Having watched most of the previous two series from Simon Day and co-creator Rhys Thomas I can definitely say that Brian Pern: 45 Years of Prog and Roll is the character's strongest outing thus far. That has a lot to do with the fact that Suranne Jones has joined the cast as Brian's new feisty American wife and manager Astrid who brings a whole new energy to the comedy. Once again Thomas stars as his documentary-making alter ego who has been called upon to make a new programme celebrating Pern's forty-five years in the music business. Day proves what a good sport he is by showcasing Brian's new surgically-enhanced look complete with new jet-black fake hair and a set of sparkling veneers. The first episode documents what happens when Astrid stars managing Brian and gets her new husband to sack his long-time partner-in-crime John Farrow (Michael Kitchen). Astrid's mismanagement means that Brian has to endure a cruise with some of his biggest fans and later suffering the indignity of being lower on the bill at the V Festival than his former Thotch bandmates. I've always thought Brian Pern was a fantastic comic creation and I think this latest series showcases the deluded rocker perfectly. Day is utterly committed to presenting Brian as an out-of-touch rocker whose obscure album concepts sell particularly poorly. Suranne Jones' note-perfect American accent is as brilliant as her deadpan comedy timing especially in the scene in which Astrid is trying to have it off with Martin Kemp whilst on a Skype call with Brian. But it's Michael Kitchen who steals the show as the foul-mouthed Farrow and the final set piece involving a stranded train full of cameoing ageing musicians is laugh-out-loud funny. The biggest compliment I can pay the latest Brian Pern series is that it was the only comedy I watched this week to provide consistent laughter for thirty minutes. Maybe it's just because the old-fashioned humour appeals to me or maybe it's because Day and Thomas know how to present classic character comedy with a modern twist. Whatever the case may be I do know that Brian Pern deserves as many viewers as possible and it's a shame that one of the funniest comedies on TV has seemingly been banished to BBC Four.

Anybody who saw the faux documentary presented by Brian Pern (Simon Day) on BBC4 knows that the frontman of Genesis-esque prog rock band Thotch is a great comedy creation.

Director Rhys Thomas, who co-wrote the series along with Day, brilliantly portrays the life of an ageing rocker as he tries to keep himself relevant with a modern audience. The stories of Pern refusing to be in a room with his former bandmates (played brilliantly by Paul Whitehouse and Nigel Havers) were perfectly pitched. The creation of a Thotch jukebox musical was an equally enjoyable subplot especially when the show's director Kathy Burke decided to cut all of the overly long Thotch songs from the show.

I personally enjoyed the final few moments of the comedy as Pern was dragged into the police station in a manner that would suggest he was part of a Yewtree-type investigation. But the punchline itself was brilliantly delivered as was the reaction from Pern's manager John Farrow (Michael Kitchen).

Part of the charm of Brian Pern is the fact that everyone is willing to go that extra mile and, in the case of those playing themselves, send up certain elements of their characters. Martin Freeman is a prime example of this as he tries to capture Pern's mannerisms in order to correctly portray him in the musical.

Meanwhile, a cameoing Tim Rice perfectly sums up his feelings about the Jukebox musical and how they've taken away from his type of musical theatre.

Although some of the jokes don't hit the mark, Brian Pern: A Life in Rock is a perfectly constructed mockumentary that owes a massive debt to the work of Christopher Guest. The fact that the sitcom is only three parts means that it won't outstay it's welcome and at the same time will leave the audience craving for more from Day's egotistical prog rocker.

Follow-up to BBC Four's spoof rockumentary, starring Simon Day as Peter Gabriel. Sorry, as Brian Pern, the ex-frontman of progressive rock band Thotch. Brian has been persuaded by his manager (Michael Kitchen) that a bankable way forward for him and his former bandmates is a new "jukebox musical" of Thotch music, in the vein of We Will Rock You. Paul Whitehouse and Nigel Havers are great as Brian's colleagues, but it's surely Gabriel who comes out of this best, for not trying to sue.

Radio Times review

The gloriously silly spoof documentary from Down the Line star Rhys Thomas may have grown up with a move from BBC Four to BBC Two - even if its lead character, played by Fast Show alumnus Simon Day, certainly has not. There's also a slight format change. Pern, former front man of fictional prog rock band Thotch, no longer narrates and this opener is more of a spoof arts doc fronted by Thomas and focusing on Stowe Boys, a West End rock musical about the band directed by Kathy Burke. What could go wrong? Well, everything of course.

