Last Thursday night, the first episode of the American remake of Life on Mars aired in the US. Fans of the BBC version had been looking forward to it - albeit with crossed fingers and memories of so many other transatlantic reinterpretations gone wrong. With an enormous campaign of adverts and trailers, the buzz for the first episode was considerable, the kind of buzz a big bee on a Vespa waving hair clippers might make.
It would be really satisfying therefore, not to mention a matter of great national pride, to be able to say "Oh God, they've RUINED it! What were they THINKING?" But, sadly, that's not the case.
The Americans haven't ruined Life on Mars at all, actually. This is their second attempt, strictly speaking, though I never got to see the first. Set in Los Angeles and with Colm Meaney in the Philip Glenister/Gene Hunt role, it was a pilot that apparently made the network so nervous that massive changes were made. The series was relocated to New York and most of the main players were recast (Jason O'Mara, in the starring role of Sam Tyler, being one of the few survivors).
Described as "strange and exhilarating" by the New York Times, the premiere went down well with both the mass media and TV blogs.
In fact, USA Today called it "one of the best new hours of TV this fall — as it should be, considering it's a virtual scene-for-scene remake of a terrific British original. It's a relief ABC didn't bungle the transfer, but not exactly cause for critical celebration" - which fair made several British hearts swell with tea- and marmite-flavoured pride.
The biggest alteration, of course, was to bring in Harvey Keitel as Lt Gene Hunt. At this early stage of the game it seems a brilliant decision. I thought his performance would be a big mumbling mess of hamminess, but in terms of setting the show within a new cultural context, it works. While Meaney might have been truer to Glenister's lighter, more lovable rogue, Harvey Keitel is harder, the kind of scary New York cop recognisable from so many of his movies - brilliantly bullyish, honestly intimidating. There's something about Glenister punching someone that made it laddish and funny, but Keitel? Not so funny. More ouchy (particularly in the stomach area).
Hunt's very first appearance, when O'Mara arrives in his station, has elements of the cuddlier character we're used to ("It's 1973. Oah, as our Chinese bredderen would say, the year'a'the fist!" he explains to Tyler, with curled finger emphasis to the tummy). But the warning that follows straight on ("You don't EVER waltz in to my kingdom acting the king of the jungle") is genuinely terrifying. Glenister's Hunt was an unreconstructed misogynist - Keitel is more unrepentant thug.
It'll be interesting to see how the show develops. One thing I will say – by means of a visual punch, and a physical representation of time travel, there's not much in Manchester (or Los Angeles for that matter) that could match up to Sam Tyler turning a corner to find himself faced with the twin towers of The World Trade Centre, large as life and suddenly standing again.
Elsewhere, The Girls Next Door returned to the screen in all their bouncy blonde glory. For those blessedly unaware, The Girls Next Door is a reality show that delves into the lives of Hugh Hefner (founder and publisher of Playboy, head of the Playboy empire, extremely rich man and 82-year-old in a smoking jacket) and his three live-in girlfriends, Bridget, Holly and Kendra (three extremely blonde and amenable women under 35 with magnificent breasts). They go about their daily business, attending parties in low-cut dresses, attending photoshoots of new Playmates - though always with the nipples blurred, this is a harmless entertainment show, after all - celebrating all the holidays there can possibly be to celebrate, and bouncing.
And yet, just as the fifth season of the show was beginning, (yes! There have already been four full ones!) the terrible news emerged that Mr Hefner had broken up with middle-girlfriend Holly. Middle in the sense that she was only 55 years younger than him rather than 60. Apparently he woudn't commit to marriage or babies - a hint many may have got from the polygamous living situation, but Holly hoped for more.
Hef is apparently downhearted about the split but quick to point out that there are girls lining up outside the door eager to fill the role of "girlfriend".
And yet, watching the beginning of the fifth series, we know nothing of this as yet. We're still watching as Holly gets her vagina moulded in chocolate for Hef's 82nd birthday, with the immortal phrase, sweetly uttered, "My best physical feature is my vagina, and I think that's Hef's favourite too." Girlfriend number three gets her bottom sculpted in white chocolate; girlfriend number one (or the closest in age, whatever) has her breasts immortalised in 60% cacao. I did rewind 16 times to try and work out whether they'd blurred the chocolate nipples for the sake of propriety, but apparently not. The constantly shifting moral boundaries in this world move faster than Hef to the Playboy Mansion Nurse on Viagra day, it seems. *Shudder*.
