When Andy Warhol fell out with Bob Dylan over Elvis

Picking up an Elvis print on his way out the door, Dylan reportedly said: “I think I’ll take one of these for payment, man.” Warhol could only look on, stunned. For reference, a “Double Elvis” sold at Sotheby’s in 2012 for $37 million. Dylan saw where Warhol's career was headed, but did others? What did his contribution to art amount to in the end?

Producer-director Francis Whately explored those questions and more in a fascinating three-part series, Andy Warhol’s America (BBC Four/iPlayer, Monday). 

After “Living the Dream”, an account of Warhol’s early years as the son of first-generation immigrants in Pittsburgh, this second part was subtitled “The American Nightmare”.

It followed Warhol’s transition from a successful commercial artist working for the Mad Men of Madison Avenue into fine art. As part of that metamorphosis, his work began to take on a new seriousness reflecting the times. He wanted history to know that the Warhol of soup cans and Marilyn was also the artist who made prints of the electric chair used to execute convicted spies Julius and Ethel Rosenberg. 

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Then again, as Warhol said: “You’d be surprised how many people want to hang an electric chair on their wall.” Just like that, we were transported to a packed gallery where punters chose which colour wash they liked best. 

Warhol’s motives were further questioned when he made prints from Charles Moore’s era-defining photographs of police and dogs attacking protesters in segregated Birmingham, Alabama. Denise Barefield-Pendleton, a witness to the protests, made clear what she thought of Warhol. “His intentions were strictly to generate money for him.” 

Another contributor defended him, saying Warhol was trying to have his say in the only way he knew how, through art. 

The focus on political violence and anarchy in the USA gave way to an account of wild times on the Factory front, where what began as an experiment in boho living turned into a personal nightmare for Warhol.

It was also in this period that Warhol became manager of The Velvet Underground. And who should rock up among the talking heads but Mr Lou Reed himself. Other notable contributors from back in the day included Bianca Jagger and Jerry Hall. “He loved talking about cleaning products,” the latter said of Warhol.

Whately’s use of contributors was as winning as his choice of archive. Whether we heard from art historians, critics, Factory followers, or other friends of Andy, the films were packed with insights. Praise was given where deserved, and the obvious dross highlighted, including Warhol’s “completely unwatchable” movies.

The final film in the series, which first aired in 2022, deals with the money-making years. Whatever Warhol takes your fancy, chances are it is covered. The fact that his life packed several hours - and could easily have filled more - would have delighted Warhol, the of-the-moment pop artist whose works have endured far beyond his times.

Is there such a thing as enjoyable trauma? If so, Little House on the Prairie perfected it. Watching the original meant always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Would the crop fail, the cabin catch fire, would the snow stop? So much hanging in the balance. 

Now there’s a reboot of Little House on the Prairie (Netflix, available now) and I’m delighted to say it maintains the tradition of keeping viewers on their toes. No sooner had Laura Ingalls told us in voiceover that the family had left “the big woods of Wisconsin” for a fresh start in the West, than they tried to cross a river at what Pa reckoned was a safe spot. No spoilers, but what are the chances the calm waterway had treacherous depths?

You could say the same about Netflix’s decision to remake this television classic. Tread softly, streaming giant, because you tread on our memories. 

The Ingalls family keep a watchful eye on the prairie. (Image: Netflix)

Showrunner Rebecca Sonnenshine (The Boys, The Vampire Diaries) eased us into the story as she introduced the characters. Charles Ingalls, Pa, is played by Luke Bracey, Crosby Fitzgerald plays Ma, with Alice Halsey and Skywalker Hughes as Laura and Mary. The girls were spot on, whirls of bonnets and boots. Caroline, the matriarch of the clan, had a pleasing way of standing up for herself. 

Bracey is going to take some getting used to as Pa, though. If my memory is correct, both he and Caroline have had a change of hair colour.  She is now a redhead while he is a shaggy blonde. And are those highlights, or has the sun kissed his locks? He’s also a less imposing presence than Michael Landon and more of a worrier. 

Winnipeg, with its big skies and swaying grasses, made a convincing Kansas. Sonnenshine was similarly keen on authenticity when it came to the story. “Free land in the west” promised a flyer, but Charles was warned not to set his hopes too high. As he soon discovered, the land question was not as straightforward as it seemed. This is Osage land, a neighbour tells him, and they could take it back. 

Sonnenshine handled the politics with a light touch, but laid it on thick when it came to why the family had headed west. A blizzard of hints suggested all was not well when they left Wisconsin. They are travelling as just one family for a start, remarked the town’s doctor (played by Jocko Sims), a one-man health service who always seems to be nearby when injuries occur. 

One hopes the “secrets in the past” strand won’t be used too much. There ought to be enough to be getting on with in the new place. Sure enough, Laura looked like she might have found a pal, Ma was worried about “trouble with the Indians”, and Pa, intriguingly, was proving to be unreliable. That will never do. 

The new Little House shows a willingness to do some things differently. While the jury is still out on Pa, the rest is promising. Even Goldilocks might work out fine - he still calls Laura Half-Pint, after all. 

How to Get Filthy Rich with Gary Stevenson (Channel 4, Wednesday) should have been enjoyably spiky viewing. A little bit of politics, as Ben Elton would say, enough to get the blood flowing and set the red flag flying.

Stevenson is an interesting sort: a working-class kid turned LSE graduate turned City trader millionaire and now an anti-poverty campaigner. The idea was he would diagnose what was wrong with the UK - too much wealth in too few hands leading to chronic inequality- and then go off to give the rich what for. 

His first visit was to a billionaire in apartments just off Hyde Park. “Looks like a nice sofa,” said Gary. “I used to work at DFS,” he added. “I don’t think we had this one.” Unfortunately, that was our lot for humour. Off he went around the country, asking predictable questions and getting predictable answers. 

Did he venture up to Scotland to see how higher taxes have gone down with the people paying them? Unless I blinked and missed it, or nodded off, he did not. That was almost as irritating as one interviewee turning out to be someone who had recently been in the Channel 4 reality show Handcuffed. Didn’t anyone notice? 

Nice guy, but this was about as much fun as being hit over the head with a copy of The Ragged-Trousered Philanthropists for 90 minutes.

Gary Stevenson, right, and a familiar face. (Image: Channel 4)

Thank heavens, as ever, for the return of Trying (Apple TV). I usually wait till it transfers to BBC One, where a new community of fans has sprung up, but it is every man and woman for themselves in this never-ending season of football, tennis, and whatever else they can dredge up. Competitive nit-combing anyone? 

Now on its fifth series, the “sit” in Andy Wolton’s sitcom concerns Jason and Nikki (Rafe Spall and Esther Smith). The pair spent years trying to have a baby, then trying to adopt. Now they are trying to make the adoption work - not easy when the kids are teenagers and their biological mother rocks up.

Trying has been accused of taking too rosy a view of infertility and adoption, but that’s nonsense. Anyone could have produced another grim drama on the subject.  Trying dares to be optimistic. It can be desperately sad when it needs to be, but it is the sheer joy of the piece that knocks you off your feet every time.