Rory Kinnear

A strong premise for this sitcom by Steve Delaney and Graham Linehan: Michael Baker, an author of rather dry books is commissioned to write a biography of his dead father, a famous comedian of the 1970s. Research duly leads Michael to his father's double act partner, Arthur Strong. Rory Kinnear is great as Michael Baker, but Arthur himself (Delaney) seems to be not so much a character as some cliches about elderly people, wearing a hat. What follows is mainly a procession of Last Of The Summer Wine-style "funny business".

As far as I'm aware, just me, my friend Tim and RT's radio editor Jane Anderson are fans of Count Arthur Strong, comedian Steve Delaney's malapropism-prone creation, who's been comfortably berthed on Radio 4 for years. So it's good of Father Ted creator Graham Linehan to bring the Count to TV (as co-writer, with Delaney, and director) just for us.

Strong is an acquired taste, an exquisitely dreadful old fool, a hopeless former self-aggrandising variety show turn with delusions of greatness. He was always a divisive figure on Radio 4, so doubtless he'll split TV audiences, too. But give him a chance, parts of this are really funny. Who can resist nonsense like "She's choking, give her the Heineken manoeuvre!"

Lovely Rory Kinnear provides some sanity as the son of an old friend of the Count's, who's writing his dad's biography.

In this secular age for the great god TV with its flock now fragmented, Charlie Brooker's Black Mirror dared to show streets that had been deserted for the goggle-box. But if you missed his satire you'll probably never guess the must-see: the Prime Minister having sex with a pig, to comply with kidnap demands and save a princess. We didn't see the actual act - not even Channel 4 could show that - though we got to watch other people watching: in pubs, on hospital wards, home alone, and in the corridors of power. Lindsay Duncan, who once stalked the corridors televisually as Maggie Thatcher, played the PM's press secretary; Alex MacQueen and Justin Edwards, who once stalked them in The Thick of It as, respectively, the baldy blue-sky thinker and the blinky-eyed Newsnight nutter, were in there, too. This was Black Mirror's first problem: these familiar faces didn't serve as reassurance when dealing with such shocking subject matter, they simply reminded you of programmes which were funnier, better.

Its second problem was believability, or lack of. Not the belief that such a scenario could play out, pig and all, but the one that the cops could be so stupid as to accept without checking that the severed finger delivered to the news network did in fact belong to the princess (it was fat and obviously a man's). For a story to shoot off into such flights of fancy, it first needs to have covered a few of the basics.

The satire, though, was good. Brooker is a sharp observer of the world whizzing round him, and being spun in every sense - where a government thinks it can conceal in the time-honoured way only for a little lad with a smartphone already to know everything, forcing a No 10 aide to concede: "It's trending on Twitter." And where a female journalist desperate for a scoop will ping photos of herself in the style of Ashley Cole to a government underling who'll blow what's left of national security on the issue because he's desperate for a shag.

Not a complete failure, then, and I liked the PM''first response to the kidnapping ("What do they want? Money, release a jihadi, save the f***ing libraries?"). I also liked the idea that a jobbing porn actor might be roped in to play the premier (that this fellow would be on some "By appointment to..." file). But much as I wanted to see Michael Callow with his SamCam deadringer wife as our current leader, I couldn't. That's no reflection on Rory Kinnear who was his usual brilliant self. Whatever else he does in his career, he'll always be answering questions about this.

Black Mirror, on a full week ago today but I insist on mentioning it, was brilliant. You couldn't get further away, for the next two Sunday nights, from Downton. Thank God. Rory Kinnear, as the PM who had to (after almost the most deranged twist yet in the mind of writer Charlie Brooker, what fun he must have had in the three minutes after thinking of it) - there's no way round this, "shag a pig on live TV to save the life of the kidnapped princess" and director Otto Bathurst somehow imbued the dreadful, dreadful act with... dignity. Stoicism, then, or a kind of elevated bathos. The whole thing, perfectly shot and acted, said a lot about Twitter and the cyberspace "hive mind", but it said more, near the end, about humanity.

