TV review: The Naked Office | My Best Friend's Murder

Published on Thursday 9 July 2009 18:54

THE NAKED OFFICE, Virgin1 MY BEST FRIEND'S MURDER, BBC3

AT FIRST The Naked Office seemed like a spoof – a rather belated one in which someone set out to make their own version of Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant's satire with the lame twist that the David Brent character was making everyone go nudist. It had similar characters: a receptionist who seemed timid at first but came out of her shell; a droll northern bloke reluctantly going along with the madness; the nervy expert consultant brought in to run a training exercise. The boss, a burly bearded fellow called Michael, even took the cameras on an introductory tour around the office, ruffling the staff's hair.

But, unbelievably, the Newcastle design and marketing agency, One Best Way – no doubt soon to be known by their rivals as One Breast Way – is real and had actually chosen to present themselves this way. You know the recession is going to be bad when the only way a small company can keep afloat is by such desperate promotional measures. It's like The Full Monty, but with office workers instead of steel workers.

The excuse, or instigator, for all this was David Taylor, described as "the leading global authority on leadership". I have never heard of this chap before, but we were assured that he is a professor at Warwick University who has worked with the Prince's Trust and chairs Woking Football Club (so next, presumably, he'll be tackling The Naked Football Team – ouch).

Impressive credentials. Why, then, had he come up with what was clearly one of the stupidest ideas since Katie Price thought a nice relaxing break in Ibiza would do her good?

One Breast Way were struggling and had had to lay off some staff. But Taylor, clearly unaware of the idea that "it's the economy, stupid," thought that the way to save them was for all the workers to waste half their week on daft exercises like photocopying their bottoms and putting up a tent in the car park before coming into work on Friday in the buff.

"It will be the ultimate expression of trust in themselves and in each other," he argued. "It's very easy to take off your clothes, it's very difficult to take off your prejudices." No, honestly, Ricky Gervais really didn't write this.

Presumably terrified of being fired, most of the staff did in the end work naked, clutching folders rigidly in front of them, though a few wore underwear (luckily for the programme, no one had religious or cultural objections and there were no sexual harassment lawsuits). The usual phrases about it all having been an amazing "journey" and having "taught them so much" were obligingly recited.

It was utter bilge, of course, but I suppose the programme served a purpose of sorts, in reassuring any viewers that wherever they worked – or if they didn't – anything was preferable to having to put up with such wacky, tiresome antics.

Depressing in an entirely different way was My Best Friend's Murder. The siblings, friends and girlfriends of two teenage boys killed by knives spoke touchingly: "Steven would never snake me. If I had troubles, he was there for me, innit," said one boy of his late pal. But the bleak acceptance that their small world of turf and respect was all they could expect to know was chilling. It was, sadly, not a million miles away from the fictional world of BBC2's The Wire, even though this was London and not Baltimore.