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Refusing to fold - even when the chips are down
Gavin Corbett



WHENEVER I watch anything on TV3, a kind of selfdefence mechanism kicks in whereby, no matter how depressing the thing I'm watching is, I just laugh through it anyway, a function that came in especially handy during the channel's coverage of last week's San Marino-Ireland match. I had to laugh too through Mad Dog, a flyon-the-wall about loyalist kingpin Johnny Adair's life in exile. It was hard not to, in fact, because Adair himself spent most of the film laughing: at his own outrageous anecdotes, at his barmy neo-Nazi friends, at the madness of the situations he kept finding himself in, and, probably on a subconscious level, at how inherently ludicrous a person he is. Put it this way: if Adair saw this programme as a way to justify his Mad Dog soubriquet, he succeeded - in looking like a particularly thick King Charles Spaniel.

There were so many scenes in this film that will stick in the memory, but what I thought was most interesting about it was that, not only did it succeed in showing the contradictions of Adair the man, but also the contradictions of a political worldview that isn't about politics at all but ignorance and hatred. Adair, an avowed white supremacist, for instance, professed his liking for UB40, a leftwing, multi-racial reggae band, and despite all the talk from loyalists about Scotland being their spiritual homeland, he admitted that Ayrshire, where he was in hiding, didn't feel like home.

Credit is due to interviewer Donal McIntyre for coaxing out another side to Adair, although there was the constant nervous tingle throughout that his subject might blow up at any moment at being interviewed by a southern Irishman. McIntyre's nationality was only alluded to once when Adair laughingly (naturally) chided him for not being "a braveheart;

you're an Irish Celt, Donal". Funny, I thought McIntyre was a Scottish name.

For a 'personality' reporter, McIntyre kept a surprisingly low profile in his film, a tack that Louis Theroux is unlikely ever to take in any of his own very idiosyncratic documentaries. The first of his new series for the BBC was Gambling in Las Vegas, in which Theroux's targets for exposure were the slimy lizards employed by Vegas casinos to court wealthy chronic gamblers.

To truly appreciate how awful these people are, you had to gauge them by how pathetic their victims were. One woman, a retired doctor named Martha, estimated she had lost $4m on the slots in seven years - while denying she even had a problem. Hovering over her shoulder were casino staff happy to tell Theroux, with perfectly straight faces, that Martha was the casino's "favourite" guest. Their tactics, and those of one or two other unscrupulous shits that Theroux met along the way, resembled nothing so much as those of paedophiles grooming children. Theroux, as ever, played a brilliant game of misrepresentation throughout.

It's just not his way to browbeat the bad guys until they break. More, to win the confidence of tormentor and victim alike and allow the foibles of each to reveal themselves to the viewer, while signalling his disapproval with a variety of disbelieving facial expressions.

RT�?'s Hidden History series distinguished itself again with Bloody Sunday: A Derry Diary, an account of the progress of the recent Saville inquiry that also recounted, in pretty thorough detail, the events of Bloody Sunday itself. The fact that it was narrated by Margo Harkin, an eyewitness to the events, made it especially personal. It developed an unexpected twist about an hour in, when Harkin revealed that, on the day of the tragedy, she had seen someone shoot at British soldiers from a block of flats, a piece of evidence she had found psychologically unable to reveal to Saville until the winding down of the inquiry eventually forced her hand. What bearing this detail will have on the final tribunal report won't be known until it is published in 2008 at the earliest, but until then this complex and passionate informal examination provided plenty of food for thought.

Plenty to mull over too in Muintir Na Mara, though in a gentler, cudchewing kind of way, being as it is a travelogue about coastal Co Cork that - if the first episode's anything to go by - is as meandering and storied as that 450-mile shoreline itself. It's a winner, done in that lovely TG4-on-location style that makes you want to spend every summer holiday for the rest of your life in Ireland, and presented by a very laid back and personable host in Kris Kristofferson lookalike Padraig �? Duinnín.

Finally, in further travel news:

Iarnróid �?ireann now offers train routes to Costa Rica direct from Ireland. That's what it said at the end of No Frontiers: "from Dublin via Heuston". Not via Houston, USA. "Via Heuston". Come on guys, priorities: get the DublinCork route sorted out first.

Reviewed Mad Dog Thursday, TV3 Louis Theroux:

Gambling in Las Vegas Sunday, BBC2 Bloody Sunday:

A Derry Diary Tuesday, RT�? One Muintir Na Mara Sunday, TG4 No Frontiers Tuesday, RT�? One




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