Biopic of Graham Kennedy, whom I loved deeply in his late-GraGra incarnation in the 80s on Graham Kennedy Coast to Coast,, showing his underpants and reducing Ken whathisname to tears with laughter on his late night current affairs show. We were rather spoilt for choice then. GraGra if you felt featherlight and silly, and Clive Robertson if in a more melancholic mood. Both fun to watch stoned, incidentally, but with different trajectories. So the major issue with this telemovie is that it appears to have been written as a haiku. There is little shown beyond Kennedy on air. We’ve seen Kennedy perform, so where’s the insight? The early stuff with his childhood and radio days seemed too brief, the on-set stuff from IMT strangely airless. At points, Stephen Curry seems to think that embodying Kennedy involves no more than pushing his tongue into his cheek like an insistent cock, or doing a spot of Toni-Colette-catatonia acting. It did capture his self-hatred and restlessness, but could have been so much more. Shaun Micallef not much good either.