Just when we most expected it Jonathan has returned with a second series of his BBC chat show. But there’s been no overture of publicity this time, and barely a mention on his companion Radio 2 show, other than to assure listeners it would be “fun”and “good”. A boldly noncommittal promise to be sure, but it was one that, if fulfilled, would at least have meant an advance on the sum of the first series.

How depressing it was to watch that first run of shows appear to fail on such a massive scale. Especially if you had, rather desperately when viewed with hindsight, made a point of honouring both Jonathan and his stooge Andy Davies with being “willing and sensible enough to admit mistakes and make improvements.” Such a rash foretelling was completely discredited just one minute into the second show of the first series, when it was miserably clear not a single element of the programme had been changed for the better. “BBC1 have landed one of the most promising new music-and-chat series for ages,” this reviewer’s original verdict concluded. But as the weeks unfolded it became apparent that here was a show that couldn’t even be explained away as being consistently bad. It was just so damn inconsistent. Set, format and personnel changed from one week to the next, never to any real improvement. It seemed the programme was consumed with a quest to find ever more ways to appear pointless and unsatisfactory.

So Friday Night with Jonathan Ross ended up one of the biggest disappointments of last year, yet one that had already been commissioned for a second, longer run in the spring of 2002. In the meantime a new chat show turned up on BBC1: Johnny Vaughan Tonight. And significantly, despite being truly “original” only in its scheduling (running thrice-weekly and aired earlier each evening on BBC Choice), this was still an impressive affair.

For a start there was a real house band who – correctly – performed the show’s theme tune as well as heralding the arrival of each guest – unlike “Four Poofs and a Piano” whose total contribution to each of Ross’ programmes was a couple of 15 second pastiches, and who didn’t even accompany the entrance of most of the guests, let alone provide the opening and closing music. Secondly Johnny had longer to chat with his guests, who by and large were interesting and imaginative choices. Jonathan’s line-ups had proved pretty much all flawed thanks to the inclusion of one or more charmless, boring celeb plugging their wares, or an overbearing irritating scene-stealer; and there was never enough time to get into a decent conversation with any of them. Lastly Johnny had a decent script with, once he’d relaxed into the role of front man, above average jokes, delivered well. In contrast, Jonathan’s patter, rather than improving over time, increasingly seemed of the worst kind of stilted, derivative, what’s-that-all-about? observational kind.

So there were now two major hurdles you felt Jonathan should make it his business to overcome: exorcise thoroughly the unseemly legacy of the first series, but also live up to and match some of what Johnny Vaughan had been able, perhaps surprisingly, to pull off. Of course there was already that sense of these being too steep mountains to climb. Why was it so easy to predict that, rather than go in for a major overhaul, the show would stubbornly cling to as many of its previous features and formats as possible? Perhaps because it felt such a lazy, careless effort first time round. Why invest one ounce more effort for this follow up than was really necessary?

What transpired was a mildly diverting, occasionally entertaining but mostly irritating recycling of most of the worst bits of the previous series. Rather than inconsistency, the feeling now was simply of indecision. It seemed like the show was opting neither for change, nor for the appearance of change, but chasing a bit of both, and often at the same time. So real, tangible adjustments – the replacing of the guest’s plastic chair with a long couch – and suggested, implied ones – an increased role for Andy, by making him perch the whole time on this large sofa, though he ended up saying little and grinning loads – followed one after the other to no particular effect other than confusion. The live music section seemed to have been dropped, at least for this first week, though the distracting and rather pointless “backstage” camera remained. The constant switching between the main studio and this hospitality suite was always jarring. It also implied we had some interest in what these celebrities were like “off camera”, boozing and feasting on Corporation finger food.