This gloriously mad premise had, of course, the world wanting to watch. London's streets were emptier than in 28 Days Later: everyone was about to watch the PM... do... a pig, on live TV, to order, to save a life. We saw the glee-keen audiences, the pubs and hospitals, fail as the hour of his act chugged on. Heads were turned, hands thrown to eyes. Laughter turned to tears. Twitter-glee turned to shame, just for watching, for having wanted so much to watch. People remembered they were people, not perennial gossipy spectators on life. For something that was ostensibly about kidnapping, execution, pig-shagging and focus-group polls, it was strangely life-affirming. And very quietly, very wisely, very funny.

Black Mirror: The National Anthem was one of the strangest dramas I've ever seen - which would be more of a recommendation if it hadn't set out so blatantly to be as strange as possible. When "Princess Susannah" was kidnapped, the Prime Minister (Rory Kinnear) was told that she'd only be released if he agreed to have sex with a pig on live TV.

An excellent cast lent this rather more veracity than it deserved while director Otto Bathurst had chosen to play it as straight as possible - just as well as there were surprisingly few laughs in Charlie Brooker's script. What on earth, you may be wondering, were Brooker's intentions here? If pushed quite hard, I'd venture that he was trying to explore the limits of prurience. This, however, was not enough to stop it from being bloody silly. Remarkably puerile too - although you probably guessed that already.

Black Mirror had plenty to say about technology as force for evil. The first of three satirical dramas by Charlie Brooker, National Anthem played out like a psychotic episode of Spooks. There was the same clipped urgency as officials strode down corridors, the same fight against a fundamentalist deadline and the same ripple effect as ordinary citizens were caught up in the crisis. It was only the nature of the threat - a kidnapped princess and a YouTube ransom note that demanded that the Prime Minister commit an obscene act with a pig live on TV - which hinted that we were in the hands of a rather more twisted storyteller.

Familiar territory to Newswipe fans, this was a what-if scenario spiralled to its darkest, most paranoid conclusion. Brooker has named The Twilight Zone as an influence but you might throw in Brass Eye and The Thick of It, too. Rory Kinnear and Lindsay Duncan were brilliant as the PM and his Home Secretary, delivering absurd lines with poker faces. It was, perhaps, a little over-egged, waging war on everything from the press and politics, to Twitter, the Turner Prize and the Royal Wedding but you couldn't fault its bilious verve.

Charlie Brooker does not have a very high opinion of people, I think it's safe to say.

The TV columnist turned programme maker - with Screenwipe and its offshoots - turned to screenwriting with the excellent drama, Dead Set, which ended with the entire population of the world turned into mindless zombies, staring at the Big Brother house. Now, his new anthology drama series Black Mirror begins with "The National Anthem", in which the entire population of the world also gathers to watch TV: not as the undead, but as the morally dead, cheerfully demanding an act of sheer cruelty. Well, at least he's consistent.

Sadly, the drama itself isn't, although it is full of such bizarre elements that it may not seem to matter - but it does, because a fantastical plot doesn't excuse forgetting about how people actually behave. The premise is practically designed to incite the rage of traditional viewers who tune in by accident: popular, pretty young duchess, known as Princess Susannah and obviously no relation whatsoever to Kate, is kidnapped and will be killed unless Prime Minister Rory Kinnear, who is nothing like David Cameron, has actual sex with a pig on live TV.

What Brooker is getting at, I suppose, is the way in which the internet now leads the national agenda - whether it's Facebook-led protests, Wikileaks or Mumsnet demanding to know Gordon Brown's favourite biscuit - along with making it possible to view images like Gaddafi's execution, which then filter down into the mainstream media. Over the last few years, it's often seemed as if satire is being outpaced by reality as once-unthinkable events become commonplace; it must be hard to imagine something that takes the news to a higher pitch of unbelievability and presumably that's why they came up with the pig. But to make satire work, you have to take it seriously: in Jonathan Swift's infamous A Modest Proposal (which suggested the Irish famine might be solved by eating babies), he carefully backs up his outrageous idea with statistics and legal arguments. Only by couching his proposal in such rational terms does he best serve his real purpose, to point out the true horror of starving infants.

