Rivals assessment: Sauciness flows just like the champagne on this bonkathon
Rivals (Disney+)
Poldark star Aidan Turner must have a cracking sense of humour, because Rivals, the fabulous Jilly Cooper bonkathon, sends him up something rotten.
Aidan plays an Irish chat show host with an ego so immense, it has its own postcode. He’s poached from the Beeb by scheming ITV mogul Lord Tony Baddingham (David Tennant, oozing duplicity), to boost ratings.
Until now, Lord Tony’s biggest show has been rural drama Four Men Went To Mow. It’s the everyday tale of farming fellas who wield their scythes in the fields, working stripped to the waist . . . just like Turner’s Cap’n Ross.
The boys are on every TV screen and every poster. They’re even backstage at the studio, always shirtless and brandishing their tools. ‘Who knew arable farming could be so sexy?’ muses a fan.
As if that’s not mischief enough, Oliver Chris plays a breakfast TV host who thinks his viewers are desperate to guess the identity of the next actor to play 007: ‘What about those James Bond rumours?’ he demands.
The story is set in 1986 and follows the cut throat world of television, including the tense rivalry between polo-loving lothario Rupert Campbell-Black (Alex Hassell) and Lord Tony Baddingham (David Tennant)
Jilly Cooper’s racy novel Rivals has been reborn as an even steamier TV show (pictured: star Emily Atack as Sarah Stratton)
Alex Hassell as Rupert Campbell Black in Rivals
I wish I could give Rivals six stars, writes Christopher Stevens
We cut straight to the next scene, and a close-up of Aidan . . . once the favourite for secret service stardom.
Rivals is crammed with those in-jokes. It’s sharp, fast-moving, observant and arch, while never taking itself too seriously. Cleverest of all, it celebrates Dame
Jilly’s joyful enthusiasm for sex without being seedy.
This is sex as slapstick — not erotic, not exploitative, just saucy. It starts on Concorde, with louche aristo Rupert Campbell-Black (Alex Hassell) bonking a journalist in the loo as the airliner bursts through the sound barrier. At the climactic moment, corks pop and passengers cheer. After that, the naughtiness never stops.
Shenanigans are enjoyed in broom cupboards, at parties, on pianos and practically every other available surface.
When the characters aren’t actually at it, they’re thinking about it. Confronted with our heroine Taggie (Bella Maclean) in a French maid’s outfit, Campbell-Black eyes her high hemline and growls, ‘Brevity is the soul of wit, and I can almost see your brevities.’ We see more than Rupert’s brevities, at a naked tennis match against MP’s wife Sarah (Emily Atack). Suffice to say he needs to work on his forehand if he’s going to keep every ball covered.
Disney+ resists the temptation to turn this into Carry On Jilly. But the double entendres flow like champagne. Sarah’s husband (Rufus Jones) tries to ignore the humiliation of being cuckolded: ‘It’s just wonderful to see her opening up,’ he declares.
All this is set against a backdrop of 1980s excess, with helicopters on the croquet lawn and boozy City lunches that go on till the small hours. The social scene of Rutshire revolves around fox hunting and garden parties where everyone joins in the Birdie Dance, apart from those couples having it away in the shrubbery.
The soundtrack is stonking (Wham! Bryan Ferry! ZZ Top! Eurythmics!), and so are the one-liners. ‘Revenge,’ announces Lord Tony, ‘is a dish best served on television.’
I wish I could give it six stars.
