Steptoe and Son by Ray Galton and Alan Simpson, produced by Owen Bell, BBC Four, 14 September 2016

Filmed once more in front of a live audience, this remake of an episode originally broadcast in 1970 told a familiar tale of Harold (Ed Coleman) trying to escape from urban squalor in Shepherd's Bush yet being frustrated by his scheming father (Jeff Rawle).

Wisely the two actors did not attempt to recreate the vocal and gestural nuances of Corbett and Brambell, but instead provided impersonations - the kind of approach where we could laugh with them, but at the same time realizing that the modern actors were very different. On the other hand we could revel in the sheer brilliance of the Galton and Simpson script - in case we did not already know it, Harold Steptoe is another version of Hancock, the man perpetually looking for something better yet unable to find it. Both men were equipped with the ability to vocalize their frustrations in sentences that were at once funny yet exceptionally sad. Try as they might, they would never escape. Albert Steptoe, for all his tendency to act pathetic, was actually a strong and manipulative personality, keeping his unfortunate son under a tight leash and thereby restricting Harold's prospects.

Producer Owen Bell was highly successful at communicating this relationship to viewers through a camera-style based on the close-up and the two-shot. This was perhaps the biggest advantage of the studio-based sitcom - it might have been visually stereotyped, but it gave an insight into what the characters thought and felt.

Poldark by Winston Graham, adapted by Debbie Horsfield, directed by Edward Bazalgette et. al. BBC One, Aug-Oct 2016

What can one say about Debbie Horsfield's rendering of Winston Graham's evergreen series of classics that has not been said before? Being old enough to remember the 1975 version when Robin Ellis strode through the West Country with his scanty undershirt revealing a hairy chest and equally distinguished sideburns, I was impressed with Aidan Turner's recreation of the same role. Turner has a wonderful gift for smoldering; his features do not change much, but his eyes flash and his lips purse in a way that brooks no resistance from anyone. George Warleggan (Jack Farthing) is an eminently hissable villain, his pasty face and arrogant mien contrasting with Robin Poldark's humanity. The facial and bodily contrasts between the two resembles that of any great melodrama. We know George will get his comeuppance in the end, but we marvel at the extent to which he is prepared to manipulate others in order to achieve his aims.

Filmed on the rolling Cornish coast, POLDARK knows how to make the best use of its locations, filming its protagonists against the setting sun or having them walk alone among deserted beaches or wading into the sea. There are also plenty of opportunities for Ross to be shown either shirtless or sweat-soaked down the mine, moving in close proximity to his fellow-workers in lurid orange light. We can understand from their expressions how committed they are to their futures, despite George's best efforts to impede them.

In truth the structure of each episode is a tad repetitive, with Ross and his wife (Eleanor Tomlinson) having to overcome a series of struggles both mental as well as professional: negotiating obstacles like Scylla and Charybdis so that they can arrive at a happy end. But the production, directed by a variety of artists, is constructed with such élan, with plenty of swash, buckle and romance that we are scarcely aware of its schematics. The BBC used to distinguish itself with these kind of dramas of a Sunday night - there was HOWARDS WAY set in the contemporary era that enjoyed a long run. How pleasant to see the new POLDARK perpetuating that tradition.

Victoria by Daisy Goodwin, directed by Oliver Blackborn et. al., Mammoth Productions for ITV, 28 Aug. - 16 Oct. 2016

On the basis of seeing the first episodes of this Masterpiece drama, broadcast in the UK by ITV, I can freely say that I am hooked on to it. Daisy Goodwin's script is both taut and cleverly written, while the performances of the main protagonists are uniformly convincing. I particularly like Jenna Coleman's characterization of the young Queen - so apparently vulnerable yet possessed with an inner strength of will that enables her to resist the repeated blandishments of her self-interest mother the Duchess of Kent (Catherine H. Flemming), who so dearly desires to assume the title of Regent, aided and abetted by her unscrupulous ally Sir John Conroy (Paul Rhys).

This eight-part drama wears its moral scheme on its sleeve by contrasting the hissable villain the Duke of Cumberland (Peter Firth), with the pragmatic yet goodhearted Lord Melbourne (Rufus Sewell), who admires the Queen yet remains convinced that she has to transform herself from an immature girl into suitably monarchical material, and will try his utmost to achieve that transformation. Sometimes he has to be cruel to be kind, but all in a good cause. In between these two extremes stands the Duke of Wellington (Peter Bowles), and Sir Robert Peel (Nigel Lindsay), both members of the Tory Party (and hence implacably opposed to Melbourne's politics), but interested in maintaining the business of government.

As with most television costume dramas, the sets and decor are both opulent and historically accurate, supplemented by useful CGI shots where necessary. I especially liked some of the cinematographic effects (by John Lee) - especially the use of aerial shots to suggest the insignificance of humanity when compared to the greater business of running the country.

