• Much has been made of the replacement at the DCMS of Ed Vaizey by Matt Hancock, whose name ominously once appeared on a document about options for Channel 4’s future which was photographed in the hands of an official – though last week MPs seemed more confident that John Whittingdale’s exit had taken privatisation off the agenda. Less has been said about another new DCMS signing, Rob Wilson, who under the coalition was PPS to Jeremy Hunt and a regular provider of quotes - and news of angry letters he had fired off – to Beeb-bashing papers. As the Times was prominent among them, it was piquant on Friday to find Times arts columnist Richard Morrison excoriating him as “an enthusiastic scourge of the BBC” whose presence at the ministry “could mean a new ferocity” to negotiations over its future. Some may wish to recall (if only mentally) an episode even more embarrassing than his former boss’s efforts at bell-ringing: when Wilson accidentally tweeted a link to porn (“The Ultimate Adult Site Guide”) instead of the link to an anti-BBC complaint he had intended.
• Shy, tongue-tied or antisocial hacks working for PSBs can relax, it seems, as having to deal with the public (interviewing them, for example) is now officially only a minor part of the job: a new draft code of practice for “public authorities” (including public corporations) seen by Monkey exempts such reporters or presenters from something it oddly calls “the fluency duty” - this duty “is unlikely to apply to members of staff whose role involves performing content or editorial functions for a public service broadcaster, such as journalists, programme-making roles or broadcast output”. Why so? These roles “may require interaction with the public”, the code concedes, “but the extent, frequency and form of interaction with the public either face-to-face or by telephone is likely to be limited and thus not an intrinsic part for [sic] the effective performance of the role”. Forward this redefinition of broadcast journalism to, say, John Humphrys, and Monkey suspects his reaction would be very fluent indeed.
• Less than a month after finding a new controller of drama commissioning (ITV had poached the BBC’s Polly Hill, so the BBC’s near-inevitable response was to poach Channel 4’s Piers Wenger), it appears the poor old Beeb will soon have another key fiction commissioning post to fill: Broadcast reports that Christine Langan, much-admired head of BBC Films, is on the verge of fleeing W1A to join Steve Coogan’s indie Baby Cow (having worked with Coogan in her current role on both Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa and Philomena). The tricky and awkwardly timed challenge of replacing her threatens to spoil the summer hols of Alan Yentob, who retained his post as chairman of BBC Films when he stepped down as creative director; and is made harder because repeating the Wenger ploy by raiding Channel 4 for the head of its Film4 is surely ruled out, as this is new Film4 boss Daniel Battsek’s first month working there.
• One day, perhaps, we will discover what sin against the BBC Andrew Davies has supposedly committed to justify his unrelenting punishment, and hear how he at last escaped his tormentors - and it might make a fine Davies period drama, complete with luxury casting (Ian McDiarmid must play the veteran book adapter, but who’s best for Ben Stephenson, Danny Cohen, Charlotte Moore, Harvey Weinstein?) and not a few signature naughty moments. But until then we can only puzzle over why, only six months after the completion of his previous ordeal - crunching down the 1,440 pages of War & Peace to fit into an absurdly miserly six episodes - he’s been forced to agree to more hard labour: it was announced last week that poor Davies, who turns 80 in September, will be grinding his way through Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables, only slightly less massive at 1,375 pages, to provide another insultingly skimpy dramatic digest. There must be a suspicion of harsh treatment and even persecution here, but only when we hear (in three or four years’ time) that the snowy-haired Welshman has failed to break free and has signed up under duress for Marcel Proust’s In Search of Lost Time (total: 3,000 pages) will it be time to invoke human rights and rescue the Kenilworth One.
