Tom Sutcliffe

Boy Meets Girl, in which Martin Freeman plays Danny, a nerdy shelf-stacker who finds himself swapping bodies with a sassy fashion journalist called Veronica, is curiously underwritten. I don't mean by this that it's badly written, when you get writing, but that in a lot of places where a line would help it simply isn't there. A gender-swap fantasy, after all, is heavily dependent on introspection, on what it feels like to suddenly find yourself in a body that you find either alluring or disgusting. And for that we need words. At one point, for instance, Danny finds Veronica's vibrator and decides to find out how the other half comes. It's an open goal for the right kind of line, but all we get here is an orgasmic expression from Veronica as she/he flops back sated. In other words, we get a look on a woman's face when the really interesting thing would be the thoughts running through a man's head.

Comparisons are all but unavoidable in the case of Reggie Perrin, a remake of The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin, with Martin Clunes making the bold attempt to fill Leonard Rossiter's boots. I don't know if I can stress enough what a depressing idea this is on paper. A television channel should always have the ambition to create its own fond memories rather than lazily refurbish those from 30 years ago. And if you do go the recycling route you're likely to find that the fond memories of five years ago will probably get in the way. When David Nobbs's sitcom first went out, its bleak take on the purgatory of office life had very few rivals. The remake has to compete not only with memories of its own source, but also of The Office, a comedy that effectively rewrote the rules about how you could tackle the anomie of the nine-to-five.

It really is a bit surprising, then, that Reggie Perrin should work as well as it does. Martin Clunes helps a lot. He looks funny when he's glum, in a way that's sufficiently different to Leonard Rossiter. And the script - a collaboration between Simon Nye and David Nobbs - has some good lines in it. Reggie doesn't work at Sunshine Desserts anymore (though he walks past the sign on his way to the office), but at a grooming products company. CJ is younger and rather less dependent on his "I didn't get where I am today" catchphrase, and Reggie's toadying subordinates have been replaced by an unconvincing pair of marketing-types. It's not a disaster, by any means, which may be the best you can hope for from such an unimaginative commission.

The one that's had the fan-site servers running overtime - Red Dwarf - returned for a three-part special. Watching the first episode I thought there was something a little strange and airless about it, an odd hesitancy in the performances that suggested the comic muscles had stiffened during nine years of suspended animation. Then I realised that the laugh track was missing. I don't know whether one was added before transmission, but it had an odd effect on my viewing at first, as if the performers were leaving room for a reaction that was to be pasted in later. I did add some of my own sound effects though, first of all when Rimmer sentimentally sat down by Kochanski's headstone to read aloud to her departed spirit. "I pray God there's some car chases in this one," he said, splitting open a copy of Sense and Sensibility. And I was provoked to a question. How come Chris Barrie just crawls around on big machines these days, when he's such a good comic actor?

On a good day, Charlie Brooker can make Brian Clough look like Kofi Annan. He's a kind of genius of spleen and when it's directed at the right target it can be deeply gratifying to watch him in action. But Newswipe with Charlie Brooker doesn't work quite as well as Screenwipe, the television-based series from which it has been spun off.

What Brooker promises is a "fun, snarky, weekly digest" to help less committed viewers keep up with "the world's most complicated soap opera" - the news. And when he concentrates on style it can be both funny and telling. To have the visual metaphors used to tart up news reports on "quantitive easing" dipped in acid until only the witless desperation of the endeavour was left was not only entertaining but salutary. There was also a striking contribution from Nick Davies, on how PR companies can effectively manipulate the news agenda. But elsewhere it occasionally strikes you as a one-man Have I Got News for You, and the contributions from people who aren't Charlie Brooker fall sadly short of the cutting precision of the man whose name is in the title.

Tom Sutcliffe Review

One wonders how the first instalment of Horne & Corden would have managed without James Corden's belly, a comedy prop so central to the first episode of their new sketch series that it surely deserved a billing of its own.

The Weekend's Television: The Old Guys

When I looked back at my notes I found that they made me laugh. What it is a little harder to say was whether the lines made me laugh because they're inherently funny, or because six weeks has given me time to get used to Roger Lloyd Pack's character, so I can now relish just how typical of him those lines are. That's one of the tricks a good sitcom has to pull off, after all, to get the audience to the stage where they feel affectionately knowing about a character's follies.

In Al Murray's Multiple Personality Disorder, the comic makes a break from the character of the pub landlord in a sketch-show format from the Viz school of comedy. I liked The PC PCs, forced to take control of a hostage situation because the firearms officers were off on a diversity course learning Latin. "Right!" bellowed Sarge at the hostage-taker. "We know you're in there, and more importantly, we know you 'ad an un'appy childhood." I also enjoyed the trailer for ITV1's compelling new autumn drama, "Gandhi", starring Ray Winstone ("If that Mountbatten comes in 'ere talking compromise, I'll tear 'im a new arsehole"). Not sure the sketch will repair ITV1's fortunes, but there'd surely be viewers for "Gandhi".

Free Agents, Channel 4's new Friday-night comedy, began with a bit of awkward post-coital conversation. Alex (played by Stephen Mangan) has just slept with his colleague Helen (played by Sharon Horgan). He doesn't regret it, she does (in a cheerful, maybe-back-for-seconds kind of way). That's the sit. The com comes from Chris Niel's salty, rueful script, which very nicely exploits the best features of its cast, and also creates a genuinely comic monster in the shape of Stephen, the boss of the talent agency where Alex and Helen work. Stephen (Anthony Head, shaking off the memory of those twee coffee ads and crushing its skull beneath his heel) is foul-mouthed, lubricious, misogynistic and amoral. And funny.

Based on a book and successful radio series, Ladies Of Letters consists of an exchange of letters between two elderly widows, the joke (such as it is) depending on what is never quite stated in their peerlessly vacuous correspondence. Unfortunately, while doing an epistolary narrative such as this on radio is like falling off a log, doing it on television - with Maureen Lipman and Anne Reid taking the part of Irene and Vera - is an absolute nightmare.

For one thing, you have to decide what your correspondents are going to do while they're 'reading' their letters. Do they look at a writing pad or at the camera, and if it's the latter, then what part are we supposed to be playing in the thing? What on radio is a dialogue by other means becomes a pair of monologues flying in clumsy formation. What's more, nervous that comedy won't emerge from between the lines naturally, the producers have contrived a kind of forceps delivery. The line "I tried your taramasalata dip on the vicar's wife and she said she'd never tasted anything like it" provokes a monochrome flashback of a woman throwing up into her handkerchief. Or comedy sound effects are added to the memory of a mishap with a garage door. Or the performers are encouraged to overact wildly in an attempt to shock the thing into life. "Gerald always had a sweet tooth," wrote Vera of her late husband, and then, quite inexplicably, flung a pat of cake mix at his photograph. They tried everything, but it was dead on arrival.

Good Arrows, Dean Cavanagh and Irvine Welsh's pastiche documentary about a Welsh darts champion fallen on hard times, contained one very good performance, from Jonathan Owen as the "Beckham of Darts", and some nice lines. "What makes you think you'll get cancer, Andy?" asked the off-screen director at one point. "Well, cancer's very popular now, isn't it?" Andy replied witlessly. Unfortunately, there were too many performances that couldn't quite match it. As his mercenary wife, Big Sheila, Katy Brand treated every scene as a sketch, rolling her eyes and milking the gag in a way that completely disabled the attempt at low-key documentary realism. As a result, the dart hit the wires and bounced out.