And it is this sense of contemporaneity that lifts VICTORIA out of the run-of-the-mill and transforms it into living, breathing drama. We hear a lot about the importance of "duty" - from the Queen as well as her friends and enemies - and we are led to speculate on what that term really signifies. Is it just a catch-all description masking self-interest, or do people really believe in it? In light of recent political upheavals in the United Kingdom, with one Prime Minister resigning (ostensibly out of "duty"), and the opposition party tearing itself asunder with different conceptions of the same term, we wonder just how much VICTORIA is commenting on the present as well as the past, especially in its concern with politics and its relationship to the country's future.

National Treasure by Jack Thorne, directed by Marc Munden, Channel Four, 20 Sep - 11 Oct. 2016

Newspaper reviewers have predictably commented on the parallels between Jack Thorne's drama and the so-called "Operation Yewtree," in which major celebrities - the "national treasures" suggested by the title - were found to be serial abusers, or used their fame to exploit the vulnerable. The two central performances of Robbie Coltrane as Paul Finchley and Julie Walters as his wife have also received due recognition.

Yet Marc Munden's drama contains so many other brilliant aspects, that don't necessarily focus on the more salacious material but try to explore how and why Fınchley should behave as he did. What we understand from the celebrity and his wife is how narcissistic they are; despite their frequent protestations of love for one another, as well as for their daughter Dee (Andrea Riseborough), they are pathologically incapable of listening. Riseborough's characterization is profound; she does not speak much, but she has a way of looking at the ground, almost as if she cannot face the ordeal of communication, especially with her parents. There is one sequence in particular involving Marie and Dee that sums up the emotional disconnect between them; taking place in a bedroom during Dee's birthday party, Marie emphasizes quite vehemently that she wants her daughter to get better, without understanding in the least how she and her husband are the root cause of Dee's problems.

Munden's production is distinguished by memorable cinematography from Ole Bratt Birkeland. Birkeland is fond of long tracking shots, with the camera moving down lengthy corridors to discover the characters. As viewers, we feel we are eavesdropping on their private secrets - just like Peter and Marie, as they seek to find out what's "wrong" with Dee. Birkeland also uses lighting to reinforce the theme: during the birthday party Peter gives one of his windy speeches. As he does so, the camera tracks slowly to the left, revealing candles at the front of the frame, and after a few seconds settles on Dee, looking once again at the ground in embarrassment, her face obscured by yet more candled. Material things seem to matter more to Finchley - they can be easily controlled, and do not require him to empathize. The fact that Dee appears at the end of the shot emphasizes her insignificance.

Much of the action unfolds in a dream-like world of psychedelic greens, reds, and blues, drawing attention once more to the fantasy-world that Peter and Marie inhabit. Alternatively several sequences take place in darkened rooms, illumined by miserable spotlights; the perfect ambiance for anyone to behave inappropriately without fear of discovery.

Despite its pertinent subject-matter, NATIONAL TREASURE is not really about the abusive celebrity, but looks instead at the destructive ways in which parents - especially those who profess a blameless way of life - destroy their siblings, as well as others, through neglect, or by assuming that people will behave in certain preordained ways. The action unfolds slowly in a series of lengthy exchanges punctuated by occasional musical interludes (by Christobal Tapis de Veer, but remains compelling. This is one of the best dramas I have seen on any medium in the entire year.

Brighton Rock by Graham Greene, screenplay by Greene and Terence Rattigan (GB, 1947)

It might be a commonplace critically to pronounce the first film version of Graham Greene's novel to be not as good as the source- text, but in this case we would be terribly wrong.

John Boulting's film offers a dystopian world of mid-twentieth century Brighton: ostensibly set during the Thirties but applying as much to the time when the film was released. The resort's streets teem with people desperately trying to have a good time in the sunshine, sitting in deck-chairs, eating in shabby restaurants, enjoying rides in the Chamber of Horrors or eating candy-floss. Brief romances wither and flourish; older citizens find solace in the pub. No one, it seems, can think about the future; everything must be lived in the present, otherwise they might succumb to desperation.

In this kind of environment it's hardly surprising that Pinkie (Richard Attenborough) and his gang should thrive. They can offer 'protection' from the chaos - at a price, of course - and should their victims be unable to pay up, they can be readily disposed of. This was the time of the spiv and his henchpersons, who walked unmolested through the streets, carefully concealing themselves from public view and striking when and where necessary.

Harry Waxman has produced some truly memorable visual metaphors for this world. He uses a tilted camera in which the characters' faces are reflected in the mirror; on at least two occasions he has people smashing china figures on the ground. The death of Pinkie's loyal associate Spicer (Wylie Watson) is truly shocking, especially when the gang-leader throws a suitcase of the old man's clothes from an upper level down to the lower level, to rest on the inanimate corpse. Human life is that cheap for the young man.

Yet the Boultings' version of the book also focuses on another level of meaning, as it tries to explore Pinkie's psychology in terms of his religion. He continually fingers his rosary beads, reminding us of his lapsed Catholicism; this represents a source of considerable guilt, but he conceals it beneath a veneer of bravado. Attenborough is quite masterful at this; his face remains impassive throughout, his eyes staring coldly at the camera or boring into his friends' expressions as if defying them to detect a chink of emotion underneath. He believes that the only means to survive in an amoral world is to be a 'hard man.'

