TV review

HERE was a real life detective story more compelling than any fictional whodunit although, strictly speaking, this was more of a mixture of howdunit and whydunit.

The serious-sounding narrator announcing, "Now for the first time," at the start didn't inspire much hope. This is standard talk for this type of documentary claiming to unravel a centuries-old mystery but which all too often turns out to be a bundle of old theories and footage adding up to very little.

This mystery provided better than that. Anthropologist Professor Victor Mair was the expedition leader, the Inspector Morse of the story. His team travelled high in the mountains of Tibet to investigate "a corpse like no other" - not the skeleton of an abominable snowman but the remarkably well-preserved mummified body of a Tibetan man seated in meditation. He was found under the rubble after an earthquake nearly 30 years ago.

What's remarkable is that the mummy, now treated as a holy body by the monks and villagers, appears not to have been preserved by the usual methods.

The team were allowed just six hours to examine the unappealing-looking corpse by the Indian military.

It's amazing how much they learnt in a short time by taking hair and fabric samples - with the local monks' permission, they pointed out - and digital X-rays. The evidence showed that he died 500 years ago, that he'd had little to eat in the months before his death, and that he was in some advanced Buddhist meditation posture. The curvature of the spine, caused by a life of meditation, indicated he was a monk.

All fascinating stuff as forensic experts, radiographers and radiologists added their thoughts based on the evidence. Mair was still puzzled by the meditation chord tied round the mummy's neck and under his thumbs.

His inquiries discovered that monks were able to increase their skin temperatures through meditational heat yoga. They could dry wet sheets by wrapping them round their bodies and thinking hot, thus doing away with the need for a tumble dryer. The mummy could have changed his body in the same way - literally drying himself out.

As for the chord, this was some form of self-asphyxiation or partial strangulation to improve the act of meditation, a method also association with dangerous sexual practices.

He literally starved and strangled himself to become a mummy, a holy body to protect the people of his valley.

It was a fate both terrible and heroic - and, the narrator warned in a chilling postscript, the ultimate sacrifice that some monks are willing to emulate today.

The Cello And The Nightingale,

York Theatre Royal Studio

HAVING often complained that films, plays or TV shows are too long, perhaps it's churlish to complain this theatre piece about cellist Beatrice Harrison left me feeling short-changed, artistically rather than financially.

Leaving an audience wanting more is essentially a good thing, but another 15 or 20 minutes on this hour-long world premiere would leave the audience feeling more satisfied.

Director Susan Stern's clean and elegant production offers scenes from Harrison's home and performing life, told in flashback as she sits playing her beloved cello Peter in her later years.

There's a recreation of the event that made her famous - the BBC's first outside broadcast of birdsong in which she duetted with the nightingales in her garden. Now she's confused and befuddled, never venturing from her room or eating properly. Two of her sisters live in the house, a third returns intent on parting Beatrice from her cello for her own good.

A portrait of her family life emerges, of sisterly rivalry and parental pressure to perform. In old age, she clings to her cello while her sisters squabble over what's best for her.

It's a fascinating recreation of the hardships and sacrifices of a woman devoting herself to a life of musical performance. A few more scenes would have given us a more complete picture.

Frances Jeater, Alwyne Taylor and Tamara Ustinov provide clearly - defined sketches of the three sisters. Brigit Forsyth, with mad grey hair and in white nightie, conveys Beatrice's confusion and musical passion - and plays the cello movingly.

Steve Pratt

* Until June 5. Tickets (01904) 623568.

The Merchant of Venice, Georgian Theatre Royal, Richmond

THIS production must be close to what it was like to see a Shakespeare play in the sixteenth century. In contemporary dress, with few props, the occasional musical interlude, and a cast of working actors doing a great job. Northern Broadsides is an extremely talented company whose aim is to present great drama with the minimum of frills, and it works wonderfully well.

The Merchant of Venice is a play dealing with bigotry and revenge. Of course there's comic relief and a romantic theme as well, but the plot hangs on the hatred of Jewish moneylender Shylock for Venice's Gentile merchants, and their contempt for everything he stands for.

The cruel conclusion, when Shylock is finally brought to what passes for justice, is shocking and the man is completely humiliated. The moment when merchant Antonio approaches the kneeling Jew and snatches Shylock's kippah from his head, thus removing the outward sign of his Jewishness, is a poignant one. Barrie Rutter's murmured "I am content" emphasises the loss of everything he holds dear; his daughter, his riches and worst of all, his religion.

Rutter is a strong Shylock, with no apparent virtues to engage our sympathy, and his hate-fuelled insistence in claiming his pound of flesh from Antonio should turn us against him, but his total annihilation gives us the uncomfortable feeling that perhaps we're not on the side of the angels after all.

Even following its brilliant refurbishment, the Georgian has the least comfortable seating in the region. Take a cushion.

Sue Heath

l Until Saturday, May 22.

Box Office (01748) 825252