Tragically the same house band were still there, serving virtually no purpose whatsoever, and though Jonathan introduced them as “Four Poofs” plus piano there appeared to be just three – yet recalling how the line-up changed continually during the last series this should have come as no surprise. Another recurring feature of the first run was the way guests who’d excelled on the radio show had turned up on the TV version a week or so later, but to lesser effect – possibly down to the changed surroundings, the shorter timeslot, the botched format and so on. Unfortunately this looks set to carry on with this second series, certainly going off the evidence of June Brown’s ghastly turn – which was in complete opposite to her fine appearance on the radio last month. The overall running time is also still too short, and choice of guests ill-conceived: Brown was followed by Mel B, ostensibly to plug her appearance in The Vagina Monologues, but who had nothing whatsoever interesting to say. She was followed by Johnny Vegas, whose every utterance Jonathan, Andy and the over-the-top audience lapped up non-stop until their unceasing laughter sounded very false and patronising. Doubly so, given that he wasn’t really that funny.

But the biggest flaw of all was the tone. Not being prudish here, but the whole show was obsessed with smut. Nothing wrong with that in essence of course, yet here it came over as really contrived and unoriginal, as well as actually being far from amusing. Every guest was forced to spend more or less their whole time in discussion about genitals or sex or other body parts. This in itself could’ve been intriguing, or fun, or exciting in a kind of shocking or controversial vein. But the way Jonathan pursued his quarry smacked of the obsessive rather than mischievous. He effectively closed off all involvement in the programme – from guest, audience and viewer – for his own, almost selfish, pursuit of another innuendo. We weren’t in on the gags. The upshot was content that wasn’t shocking or particularly distasteful, just very self-indulgent and dull. Moreover, this was an agenda that invited all-too easy comparisons with Graham Norton.

All of these various flaws and defects resonated all the more for being so unnecessary. Again, a listen to Jonathan Ross’ radio show – or for that matter to recall Johnny Vaughan Tonight, and, to look a bit further back, The RDA – is to be immediately reminded how chat-based formats have still got potential to both surprise and entertain. In this instance it’s unhelpful and possibly unwise to close with anymore predictions or fulsome valedictions. Besides, appearing to remain blind to your own failings is perhaps plague enough.

10 years ago Jonathan was doing what only Hollyoaks has since been able to match: turning up on Channel 4 three times a week at 6.30pm, resolutely, endlessly, for months on end. His ubiquity became an unfunny on-running media joke, and after labouring hard with little ratings success he paused only for one last throw of the dice – the superb Saturday Zoo (1993) – before quitting Channel 4, his own company Channel X, and talk shows, apparently for good. But after a period of purgatory (too too many dreadful turns for ITV) and thanks to one of the best radio shows ever, the man feels able to return to his arena and beam straight into the camera to announce: “It’s great to be at the BBC.”

His new talk show, running for seven weeks up to Christmas, was certainly much anticipated by this reviewer. Its progress from script to screen has been plotted in exhaustive detail by Jonathan himself on his Saturday morning show on Radio 2; consequently expectation was really high. And so it began, with a stylish title sequence: a stream of archive TV faces, objects and places, all very nice and classy and attention-grabbing … but nothing whatsoever to do with what followed, and therefore confusing and pointless. The theme music was also awful: a lame 12-bar blues riff that was struggling to be exciting, and written purely to call attention to itself and not the programme, which is the worst kind of theme tune possible. The end credits revealed who’d perpetrated this travesty: erstwhile Chris Evans lackey Dan McGrath.

The set-up was all pretty conventional: a desk centre-stage, an audience in front – well, presumably they were there, because we didn’t see a shot of them once, which was bizarre given how great a role audiences (both in the studio and at home) have come to play within the fabric of chat-based, light entertainment shows. Their absence from view was discomfiting.

To Jonathan’s left skulked sidekick Andy Davies, his producer and foil on Radio 2. Here, of course, the runes portended ill: another experienced professional of behind-the-camera stock, with a lot of years in the business behind him, now presuming the right to develop some new personality on-screen. Again, the TFI parallel loomed terrifyingly large: to wit, Will “Pub Genius” McDonald, court jester of the most repulsive and unctuous kind. Andy plays an important role on the radio show: he motors the programme totally, being responsible for sequencing all the records, bringing in the guests and basically maintaining a workable context within which Jonathan rants, jokes and gossips. Out of that dynamic has flowed a relationship that needs no superfluous gimmicks or subtexts to justify Andy’s presence or role. It’s obvious.

