in the dim and distant days of 2021.
Expect a damning two- part investigation into television’s institutional homophobia no time ever.
INCIDENTALLY, on Saturday, was it just me or did anyone else think Michael McIntyre’s Wheel was spinning at about 20G, like Nasa’s centrifuge gravity-force simulator, causing distortions in organ function and facial expressions, until they realised, “Oh no, it’s Carol Vorderman?”