TV review

Hawking (BBC2)

THE picture most of us have of Stephen Hawking is of a man with a wide grin in a wheelchair who speaks, and this isn't meant to be funny, like a tired Dalek.

But his story is a remarkable one and it was only a matter of time before someone made a film about his life, or Stephen Hawking: The Early Years as this one might have been called.

Better that the BBC rather than Hollywood should do the honours if we want something resembling the truth. This drama was based on real events, scientific papers and actual records - which translates as "sort of true".

It remains a tremendous story of courage in the face of adversity. If all the scientific mumbo-jumbo left me struggling to understand it, at least the emotional thrust of Hawking's battle against illness and scientific theories set in cement made for good television.

Benedict Cumberpatch did a remarkable job in conveying what Hawking must have been like as a university student in the early 1960s who, suddenly unable to get up off the ground at a party, discovers that he has motor neurone disease.

The news from doctors isn't good. He's told the illness will mean his brain stops telling his muscles to move, and that they will waste away. He'll become gradually paralysed, although his brain will be untouched.

His mother reacted by telling her husband: "You've never been a sentimental man Frank, I don't think we can afford for you to start now". Indeed, the whole film was remarkably unsentimental, without losing the means to pack an emotional punch at appropriate moments.

Cumberpatch's remarkable performance carefully chronicled the worsening of Hawking's condition as his mind toyed with ground-breaking scientific ideas to do with "the theory of everything".

There was the doubting reaction of his elders, like Fred Hoyle, which failed to dent his ambition "to do something significant" before the disease took hold.

Efforts to explain what Hawking's theory were about - "I'm talking about the beginning of the universe" - went over my head. The important thing was you knew it was important.

"But what has he done?," asked his father, looking as bemused as the rest of us.

"He's opened up something we all thought was closed," came the not-exactly-helpful reply.

Hawking was hardly a run-of-the-mill student. He wasn't forever getting drunk and missing lectures, but did find time to pursue his romantic inclinations. His idea of a chat-up line was to talk to a girl at the pub bar about the theory of time. This was, I suppose, more subtle than going on about the Big Bang.

Scissor Sisters, The Empire, Middlesbrough

THE Empire is full to bursting tonight, with every dark corner filled, and the wait at the bar considerably longer than usual. Shame on the owners then, for doubling drink prices. A cheeky cash-in on the expected boom in custom, which leaves people paying £10 for two drinks. However, this did not seem to sully the high spirits of the evening.

The reason for both the turnout and the high spirits is the Scissor Sisters. Since last year's set at the Carling Festival, they have become a sensation. In a year, they have gone from New York's best-kept secret to a worldwide phenomenon.

They come on-stage at 10.45, bursting into new single Take Your Mama, to the delight of a whistling, waving and cheering crowd. But although their brand of disco-funk does have "camp" written all over it, they are certainly not a novelty band. The funk stormer Filthy/Gorgeous goes down a treat, as does unrecognisable Pink Floyd cover Comfortably Numb.

While singers Jake and Ana Matronic are great entertainers, the rest of the band are great musicians. The live show proves that they are very talented, and not just in the band because of their looks, a refreshing change in modern pop music.

This is surely one of the sexiest performances the Empire will ever see. Completely deserving of the hype surrounding them, the Scissor Sisters are a credible missing link between pop and rock music. Dismiss them at your peril.

John Still

Ricky Gervais

Grand Opera House, York

EVEN before he appears on stage, it feels different from most other comedy gigs. The sense of anticipation and excitement creates an audible buzz around the auditorium, so when Ricky Gervais finally arrives, it is to the sort of ovation normally afforded to living deities just below the Nelson Mandela rank.

And it feels different because it is different. While most comedians spend years tramping around the stand-up circuit hoping to get spotted for their own TV show, Gervais has done it the other way around. Two series of The Office, Golden Globes, garlands aplenty - Gervais, or, rather, David Brent, has become a comedy god to millions.

He's called his stage show Politics, and it begins with a short film outside, appropriately enough, the Houses of Parliament, with Gervais demonstrating the art of how to be politically incorrect with the help of a "passing" wheelchair-user.

This sets the tone for the rest of the show: subverting the politically correct by inviting us to mock those who are desperate to be taken seriously but just can't stop their prejudices showing through. Although Gervais has said he wants to leave Brent in The Office, he aims at the same targets, and sometimes it's hard to see where Brent ends and Gervais begins.

But, just like The Office, it hits those targets with an unerring precision and lack of mercy. Cruel it may be, but it's also very, very funny, and even when he's dissolving into giggles, his timing never falters. Gervais leaves you in little doubt that he's the funniest man in Britain today, the only downside is that he leaves you so early. Maybe we should be grateful for what we get, but for £17.50 a ticket, an hour-long act leaves you feeling you deserve more.

Nick Morrison