In this changed set-up that dynamic faltered. Andy’s role here resembled little more than that of a glorified usher – “We should get Neil Hannon on” – and to be seen laughing at Jonathan’s gags or contentedly twiddling a pen. He kept moving between his bizarre “TARDIS” (as he called it) where some kind of computer-like equipment and an open copy of an unnamed magazine rested, and the other side of Jonathan’s desk, summoned over rather tersely, moping back unseen. He personally didn’t seem too bothered about all this, but viewers unaware of his significance as Jonathan’s radio stooge would’ve firstly wondered who the hell he was and then why he even presumed to give Jonathan the time of day. It’s fun hearing them squabble on the airwaves, and there’s a kind of pleasure for the fan seeing them “re-create” that on screen; but again, for the uninitiated it could appear terribly self-indulgent.

A couple of other aspects to the format were instantly unlikeable. Sticking a camera feed into the hospitality suite must have sounded great in the office, but in practice left you smarting from endless shots of celebrities indulging in free booze and food and, worse, pretending to get on well with each other. This is not what we want; the line between backstage and out front needs to be kept fixed as there’s already been enough subversion in this area (from Larry Sanders to Bob Mills’ The Show). The house band, “Four Poofs and a Piano”, was the kind of anti-PC-yet-still-PC gesture best left behind at the arse end of the 1990s. Even the upright piano looked like the one that sat in Evans’ “bar” on TFI Friday.

But within all this clutter there was a lot of substance. A team of four writers provided more hits than misses in the way of jokes; and Jonathan has retained that sharpness in delivery and response that can salvage the lamest of punchlines and the flakiest of interviews. The review of the week’s press, lifted wholesale from the radio show, was slightly flawed by limiting the material to picture stories only; but it was nice to see some blatant Barrymore-baiting later on.

Jonathan seemed over-awed to be in the presence of first guest John Lydon, to the extent of letting Lydon ramble on about the state of the country and not asking him why, if he’s so disgusted with America and American culture, has the man been happy to live there for over a decade. It was ridiculous to have “fuck” beeped out as well. A proper musical interlude was provided by a fantastic cover of The Power of Love (the Frankie Goes To Hollywood version) by Neil Hannon: the kind of stunt Evans used to attempt on TFI, of course, when ordering his guests to do covers at the drop of a hat with diabolical results. Here it was refreshing to hear a decent, sincere performance of a fine song (thanks not least to it already being part of Hannon’s repertoire).

The final interview with Tamzin Outhwaite, however, was just a hurried bout of shameless flirting to which none of us were invited. In fact none of the interviews were long enough, and all suffered from a major problem: ham-fisted editing. What looked like a load of dead leaves appeared on the floor of the set halfway through the show for no reason. The house band vanished as well, suddenly showing up again at the end. It’s also a real pity the show couldn’t go out live and perhaps even a bit later; it would make it so much more of an event and add even more excitement. Even better, there’d be potential for all kinds of RDA-style quirks: Jonathan commenting on the previous programme, or the show running on late and holding up News 24.

Less than 12 hours later the protagonists were giving their own verdict. Back in what they seemed to appreciate as the more relaxed, comfortable environment of Radio 2, Jonathan and Andy grumbled and grouched. The programme had indeed been badly edited. The mess all over the studio floor was the remnants of some audience participation game they’d forgotten to sweep up. They also acknowledged how, to be honest, even Andy’s chief role of introducing the guests had been cocked up, in the sense of failing to supply a bit more information than the simple: “Here’s John Lydon”.

This bout of on-air self-analysis swerved close to that irritating Evans “did that joke work?” spiel … but here, as with so much else, it ultimately didn’t matter because of the gut-level charm that Jonathan and Andy possess, a quality Evans has rather remarkably never once displayed through his entire broadcasting career. Moreover you feel that they’re willing and sensible enough to admit mistakes and make improvements, again unlike Evans (though it’s a bit unsettling to see ex-TFI producer Suzi Aplin supposedly doing the same role here). So though the choice of guests will probably remain distinctly Radio 2, over-30s-ish fare, in return BBC1 have landed one of the most promising new music-and-chat series for ages. A second, longer run of 15 shows is planned for the New Year. If Friday Night With Jonathan Ross does nothing else than exorcise the bilious ghost of TFI Friday forever, then that’s enough.