In the Critics this week

Simon Kuper on Raymond Domenech, Chris Mullin on Simon Hoggart, Val McDermid interviewed and Kate Mossman on Scott Walker.

In the Critics section of this week’s New Statesman, Simon Kuper, author most recently of The Football Men, reviews Tout seul, the memoir of former French coach Raymond Domenech. This is, Kuper writes, “a story of modern France and modern football” – as well as a “business book in reverse: a study in how not to manage people”. In his account of his years at the helm of the French team (2004-2010), Domenech “constantly breaks footballing taboos by revealing intimate moments behind closed doors”. None of the stars of the French game – Zinedine Zidane, Nicolas Anelka, Samir Nasri and Franck Ribéry, to name only four – emerge unscathed. As for Domenech, he appears not to have understood the young men in his charge. “Domenech seems to have regarded many of his players with contempt,” Kuper notes. What’s more, “Tout seul never mentions the issue of ethnicity but these players overwhelmingly grew up in black and brown ghettos far from the French mainstream.”

Also in Books: David Herman reviews In Two Minds, Kate Bassett’s biography of Jonathan Miller (“one of the great figures of British culture over the past 50 years”); Lesley Chamberlain on Benoit Peeters’s biography of Jacques Derrida (“He buried philosophy and left a unique philosophical example in his wake”); Leo Robson reviews Both Flesh and Not, a posthumous collection of essays by David Foster Wallace (“It is … a shame that there now exists in book form evidence of Wallace as a practitioner of modest journalistic undertakings"); Chris Mullin on Simon Hoggart’s collection of parliamentary sketches, House of Fun (“Simon Hoggart is a very wicked man”); and Amanda Craig recommends children’s books for Christmas.

In the Books Interview, Philip Maughan talks to crime writer Val McDermid, who tells him that “crime is a good vehicle for looking at society in general, because the nature of the crime novel means that you draw on a wide group of social possibilities”.

Elsewhere in the Critics: architect Amanda Levete writes the second in a series of pieces charting the progress of her firm AL_A’s scheme for a new gallery at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London; Rachel Cooke reviews the BBC2 documentary Inside Claridge’s; Dannie Abse offers a poem for the run-up to Christmas, “Pre-Xmas at L’Artista”; the NS’s pop critic Kate Mossman wonders how Scott Walker’s reputation has survived so long; Ryan Gilbey finds much to admire in Peter Jackson’s The Hobbit: an Unexpected Journey; and Antonia Quirke enjoys a Radio 4 series on Grimm’s fairy tales. PLUS: Will Self’s Madness of Crowds.

Raymond Domenech despairs at his team during the 2010 World Cup (Photo: Getty Images)
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Is Danny Baker a “bona fide genius”? Not in his new show

The clichéd decade: Cradle to Grave and Danny and the Human Zoo reviewed.

I’m not qualified to rule on whether or not Danny Baker is, as the newspapers insist, a “bona fide genius”; I gave up listening to the ever more blokeish BBC Radio 5 Live a while ago, and I’m too young to remember the supposedly fantastic pieces he delivered to the NME back in the day (I read that they were even more amazing than those of Tony Parsons, which is saying something, isn’t it?). But I can tell you this: his new autobiographical comedy series, Cradle to Grave (Thursdays, BBC2, 9pm), displays no evidence at all of his talents, brilliant or otherwise. Anecdotes that just peter out. Jokes that fail to hit home. Misplaced nostalgia. Honestly, what’s the point? If you want 1974 – and quite a lot of us seem to, if the performance of Jeremy Corbyn is anything to judge by – you’d be better off treating yourself to a box set of the eternally satisfying Whatever Happened to the Likely Lads?.

The series, co-written with Jeff Pope, is based on Baker’s memoir Going to Sea in a Sieve. It’s 1974, and Danny (Laurie Kynaston) is a randy teenager who still lives at home in good old Bermondsey with his ducking and diving docker dad, Fred, aka Spud (Peter Kay), his kindly mum, Bet (Lucy Speed), and his older sister, Sharon (Alice Sykes). A voice-over tells us, in effect, to forget all about the nasty old three-day week and to consider instead the warmth of lovely south-east London. How decent its people are, how eager to try out newfangled consumer goods such as the continental quilts Spud has pilfered and which now fill the hall of his tiny house like clouds. (Correct: he’s basically Del Boy, minus the Robin Reliant, the cocktail bar and, fatally, the workmanlike jokes.)

The denizens of Bermondsey are not, you understand, quite ready for the new world. In this part of London, bomb sites remain, merrily sprouting buddleia and pink willow herb; men are men and women are women. Spud is horrified to discover that his daughter’s new boyfriend wears – wait for it – white plimsolls, though not quite so horrified as Danny is to find a stranger’s ­penis flapping exuberantly against his cheek when he goes up west to see Hair (needless to say, our Danny was in search of naked girls, not sweaty blokes). If you find this kind of thing funny and (I can hardly bear to write the words) “heart-warming”, then you have seven weeks of bliss ahead. Who knows? Perhaps the characters will go on to debate the virtues of the various flavours of Old English Spangles. But I can’t believe that many people will be so easily pleased. Those who are old enough to remember the Seventies will know that the best of the decade’s own comedy was ten times more sophisticated than this, and those who aren’t – those who have never had anything other than a duvet on their bed, and can locate a naked female or even a flapping male member with just one tap of their mobile – will simply watch something altogether more grown-up on Netflix.

Kascion Franklin (centre) on BBC1. Photo: BBC/RED

Unfathomable BBC scheduling (is it having some kind of John Whittingdale-induced nervous breakdown?) treated us to two doses of 1974 as the summer limped to an end. The second loving spoonful came in the form of Danny and the Human Zoo (31 August, BBC1, 9pm), an almost-biopic drama in which Lenny Henry told the story of his painful start in comedy.

My TV critic colleagues have all been most respectful but, lovely as Kascion Franklin’s performance in the lead role was, I couldn’t altogether get with the show. Unlike Baker, Henry certainly wiped the Vaseline from the lens: his version of the Seventies was clear-eyed, particularly in the matter of racism. But his tendency as a writer is to tell rather than show, which becomes wearying, and the narrative he offered us – success on the New Faces talent show, followed by the self-loathing that came of joining the Black and White Minstrels – wasn’t exactly unfamiliar. An unscrupulous manager with bad hair; parents who think their son should get a “proper” job but are secretly oh-so-proud; Mud’s “Tiger Feet” and Alice Cooper’s “School’s Out” on the soundtrack: such TV clichés really should be illegal by now.

Rachel Cooke trained as a reporter on The Sunday Times. She is now a writer at The Observer. In the 2006 British Press Awards, she was named Interviewer of the Year.

This article first appeared in the 03 September 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Pope of the masses