David Chater

After his successful series Newswipe on BBC Four, the writer and columnist Charlie Brooker has moved to on Channel 4 with a new review show about the joys and miseries of television. In each programme he will be joined by a different line-up of guests to help him to lob bricks at the screen. But the great thing about Brooker is his ability not just to hate magnificently, but to champion the best of television and highlight programmes that might otherwise slip through the cracks. No preview tapes were available because of late editing but, based on past performance, it promises to be highly entertaining.

Michael McIntyre's Comedy Roadshow arrives in Belfast, where he introduces the comedians Jeff Green, Neil Delamere and Kerry Godliman. But the biggest welcome of all was saved for local boy Patrick Kielty, who begins his act by talking about the return of sectarian killing. "It's nice to be back in Northern Ireland," he says. "Now that you're up to your old tricks again. We were doing so well. We were like George Best with a new liver." He goes on to explain some of the finer points of Irish politics ("The Real IRA is not the real IRA. The real IRA is the government") before discussing the state of the economy. "The world is skint," he says. "Britain and Ireland - we're the worst. Britain is the tramp at the Link machine with the cup. Ireland, we're the dog on the string." It's the way he tells 'em.

The golden boys of Gavin and Stacey, Mathew Horne and James Corden, were rewarded with their own sketch show on BBC Three, which attracted a record audience of 817,000 for the first episode. After that, it was downhill all the way. Directed by Kathy Burke, the show was roundly slated for being amateurish, crude and aggressively unfunny. Viewing figures collapsed, with only 434,000 bothering with the final episode. In one sketch, two teachers give a joint lesson to a class on how to draw penises; in another, James Corden keeps shouting "I'm going to come!" while having sex. Elsewhere, he pulls up his shirt and rolls his stomach in front of a burger bar as a form of consumer complaint. The acting is accomplished enough, but that's as far it goes. Viewers on terrestrial television can now find out what they haven't been missing.

If you treat comedies as if they were skewed dramas, it doesn't matter too much whether or not they are funny. I'm not sure I wanted to laugh once during tonight's episode, but that didn't prevent it from being totally absorbing. As always, Psychoville consists of a succession of strange and disturbing scenes, each one more sinister than the last, linked together by a narrative that prevents it from degenerating into a sick sketch show. Tonight, the dwarf exacts his revenge on Cinderella. The disturbed midwife insists on force-feeding her unresponsive doll, and we discover how poor Mr Jelly lost his hand.

Poor old Krod (Sean Maguire) is trying to organise a guerilla attack while his gang stand around bitching about what clothes are appropriate for a dress-down Friday ambush. "Guys, guys, GUYS!" he shouts. "We're here to intercept the imperial payroll shipment, OK? So forgive me if I'm all business, but I'm not really in the mood to play fashion police!" But at least their next venture - stealing a priceless gem from the purple cave of a lonely, bisexual cyclops - is more successful. The only downside is that Krod's girlfriend, the promiscuous pagan warrior queen who refuses to wear underwear (India de Beaufort), takes a shine to one Ralph Longshaft. Four episodes in, and it remains as quick-witted, imaginative, funny - and refreshingly silly - as ever.

Now that Psychoville has given viewers a chance to recover from the shock of the unhinged, it has hit its stride in a big way. Admittedly, I've never been too bothered if comedies are not laugh-out-loud funny, provided there are strong characters and some sort of narrative to carry you along. Right from the start, Psychoville had an abundance of crazies caught up in a sinister story. But this episode - with its psychotic clown, its lecherous Snow White and the too-forgiving mother of a serial killer - is gloriously funny to boot.

The three satirists continue to cast their jaundiced eyes over the recent financial meltdown and the failings of new Labour with a rage that hasn't been seen since the sleazy fag end of the last Conservative Government under John Major. Some of Bremner's impersonations, particularly Tony Blair and Ken Clarke, are almost uncanny, and there is a series of wonderful George Parr interviews between Bird and Fortune, especially those with John Bird as a smooth and unscrupulous banker. But the surprise star turn in the show is Gillian Tett, who - as assistant editor of the Financial Times - gives an entirely straight interview with Bremner about the early-warning signs of crisis. It's when you stop laughing that you realise she was being serious.

The quality of the comedians appearing on this show is astounding. Obviously one or two were bound to be good, but to come up with a royal flush week after week seems to defy the laws of probability. After McIntyre's usual full-throttle intro, Tom Stade - an American living in Wolverhampton - tells a single story about a man selling meat from the back of a van. Paul Tonkinson points out some of the difficulties involved in making yourself a quick sandwich when you're in a relationship. Steve Hughes, a hairy man from Australia, launches an attack on health and safety and political correctness, and this glorious evening ends with the headline act from Shappi Khorsandi, who is that rare thing - a female stand-up comic from Iran.

So much of the enjoyment of television is based on expectation and the willingness to accept something for what it is rather than condemning it for not being something different. I was disappointed by the first part of this comedy-drama about middle-class parents trying to get their children into a good school because it was based on broad comic caricature. But by the time part two came along, I knew exactly what to expect and so it was much easier to enjoy it on its own terms. Of course it is still based on comic caricature, but it dealt with fundamentally serious issues in a breezy way. It may not be a merciless and accurate satire, but it is big-hearted and entertaining.

Everyone familiar with The League of Gentlemen will know what to expect from Steve Pemberton and Reece Shearsmith's latest offering. It is a characteristic mix of grotesque characters and sick imaginings, amid a bracing absence of anything remotely resembling good taste. That's not a criticism, mind. Although billed as a comedy-thriller, the comedy is as bitter as chocolate made from 100 per cent cocoa solids. But in the absence of laughter, there is a twisted narrative like a coherent nightmare, weaving together the story of an embittered clown, a disturbed midwife, a serial killer, a lovestruck dwarf and a blind collector of soft toys. As with The League of Gentlemen, Pemberton and Shearsmith take on the roles of multiple gargoyles alongside a cast that includes Dawn French and Janet McTeer. Once again they have created a fully imagined world unlike anything else around.