Posts Tagged With 'Ian McShane'


Posted in L is for... by TV Cream | 5 Comments »

The BBC Trust meets to consider their response to the government's Digital Britain report. "Yes, but is there any scope for divvying?"AH, THE gentle swish of a watercolour paintbrush, the chiming tinkle of an endlessly hummable signature tune…the smell of an ace, if preposterous, classic. LOVEJOY was the business, despite its titular hero being a blackguard, a cheat, a rogue and a sporter of the Phil Collins Jacket And Jeans. IAN MCSHANE was your avuncular antiques dealer, running juvenile amok in East Anglia with PHYLLIS LOGAN (posh love interest Lady Jane), DUDLEY SUTTON (dandied loon Tinker) and CHRIS JURY (hapless klutz on motorbike Eric). Each week the gang fell foul of ludicrous plot devices, ancient earthenware, foreign crime syndicates, a man from the council, MALCOLM TIERNEY (Charlie Gimbert) and inclement weather. First series ended with our man being sent to prison, only to emerge five years later with a bouffon and a propensity for wearing Motorhead T-shirts, driving a car called Miriam and helping out old ladies in peril from marginally less ethical dealers. Show then gained a huge following and, weirdly, a huge currency amongst the luvvie community, with the likes of JOHN GIELGUD and JOANNA LUMLEY showing up for a bit. Inevitably ran out of steam towards the end, with McShane apparently calling the shots and the likes of Logan and Dury pissing off as a result. Still, at its peak it was nonsensical wonderment, especially the bits where Lovejoy talked straight to camera a la Francis Urquhart and Garry Shandling.

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Sitting Target

Posted in S is for... by TV Cream | No Comments »

Oliver Reed and Ian McShane peg it out of choky and hang around Clapham Junction waiting to make their move for the continent. Meanwhile Reed’s missus Jill St John gets herself up the duff, prompting Reedy to blow their cover by going after her, mowing down motorbike cops amidst a load of burning sheets in a meat-and-potatoes but nevertheless frantically paced gruntathon from the director of the impeccable Theatre of Blood. Edward Woodward tries to stop them. June Brown, Mike Pratt and Frank Finlay are nearby.

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