Brat Camp (C4): THIS is a programme that should be shown to all wayward teenagers - as a threat of what could happen to them if they don't behave themselves.

Six parents at the end of their tethers have sent their seriously unruly offspring to the RedCliff camp in Utah.

It is not a holiday camp. It is more like a prison, if you can call an uninhabited 800 square mile area of desert and mountains a prison. There are no walls or bars, but escape is impossible. It would take weeks to walk back to civilisation and the chances are the sniffer dogs, following the scent of the teenagers' smelly socks, would track them down first.

Parents have signed over legal responsibility of their children to RedCliff's "counsellors". The only way they can leave is if they graduate (when the resident psychologist deems they're reformed) or if their parents pull them out.

The latter seemed unlikely as these mums and dads were desperate, having been abused, verbally and physically, by this wild bunch of delinquents whose behaviour was either rude, aggressive or violent - and sometimes all three at once.

How I look forward over the next month to seeing them get their comeuppance. You can't help but smile when you hear that RedCliff's staff go by names such as Red Hawk, White Winds and Rhythm Otter, but already they've shown they'll stand no nonsense.

Simply getting the six into the wilderness required supreme patience and persuasion. They were body searched for smuggled contraband. They were given heavy backpacks to carry.

They have to learn how to start fires without matches and make their own eating utensils. The same pot is used for washing and cooking. They will be sleeping outdoors in temperatures below freezing. Treats have to be earned. As soon as resident shrink Doc Dan detects improvement, they'll be rewarded.

They were also required to remove all body piercings. Rachael ("binge drinker") held out for three hours before handing over her 18 pieces of ironmongery. James ("heavy dope smoker") refused to take out his tongue bar for even longer.

Tom ("broke his mum's rib") simply acted mad, pretending he was possessed by demons. "Unless he can do the whole head-turning, projectile vomiting, we won't buy it," said Mountain Spirit, or was it Silver Heart?

White Winds declared Tom "an excellent actor, he could win an Oscar". Unfortunately for Tom, his only reward was to be shown latrine etiquette. By the end of the first acclimatisation day, Charlie ("expelled from five schools in three years") was writing to his mother asking her to get him home. "And the tough stuff hasn't even started yet," stated the narrator gleefully.

Brat Camp makes I'm A Celebrity look like a jolly scout jamboree. Watching these teenagers get a rude awakening is going to be fun for us, but hell for them. It couldn't happen to a nastier bunch.

Brian Wilson, Newcastle City Hall

THE standing ovation that greeted Brian Wilson and his band as they emerged onto the stage showed what kind of a night this was going to be. This was the night, after 37 years of waiting, to hear Smile, the holy grail of rock music as intended by its creator.

Before Smile, though, we were treated to a showcase of Wilson's breathtaking back catalogue. Songs such as the beautifully fragile In My Room and the ever glorious California Girls make you realise how many great songs Wilson has created.

The second half was all about Smile. From the opening of Our Prayer to the close of Good Vibrations, it proved deserving of every scrap of the legend that has been built around it.

It is an album of beautiful songs like Surf's Up and the childlike Wonderful. It is also an astonishingly complex album. More than any other, it displays the versatility of Wilson's superb band as they continually hop between instruments in an attempt to realise his ambition. In a nod to its troubled recording, the string section donned fireman's helmets during the darkly intense Mrs O'leary's Cow.

Wilson left the stage to a standing ovation before returning for an encore of familiar hits. After waiting more than half of his life to unveil Smile, this was a dazzling performance and Wilson's ambition is fully vindicated.

Andrew Cummins

Tell Me On A Sunday, Sunderland Empire

PATSY Palmer is a self-confessed non-singer, so what does the audience get for its money when the famous former EastEnder takes to the stage in an all-sung solo role? Faith in the shape of a well-rehearsed singing performance that only noticeably loses impact when she tackles the well-known songs like Take That Look Off Your Face and the title number. Hope as Palmer eventually strolls gracefully around the revolving set which looked impressive on opening night until it ground to a halt seconds into the show, leaving her marooned for several minutes on a sofa. And charity... most of us forgiving Palmer's lack of vocal range as she delivers the adventures of a singleton who selects love rats for partners in Ilford, New York and California - although three people noisily hit the exit doors during the second half for some reason. What's most impressive is Palmer's pronounced English singing voice with just a faint waft of Walford. Gone are the long red locks, gone is the over-wrought atmosphere of implausible soap and gone too is the upmarket air of this musical, specially written for Marti Webb, with Palmer's character discussing clubbing and speed dating. Five new songs update the action to include email and text messaging. It's certainly more familiar territory for Palmer, who so often had her heart broken as Bianca Butcher. She still carries a smile that could light up Albert Square and she's earned the right to wear it at full wattage.

Viv Hardwick

l Tell Me On A Sunday runs until Saturday. Box Office: 0870 602 1130

Published: ??/??/2003