Paul Whitelaw

ITV's bold new experimental phase continues with what sounds like one of the maddest programmes in the entire history of television. In Les Dawson: An Audience That Never Was, the late, great comedian is reanimated as, it says here, a "staggeringly realistic" 3-D hologram performing in front of a celebrity audience. Preview copies of this remarkable happening were unavailable at the time of writing, but one fears that digital Dawson will be an unnerving creation marred by the uncanny valley effect. But I can't wait to see how this pans out, as it sounds positively avant-garde. And let's face it, we'll all enjoy ourselves immensely if it turns out to be a disastrous folly.

ITV find themselves back on traditional territory with the cuddly comedy-drama Love And Marriage, in which - and steel yourselves here, because this sounds like an outright parody - Alison Steadman stars as a retired lollipop lady and matriarch called Pauline Paradise. The sort of whimsical confection where nary a scene goes by without chortling musical accompaniment, its "hook" is the device of having the various members of the extended Paradise clan speak directly to the audience from their sofas, much like those old Prudential adverts. Other than that it's nothing you haven't seen before: family strife presented as an ultimately positive cavalcade of blunders and hugs.

A studio-bound, single-set, multi-camera sitcom, Vicious is a gratifyingly old-school farce in which thespian deities Sir Ian McKellen and Sir Derek Jacobi have a char-grilled whale of a time as an incessantly bickering homosexual couple. Sealed within their sepulchral Covent Garden abode - they shriek like vampires when the curtains are accidentally opened - pompous actor Freddie (McKellen) and retired bar manager Stuart (Jacobi) tussle waspishly over decades of perceived slights, while never missing an opportunity to mock each other's supposed decrepitude.

Now, these are hardly original comic creations - the vituperative, hammy old queen has long been a staple of popular culture - and there is nothing especially notable about the premise. But that simply doesn't matter when the execution is as strong as this.

Resembling a startled, wounded guinea pig, Jacobi squeals and frets amidst a knowing flurry of camp mannerisms, while McKellen booms fresh insults in that oak-lined voice of his. He also pulls some of the funniest "Why, I've never been so insulted in my life!" expressions this side of imperial phase Frankie Howerd. It's an impeccable dual assault of seasoned comic timing.

Enjoyment is magnified by the addition of Frances de la Tour as their dotty, man-hungry pal. Famously, she starred in Rising Damp, one of ITV's few great sitcoms, and it's tempting to view her presence here as a deliberate nod to the past. Not that her involvement is merely symbolic - she's a peerless comic actress - but you could argue that she's essentially playing lonely Miss Jones 30 years on. Even the dingy brown set recalls her most celebrated role.

Broad and boisterous in the best possible sense (ie it's nothing like that avalanche of horror, Mrs Brown's Boys), Vicious is jam-packed with gags, hitting the ground running with an impressive opening episode which establishes set-up, character and backstory with consummate ease.

A co-write between acclaimed playwright Mark Ravenhill and Gary Janetti, a former executive producer on Family Guy and Will & Grace, it revels in its camp bluster with such benign relish, I doubt it'll get into too much trouble for reinforcing stereotypes. It's obvious that Freddie and Stuart are blissfully happy in their enmity, and it's that undercurrent of warmth - the spoonful of sugar beneath the barrel-load of bile - that make these characters so engaging.

I'm no soothsayer - I've never said "sooth" in my life - but I predict that Vicious will be huge. A hit sitcom! On ITV! Nurse, the smelling salts...

The Job Lot, which, while nowhere near as sharp as Vicious, is a perfectly amiable and amusing sitcom set in a drab job centre (is there such a thing as a bright, welcoming job centre?).

Despite being a single-camera comedy with no laugh-track, it's essentially a traditional sitcom populated by dysfunctional characters and daffy situations. It is, however, blatantly influenced by The Office, not because it's a workplace comedy - Gervais and Merchant didn't invent that genre - but because of the exceedingly Tim-like lead played by Russell Tovey. A bright, likeable everyman trapped in a job he detests - his feelings for an attractive female colleague stop him from leaving - the similarity is compounded by the fact that Tovey appears to have partially based his acting style on Martin Freeman.

