ONE might be forgiven for thinking, with all the whining that goes on, that we were being forced to watch television, manacled by TVB and ATV to our comfy chairs, the remote control held tantalisingly out of reach while reruns of Aerobics Oz Style are screened 24 hours a day in Nicam, Sensurround and Smello-Vision. It is not so. Nor is it so that there is never anything decent on television. In fact it is with great pleasure, and a warm feeling all over, that I can wholeheartedly and unequivocally recommend that you stay at home this evening and watch the logo in the top right hand corner of your screen. Then give me a call and complain about it and, if I don't hang up, I'll tell you what I tell everyone else: if you don't like it, read a book instead. Or talk to your family.
Failing that, watch GoodFellas (Pearl, 9.30pm), a film which should have won an Oscar in 1991. It didn't (although Joe Pesci did, for best supporting actor). The Oscar went to the lush but affected Dances With Wolves, but then Hollywood is a lush but affected kind of place.
GoodFellas is not a pretty sight. It is violent - but necessarily so - from almost the first frame. The violence is justified because GoodFellas looks at the culture of The Mob and the corruption of body, mind and soul membership entails. These are unpleasant people, who do unpleasant things, and for once they become smaller as the film progresses, not bigger.
The story is not a complex one, but is handled with some inspirational directorial flourishes by Martin Scorsese. Based on the experiences of Henry Hill (played by Ray Liotta) who spilled the beans and wound up in the Federal witness protection programme, it is about an Irish-Italian schoolboy who sees a career with The Mob as his only way out of the gutter. The allure is great, but the reality is unpleasantly different.
Lorraine Bracco was Oscar-nominated for best supporting actress and that's Scorsese's mum playing Pesci's mum towards the end, and a remarkably good job she does of it. GoodFellas is as fascinating as it is - intentionally - repellant, driven along by a superb soundtrack. If this doesn't make you forget the logo (even the BBC has one, for goodness sake), get therapy.
ENTHUSING about GoodFellas has left little room for the evening's other movies, which doesn't matter, because none of them is worth dwelling on.