Powerpoint: Thank heavens for Mercy at its peak

By FIONA RAE

There are lots of things better than television. School camp last week, which I had recklessly volunteered for, turned out to be one of them.

Somehow it didn't matter that an hour of Jack Bauer's life went by without me, although I did wonder if, when we were tucking into yet another morning tea at Camp Adair, he'd be getting a bite to eat. It is nearly lunchtime on 24. Too busy running I expect.

Strangely, I didn't miss the ER storylines that have been plodding like a drugged turtle towards their inevitable conclusions. And I have no doubt that those lay-dees on Sex and the City were still having sex in their city and talking about it in my absence.

I'd already stopped watching The Strip which, last time I looked, seemed to have swapped slapstick for storyline and was apparently about to transmogrify into Austin Powers: The Lawyer Who Shagged Me.

But there was one programme for which specific instructions, in writing, had been left at home (with a follow-up cellphone call): "Wednesday. Tape Mercy Peak for me (8.30pm, TV One)".

Having clocked up quite a few thousand hours watching telly, it's not often I find myself in a state of suspension of disbelief (in fact with the Survivor-style shows it's usually a case of beyond belief), but Mercy Peak has me halfway there.

It's getting so I think that if I go for a wee spin on the motorway north of Auckland I'll get to Bassett for a quick breast check with Dr Nicky. Which isn't too far wrong, given that Mercy is partly filmed north of Auckland.

The characters ring true. They're fully realised, complicated people with histories and flaws and problems and successes. And they don't exist in a drama vacuum, either. The personal is political, as they used to say in the '80s. I'm sure I've met people like them.

Which also means that the actors have made them that way, to the point where I don't notice the dialogue so much as what is not being said. And I particularly like the fact that, unlike most dramas, it is not predictable.

Last week's dinner party was a cracker. We knew it was all going to go horribly wrong (how could it not?) but just who would say what and to whom?

It had everything. Loaded conversation, misunderstandings, glances back and forth across the table, guests leaving, guests, er, coming and even a nasty surprise for Cliff, who had been so keen to show off his alpha male status. The doofus guy from the bank ads playing a bitchy ex-pat gay was like extra icing on the cake.

Whatever spells were cast and incantations chanted that resulted in Mercy Peak, they worked. They've even managed to avoid the mandatory murder/whodunnit (remember how City Life was meant to be like Friends, but they had to push someone down the stairs? It was all downhill from there).

It's not perfect. There's the odd clunker. But I can tell you that next week's final features more loose ends than the woollen hanging thing we made at school camp. In other words, enough to be going on with for series three. I can't wait.