Yet in "The National Anthem", everything surrounding the central crazy idea is just as silly. Having apparently abandoned the usual principle about not negotiating with terrorists. The PM's advisors solemnly cite online polls and Twitter to decide whether he should or shouldn't go through with the act, while news reporters behave equally stupidly. Meanwhile the public all seem to lose their marbles and, without giving away what happens, their reactions to what eventually happens are ridiculously implausible. As the story plays out, it spirals past satire into surrealism, which is a shame, as it loses any moral force. It's also too long for its one joke (it could have been a three-minute sketch) and ends limply by hypocritically indicting us all for laughing - except it wasn't that funny.

We all know that Charlie Brooker is one hell of a columnist and critic, but he's also barely put a foot wrong when it comes to fiction. Sitcom Nathan Barley - which satirised Hoxton media twits - was not, it's fair to say, a critical success, but one of the main complaints was that it satirised something that was already out of date. If anything, it now feels ahead of its time; I for one would love to see what Ashcroft makes of the Twitterati.

Dead Set (zombies in the Big Brother house) fared rather better, and now there's The National Anthem, the first of a three part mini-series of Twilight Zone-inspired sci-fi satires called Black Mirror. This has been hugely lauded, and rightly so - well cast, well written and with a premise to make your stomach turn, it was something genuinely different from the genuinely different mind of Mr Brooker.

There were a few funny lines along the way (I loved the TV news editor telling his graphics guys to "keep it functional, no Peppa Pig") but this was no comedy; indeed it was played dead straight by the excellent cast which included Rory Kinnear, Lindsay Duncan and Tom Goodman-Hill. And the reaction to the bizarre ransom demand on social networks, on TV and in homes around the country was pitched perfectly - outrage, disgust, jokes and, ultimately, morbid fascination.

If anything, it was all too real for 45 minutes to carry off the "denouement", shall we call it. Every other element of this drama was so realistic that for the PM to actually go through with it for the sake of public opinion...? It was a bit too much to take, in a couple of senses. But in the main, The National Anthem is to be applauded: brave, well-made, and it made its point clearly, concisely and very creatively.

In his preview of Black Mirror (Channel 4), Charlie Brooker offered The Twilight Zone as one of the key influences for his new Sunday night dramas. To the untrained eye, the first of them, National Anthem, looked suspiciously like political satire - and a very superior one - rather than a sci-fi vision of technology's power to distort the world. All the gadgetry seemed only too familiar and the voyeurism all too credible: there's more dystopia in an episode of Spooks.

Rather less credible was the premise in which we were asked to believe, that Princess Susannah - think Kate Middleton - had been abducted and that the kidnappers had threatened to kill her unless the prime minister - think David Cameron: really, please do, as you'll never be able to take him at all seriously again - had sex with a pig live on television. As it emerged right at the end that the kidnap was a piece of performance art by a Turner prize-winner, plausibility was further stretched to breaking point. Could you picture Tracey Emin holding up a police escort and abducting Kate? Or that no one would notice that the severed finger came from a man, not a woman?

Yet none of this really seemed to matter, as good satire often lies as much in the fun you have along the way as in the absurdity of the set-up. And where this scored heavily was in the way everything was played as near-straight drama. There was an inexorability about Rory Kinnear as a PM tortured by focus groups and Twitter stats, whose decision to fall on his pork sword is ultimately driven by how he will be perceived in the ratings, that was both touching and funny. And Lindsay Duncan's understated press secretary - no Malcolm Tucker she - was just a delight. "Don't get it over too quickly, sir," she advised, as the PM prepared for the performance of his life. "Otherwise, the public will think you are enjoying it rather too much." Brilliant.

Brooker is no shrinking violet - though he did rather skate around the bio-mechanics of getting a hard-on in the presence of a pig, so either he has some taste boundaries after all or inside knowledge of politicians' attraction to the trough - so naturally the PM was not spared closing his eyes and thinking of the polls. In so doing, he lost the love of his wife and gained the sympathy of the nation. So no getting any bright copycat ideas, anyone. Imagine having to feel sorry for Cameron.

Black Mirror - The National Anthem review

It's delivered with all the solemnity of a serious political drama, you know, the ones that always have Michael Sheen in the lead (in fact Rory Kinnear bears a passing resemblance), that makes the humour doubly funny. It's impossible to suppress a chuckle at line like "This is virgin territory; there is no playbook" or "Make sure there's no Peppa Pigs".