In line with the censorship codes of the day, Pinkie is brought to bear in the end, as he loses his sang froid and commits suicide - a final betrayal of his Catholic faith. But the Boultings have not finished yet; in a supremely unexpected moment, they have Pinkie's common-law widow (Carol Marsh) playing a gramophone record of her husband disclosing her true feelings for him. The needle sticks, and we hear only one phrase repeated over and over, so much so that it becomes meaningless - a suitable metaphor for the world Pinkie inhabited.

Owing a lot to the pragmatic techniques of British documentary film=making, with lighting and shadow effects straight from German Expressionist movies of the previous decade, BRIGHTON ROCK is a true classic of the postwar British cinema, as arresting today as it ever was.

The Shooting Party by Isobel Colegate, screenplay by Julian Bond (GB, 1985)

THE SHOOTING PARTY, based on the novel by Isabel Colegate, is one of those low-budget films that tends to be characterized as a "heritage film," offering incidental pleases to viewers who are prepared to make the effort, but perhaps not pitched at general audiences.

Nothing could be further from the truth. Alan Bridges's work is both a technical and thematic masterpiece, brilliantly making use of cinema's resources to comment on British insularity both before and after World War One.

The first few sequences pass by exceptionally quickly: few of the guests at Sir Randolph's (James Mason's) home have time to talk with one another, as they are perpetually occupied in dressing for dinner, eating food, and discussing the next day's hunting. We wonder why they seem so desperate, especially in view of their privileged lifestyle. The answer emerges gradually; they are pathologically incapable of expressing their true feelings. Lord Gilbert and Lady Aline (Edward Fox, Cheryl Campbell) are unhappily married yet stay together for the sake of form. Lord Bob (Robert Hardy) makes himself agreeable to everyone without saying anything of any value. They seem hell-bent on preserving what they perceive as the "old values" that made England great in the Victorian era without in the least understanding how worthless they have become.

The "Hunting Party" of the title refers to a three-day shooting festival, where the aristocrats indulge in hunting just for the sake of it, loyally supported by Sir Randolph's band of servants. No questions its morality, save for lifelong pacifist Cornelius Cardew (John Gielgud). Director Bridges slows the action down quite significantly here, allowing viewers to acknowledge the regular - and uncomfortable - series of gunshots accompanied by tight pans of the birds falling dead. The parallels between such sequences and the forthcoming conflict in World War I are obvious; only in the future it will be human beings rather than birds who will perish.

The action attains a human dimension when we discover that the little boy Osbert (Nicholas Pietrek) is desperate to save his pet duck from the carnage. As he wanders desperately about the dawn- misted landscape before the hunt is about to start, we realize just how destructive humanity can be as they disrupt the balance of nature for their selfish pleasures.

Although Bridges does not exempt his characters from criticism, he manages to introduce a Chekhovian element into the film's latter stages. While no one can ever contemplate a future different from the past, the aristocrats are in a sense victims of circumstance, lacking both the power and self-awareness to change their lives. This element is emphasized in a highly poignant moment as Sir Randolph vainly tries to offer succor to one of his servants (Gordon Jackson), who has been accidentally shot, but finds himself emotionally incapable of doing so, and bursts into tears quietly.

Released only three years after the Falklands Island invasion of 1982, widely celebrated at the time as a great victory for British pride, THE SHOOTING PARTY offers a chillingly downbeat interpretation of jingoist attitudes that prove more destructive than beneficial.

The Pleasures of Turkish Popular Cinema 3: THE PAST IS A WOUND IN MY HEART (1970)

First a film, then a hit pop song, then the subject of a remake for Turkish television, MAZI KALBIMDE YARADIR (THE PAST IS A WOUND IN MY HEART) is a prime subject for filming.

Turkan (Turkan Soray) is a young woman on her wedding-day looking back on a turbulent past of rivalries, lust, and heartache with a family she is never sure about, with lovers who turn out to be false while pretending to be true, of so-called female confidantes out to exploit her, and of perpetually seeking for security despite everything that happens to her.

Her struggles are chronicles in a series of highly dramatic sequences - of love, hate, beating, family conflict, private observations behind curtains (recalling Polonius in HAMLET), public sequences in seedy bars or hotel rooms, and domestic moments taking place in the main living-space.

Director Osman F. Seden, a master at this kind of filmmaking, tells the story of a community under threat, not just from self-interest, but from the desire to maintain past certainties - such as the continuation of the family through marriage - while trying to secure social and material advancement. The struggle is not an easy one; often it seems that people are prepared to sacrifice their loved ones' integrity for the sake of a fast buck. The only character who remains morally pure is Turkan herself - despite her apparently frailties, she is a strong-willed personality who is more than able to stand up for herself, even if she never resorts to physical or mental violence.

While defiantly set in the present of early Seventies Istanbul, MAZI KALBIMDE YARADIR looks back to a mythical past of romance and sentiment, the kind of lasting values that not only bring audiences closer to the action on screen, but evoke worlds that can be easily identified. There is a certain kind of optimism about this film that is particularly endearing, and guaranteed to appeal to Yesilcam's fans; despite all that life might throw at you, if you keep your integrity, then you might be able to find some form of happiness, however transient. This quality makes the film attractive to watch.