While Tim-bot 2000 is mildly distracting, he doesn't detract overall from a show which, given the danger inherent in its recession-fuelled premise, mercifully refrains from sneering at the unemployed. Granted, one of the regular job-seekers is portrayed as a harmless oddball, but it's significant that the villain of the piece is a rude, sadistic and actively obstructive job centre employee played by the excellent Jo Enright.

This character has an obvious antecedent in the monstrous Pauline from The League of Gentleman. She also shares a few genes with Little Britain's "Computer says 'No'" grotesque. And yet despite these visible origins, Enright imbues her with a distinctive, deadpan venom.

What this all adds up to is a derivative yet serviceable sitcom with a smattering of potential. But it undoubtedly succeeds in being an ITV sitcom that's Not Appalling. I still can't quite believe it and Vicious exist at all.

TV preview: Vicious | The Job Lot

No-one would've believed, in the early years of the 21st century, that human credulity would be stretched to breaking point by the arrival of a sitcom power-hour on primetime ITV.

It's Kevin: Kevin Eldon is out on his own

Even if you don't know Kevin Eldon's name, chances are you've seen him many times over two decades in the best of Britain's TV comedy, and now he's getting his own show.

Is the war in Afghanistan a suitable topic for comedy? Well, of course. Everything is a suitable topic for comedy, depending on how it's handled. The problem with Bluestone 42 - a new sitcom about a British bomb disposal unit based in Helmand Province - isn't that it's offensive, it's that in going out of its way to avoid causing offence it ends up as just another bland, obvious, middling sitcom. That is, unless you're deeply offended by the very idea of an apolitical comedy about an illegal war.

As if eager to get the troubling issue of death out of the way as quickly as possible, it kills off a character within the first five minutes. But he's very deliberately portrayed as a roaring idiot whom the rest of the team don't really know or like, thus fudging the issue of whether we're supposed to acknowledge the horrors of war or not. Otherwise, Bluestone 42 is a determinedly light affair focusing on the team's efforts to amuse themselves while stationed at camp.

The amiable Gary: Tank Commander has been here previously, of course, as has the estimable M*A*S*H. Suffice to say, Bluestone 42 isn't M*A*S*H. The lead character is a hapless, cocky Prince William/Ben Fogle clone who thinks nothing of exploiting his rank and supposed hero status to clumsily woo the attractive new female padre. A sweary Scotsman and a tough, straight-talking woman are also involved. It all adds up to very little.

But given that it fails to portray "Our Boys" as selfless saints, it will doubtless upset Daily Mail types across the land. So that's something, at least.

Eddie Izzard crops up in the delayed second episode of Funny Business, in which the machinations of comedy agents and promoters fall under scrutiny. But the focus is largely on the rise during the last 30 years of stand-ups earning ludicrous sums of money from sell-out mega-tours, thanks in part to the heavily monopolised likes of Live at The Apollo.

The most fascinating portion of the programme by far is when a comedy historian delves into the BBC's Written Archive - housed in a modest bungalow in Berkshire, believe it or not - to contrast the earnings of today's top comics with those of the heroes of yesteryear. One particularly sobering revelation is that when Ernie Wise died, he left behind an estate worth over just half a million pounds. In 2011 alone, Peter Kay earned an estimated take of over £20 million from touring and DVD sales. As the formerly funny Boltonian might himself remark, what's all that about?

Derek might be worst thing Ricky Gervais has done

Ricky Gervais' efforts are so horribly forced and heavy-handed that Derek feels more like a cynical exercise in emotional manipulation than the heart-warming piece he's aiming for.

From New York to Broughty Ferry, the picturesque suburb of Dundee that Bob Servant Independent calls home. The TV début of a character previously established in a BBC Radio Scotland series and a popular range of books, this likeable and amusing sitcom stars Brian Cox as a vain, deluded, self-serving businessman who decides to stand in a local by-election. The only drawbacks are his political ignorance, his egregious personality, and his exceedingly dim view of the electorate.

Having previously played Servant on radio, Cox is clearly having a whale of a time in the role, and his relish is infectious. An idiotic, roaring blow-hard, Servant is a welcome addition to our rich history of sitcom monsters. He may even do for Dundee what Alan Partridge did for Norwich. Please don't ask me if that's a good thing or not.