Imagine you're on trial in court. The charge is a serious one and you're looking at a life-meaning-life sentence. But you should be OK. Well, you're innocent, and your lawyer argues well for you. The one problem is that this isn't trial by jury; there's just one judge, he knows nothing of the law (the job was passed down from his father), and he seems to have it in for you. His verdict: guilty.
So obviously you appeal. And this time your lawyer prepares an even better case. He contacts Interpol, hires Grissom from CSI and Sherlock Holmes, they get DNA proof and CCTV footage, witnesses, documentary evidence and rock-solid alibis. Anyone with even the tiniest understanding of justice can see that you should walk free. Except for the judge, and he is presiding over the retrial as well, because he is the only judge. Again, without even considering the new evidence, he quickly reaches his verdict: guilty. And, under the current system there's nothing you can do about it.
It's not just this ass – the judge – who's an ass. But the justice system – the law itself – that's an ass as well, for going along with this crazy and unfair system. And that's pretty much how it goes in Fake or Fortune?(BBC1, Sunday), except we're not talking about the law but the art world.
A lovely old naval boy called David Joel lives in a windmill with his wife and his Monet, a landscape – Bord de la Seine à Argenteuil. It may not be the greatest Monet, but he knows it's a Monet. And, more to the point, a whole bunch of Monet experts know it's a Monet as well. That's not the end of it though, because this fascinating new series presented by Fiona Bruce and Philip Mould uncovers a whole lot of new evidence. They peel back the layers of paint, using photographic wizardry (that's the CSI bit); they analyse the brush strokes and find that the signature went on at the same time as the picture was painted; they trace the picture's history, identify previous owners including an Egyptian collector in whose Cairo house they find proof that it was bought from a Paris art dealer at the right time; they visit the Reichenbach Falls . . . no, they don't but they would have done it if it would have helped. They do go to Argenteuil on the Seine, to try to match up the view, but views change.
And there is only one conclusion, that lovely David's Monet is a Monet, everyone agrees. Oh, except Guy Wildenstein. Who he? The judge of course. He is head of this Paris-based organisation called the Wildenstein Institute. Guess how he got that job; was it a) because he's the world's leading expert on Monet, or b) because of his surname and because Daddy had the job before him? Anyway, he gets to decide what is and what isn't a Monet, and – even more extraordinary – the auction houses, the art world as a whole, go along with it. There are asses wherever you look; it's one massive mass moon.
I was spitting rage by the end. Literally. Hggghhhk – that's the sound of me hawking up rage, ready to flob it out. Fiona Bruce gets very cross too – and it's not helped when, to add insult to injury, poor David's Monet is impounded by customs at the Gare du Nord. At least they must think it has some value, and it's good to see Fiona perdre son chiffon (that's lose her rag in French, which is what she does, rather well). The entente cordiale goes out la fenêtre.
Anyway, it's not just a scandal, but also incredibly interesting, with enough of the CSI to keep even a philistine engaged. So much better, too, for being about just one case in which you can become totally involved, instead of flitting between three, which is what so many documentaries seem to do. Then next week we get another. Let's hope there's a better result; because the answer to the question in the title in the first one is: neither.
The Marriage Ref (ITV, Saturday) is a new show in which couples air their differences in front of a panel (one of whom is UN ambassador Geri Halliwell) and a live studio audience. It's gentler than Jerry Springer – a lot gentler. So we're not talking things such as: it turns out my wife isn't just a man but my father. This is more like: my husband's pickles take up too much space in the cupboards, but actually I don't really mind. I can't see Marriage Ref: the Opera getting made, to be honest.