on Fire. Apple Photograph: Zach Dilgard/Apple
City on Fire (Apple TV+)
Turkey: Empire of Erdogan (BBC Two) | iPlayer
Kids (Channel 4) | All 4
Mulligan (Netflix)
Sometimes there’s no stopping the DNA from past fictional characters seeping into the present. In City on Fire, the eight-part Apple TV+ adaptation of Garth Risk Hallberg’s 2015 novel, created by Josh Schwartz and Stephanie Savage, the young student character, Sam (Chase Sui Wonders), practically vibrates with Penny Lane from Almost Famous energy.
Charismatic cool chick Sam bewitches Charlie (Wyatt Oleff), who himself is reminiscent of AF’s naive William. Charlie comes across Sam in a record shop when he’s in New York to see a therapist (his father died on 9/11). While the scenes function as High Fidelity-esque, indie-kid schmaltz (“From now on, Charles, you’re going to be my project”), they’re technically flashbacks. City on Fire opens with Sam being shot in Central Park on the Fourth of July. Who wants Sam silenced? And how is she connected to a series of fires around the city?
Hallberg’s novel, which garnered a $2m advance and thumped in at 944 pages, is set in the 1970s, but this series is repositioned in the early 00s. With a track from the Walkmen here, a namecheck for the Libertines there, and Jesse Peretz (Girls) co-directing, the sense is of a counterculture thriller (sex, drugs, addiction) for the Meet Me in the Bathroom generation. There’s a focus on everything from race (a prominent black character, played nicely by Xavier Clyde, is mistaken for a waiter at a party) to the imploding lives of the super-rich (Jemima Kirke and Ashley Zukerman play a fragmenting couple). The anti-establishment fires and explosions echo the Bonfire of the Vanities theme of uptown/downtown NYC worlds colliding.
It all becomes a mite stodged up – a veritable bottleneck of competing narratives. It doesn’t help that Nicky Chaos (Max Milner), one of the rebel rockers Sam is obsessed with in flashback, is a cringeworthy Iggy clone (why are fictional musicians so difficult to write?). In fact, too many of the counterculture scenes come across like an attempt to redo Less Than Zero with lethargic hipsters. If you can forgive that, there’s some nifty dialogue and performances to enjoy. Kirke, as a beleaguered Manhattan alpha, is excellent; so too is John Cameron Mitchell (co-creator/star of Hedwig and the Angry Inch), playing against type as a flinty power-suit.
In the run-up to today’s Turkish elections, Gabriel Range’s two-part BBC Two documentary Turkey: Empire of Erdogan probed the mindset of the country’s president, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, the leader who has retained power for two decades.
Beginning with scenes of rubble and devastation after February’s earthquake, it draws on an extensive range of commentators, journalists and Turkish politicos to document Erdoğan’s dominance. Born into an impoverished religious family, he established himself as the voice of ordinary Islamists pitted against the secular elite rulers and the ruthless military. Imprisoned (for publicly reciting dissident poetry), he still managed to rise to power, his pro-western stance further burnishing his international respectability.
Narrated by David Morrissey, the series goes on to scrutinise Erdoğan’s vice-like grip on power. His increasingly dictatorial stance. The stifling of dissent (there’s still almost no independent media in Turkey). The quashing of not only military coups but also political opponents and peaceful protest. The unexplained wealth. The military manoeuvres in Syria. The vote-rigging. The far-right alliances. The blatant lunges for absolute power. Even Erdoğan’s insistence that he is fighting against foreign interference and the “deep state” is the classic “us and them” rhetoric often used by authoritarian/strongman leaders.
As forecast, will Erdoğan now finally be unseated? Some of those interviewed here weren’t entirely counting him out. By the end of the two hours, I still wasn’t sure I’d wholly seen Erdoğan (as a man, he remains elusive – a shadow guttering on a wall), but this is a compelling examination of power and the ruthless resolve to hold on to it.
There’s a real skill to exploring troubled, deprived worlds and ensuring your subjects emerge recognisably human and not caricatures to be demonised and gawped at. Bafta-winning Paddy Wivell’s three-part docuseries Kids (Channel 4) – an absorbing look at young people in the care of Coventry children’s services and their families – manages it.
We meet Xorin, a 17-year-old returning to live with his mother, Kelly, having been moved to Wales after being exploited by a drugs gang. You can imagine how tattooed, nose-ringed Kelly might once have fared on Benefits Street. Here, she’s given space to be everything from emotional (about the family breakdown) to resourceful (she went without food and electricity to keep her home) to defiant, shouting at TV images of Boris Johnson (“Fucking tax the rich bastards!”). Although damaged by his experiences, Xorin is contemplative and wry. Putting down his vape to play football again, he succinctly critiques his performance: “My fitness is bollocks.”
In the same episode, 19-year-old Annabelle vows to give her newborn son the childhood she never had (“so that’s not taken away from them”) with a gentle passion that makes the screen shimmer. The remaining episodes (all on streaming) deal with leaving care and issues of identity. Deceptively unassuming in tone, Kids crystallises a simple truth: childhood scar tissue doesn’t conveniently disappear.
Over to Netflix for the new 10-part adult animation Mulligan, created by Robert Carlock and Sam Means (Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt) and… woah, all these names!
The premise: after foiling an alien invasion, a demolished, barely populated Earth appoints a jock US president (Nat Faxon), who is helped by a sweet pageant queen (Chrissy Teigen) and manipulated by a corrupt senator (Wayne’s World’s Dana Carvey). Elsewhere, the cast includes Tina Fey, Sam Richardson (Veep), Ayo Edebiri (The Bear) and Daniel Radcliffe (he was definitely in something… give me a minute).
Never mind the star power – is it funny? Short answer: yes, albeit a tad dated. With an underlying eco theme, Mulligan has Futurama-style animation, while the humour (“Now we rebuild. Or whatever”) is an uber-sarky mashup of Armando Iannucci’s Avenue 5 and executive producer Fey’s 30 Rock (her lovelorn scientist character is essentially a post-apocalyptic Liz Lemon). Mulligan isn’t edgy or pioneering, but the cast has fun – and doubtless so will you.
Star ratings (out of five)
City on Fire ★★★
Turkey: Empire of Erdogan ★★★★
Kids ★★★★
Mulligan ★★★
What else I’m watching
Mad Women
(Channel 4)
Who recalls Nick Kamen taking off his Levi’s to give them a wash in a launderette? In this intriguing documentary, trailblazing female advertising executives talk about life in an industry dominated by real-life Don Drapers.
Eurovision Song Contest
(BBC One)
Too late for this column’s deadlines, the final, live from Liverpool’s M&S Bank Arena, is hosted on behalf of 2022 victors Ukraine (who won with Kalush Orchestra’s Stefania). Here’s to joy, tears, Euro unity, ticker tape and song.
Succession
(Sky Atlantic)
Episode 7 of the final series was a masterpiece: horrible gift-giving, grim schmoozing of investors and a (spectacularly acted) couples row on a balcony that felt like a mutual nuking. Is there a best argument Emmy? There should be.
