This touching doc about two brothers living in very different worlds is almost too extraordinary to be true. Plus, Thierry Henry gets us in the Euro 2016 spirit
There are many extraordinary things about Rich Brother Poor Brother (Channel 4), not least that it happened at all. I don’t just mean that there are these two brothers – one, Ivan Massow, multimillionaire and media personality with grand Tory pals, a stable full of horses, a macaw on his shoulder, and pornographic paintings of himself all over the walls of his grand London house; the other, younger brother, David, an unwashed drifter who lives in a van in a layby near Glastonbury. But also that they were both happy to take part, to come and live in each other’s worlds for a few days. And that they’re both good on television: open but, entertainingly, not entirely self-aware. It’s like a rare and fortuitous planetary alignment.
The makers know they’ve got something good and milk it for all it’s worth. There are lots of great scenes – the riding may be my favourite – which are craftily intercut with interviews. “I think I was quite jealous of Ivan, really,” David tells the camera. “He knew everything, and I was kind of trailing behind. I remember thinking that I was a total failure.”
Now we’re on the Sussex Downs, where Ivan has already expressed his concerns about his brother’s ability to handle his mount. “So David, only ‘cos I do think you’ll hurt yourself, do you mind jumping off your horse and holding on to him? I’ve just got to give this one one up the gallops: is that all right?” he says. Give it one up the gallops, what can that mean? I see, it means prancing off flamboyantly; oh, and then swerving left, looking – it has to be said – not entirely in control, swearing, and coming round in a circle. “I’m glad I didn’t put you on this one,” pants Ivan.
Call me Sigmund, but I’m wondering about them when they were boys, and whether David was always led to believe he wasn’t good at anything. (Actually, some kind of bolt-on psychoanalysis punditry might have been a nice idea.)
Now David wants a go, giving his horse one up the gallops. “I don’t think it’s safe, David, and I genuinely don’t think you should do it,” warns Ivan. But David’s off. “Try to keep some contact, because he will, pretty quickly, work out that you don’t know what you’re doing …” Ivan shouts after him. And guess what? David’s not so bad at it, looks at least as in control of his horse as Ivan. Ivan’s horsemanship is thrown into question again later when he’s thrown into a hedge. Are you sure horses are for you, Ivan? Maybe stick to the macaws?
Interestingly, David is also better at being in Ivan’s world than the other way round. So he’s a bit nervous to begin with, and there’s an awkward, though again entertaining, argument about whether Ivan broke a promise to buy David a boat (nice interviewing skills by the way, David: Paxmanesque in the multiple repetition of the same question). But then he begins to relax and to enjoy the high life in London, quaffing champagne and chatting away to people at an art exhibition.
When it’s time to swap, though, Ivan’s clearly uncomfortable in David’s van, won’t stay the night, goes home with Mum instead. And again, at David’s work – a building site – he can’t wait to get away to walk his dogs. Could have thrown yourself into it a bit more, Ivan (something he’s always ready to accuse David of not doing).
To be fair, they’re both very ready to point out the other’s faults, and each other’s lives and choices. And David’s certainly no angel. He could probably do with a bath, and some of his judgment might be clouded by his enthusiasm for the Amazonian entheogenic infusion ayahuasca, such as his belief that planetary misalignment will cause unspecified catastrophic events on 11 July.
But also, as well as the massive differences in lifestyles, beliefs, opinions, everything, plus all the bickering, you can see similarities between them. More than just a shared past – a bond as well. They are still brothers. Which is both touching and reassuring.
Inspiring, too. Josh, if you’re reading (can you?), get in touch. I forgive you.
Thierry Henry, meanwhile, in Thierry Henry – My France, My Euros (BBC1) is ’oping for a penis, for France … Happiness! He’s hoping for happiness, after recent events.
And if King Henry, being thoughtful, insightful and gorgeous (I adore Thierry with every fibre of the three quarters of me that isn’t Irish), doesn’t get you in the mood, then it’s hopeless. Excellent contributions from Ruud Gullit, Cesc, Jürgen, Shearer and more, too – demonstrating that footballers do have something to say, at the end of the day.
I’m ready. Hoping for happiness – not for France, though. Come on, it’s now 50 years of hurt, it’s time.
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