Yes, it clearly owes a debt to Spinal Tap, Christopher Guest's 1984 masterpiece, but Thomas (who won a Rose d'Or for a Freddie Mercury documentary) has a scalpel-sharp eye for rock-star foibles. And there are joyous contributions once again from Michael Kitchen as Pern's fantastically arrogant and unpleasant manager John Farrow, Paul Whitehouse as the band's guitarist Pat Quid and Nigel Havers's priapic Tony Pebblé (pronounced "Peblay").

Written by Guy Jenkin (co-writer of Drop the Dead Donkey and Outnumbered), Hacks is a satirical comedy about the phone hacking scandal.

This comedy wasn't as funny as it could have been for one simple reason: what happened in real life was much funnier and shocking than what happened in this programme. I know this to be true personally. During the actual phone hacking scandal I thought, "There's no way that this can get any weirder." Then I found out that one of my old university lecturers had been arrested on suspicion of phone hacking and, well, you get the point.

The thing with the phone hacking scandal is that it's so ridiculous and stupid that i''s almost impossible to think how you can make it even funnier than it really was. For me, the funniest thing in the whole show was this world's version of an enquiry in which the Murdoch-esque owner (played by Michael Kitchen) was attacked with silly string and then the attacker was nearly beaten to death by his owner's wife (Eleanor Matsuura).

When Guy Jenkin and Andy Hamilton satirised media values in their Nineties sitcom Drop The Dead Donkey they produced a perceptive but gentle chiding of failing newsroom standards and most journalists loved it. They won't have found Hacks so funny.

The phone-hacking scandal is no media industry in-joke but an already much-publicised story of shameful events that the audience will have instantly recognised.

It was snappily written but it seems almost futile to try to exaggerate for comic effect the extreme methods that we know were actually employed at the News of the World. So when we saw Tabby, the pearl-wearing royal correspondent for the Sunday Comet, tasked with hacking the phone calls of the "Ginger Prince" we well knew the dapper Clive Goodman - her real life equivalent at the News of the World - was up to so much more.

Channel 4 ran the inevitable disclaimer: "The characters and events in this film are entirely fictitious." That may not have satisfied ex-staffers at the News of the World. Former showbiz editor Rav Singh and former investigations editor Mazher "The Fake Sheikh" Mahmood (neither of whom have been accused of criminal activity) can't have been impressed at the portrayal of the Sunday Comet's most scurrilous reporter Rav Musharraf (Kayvan Novak), who is shown trying to blag documents in the voices of Desmond Tutu, Sean Connery and Prince Philip ("just fax me the bleeding bank statement you imbecile").

Novak's was one of many slick performances. Claire Foy was scary as a ruthless editor with some of the ambitious traits of Rebekah Brooks. Michael Kitchen deftly played Stanhope Feast, a media baron with an Australian accent, a fruity vocabulary and a feisty young Oriental wife with a talent for close combat, Ho Chi Mao Feast (Eleanor Matsuura).

Hackgate has been such a gripping and multi-dimensional story that the hour-long drama rattled along at the pace of a good Sunday tabloid. And with the Leveson inquiry still unfolding, much of the material felt hot off the press. Scotland Yard should have squirmed at Russ Abbot's portrayal of a top cop and politicians were expertly lampooned for their obsequiousness towards the media.

But the Channel 4 audience, amused as it might have been by this all-too-real tale of tabloid excess, will have been left with little sense of the value of journalism. The role of other newspapers in exposing hacking was skipped over, leaving Ray (Phil Davis), a veteran reporter with an aversion to the dark arts, to represent Fleet Street's conscience.

Rupert Murdoch's influence on British media culture was mercilessly satirised. Hacks ended with an abandoned Stanhope Feast, hopping mad on his skyscraper helipad as the pages of his dead newspaper blew away in the wind. But the real life mogul is still worth more than $7bn and his News Corp empire generates $33bn a year in revenues, so that part at least was indeed entirely fictitious.

It's up to you whether you regard the hacking scandal as more tragedy or farce. Guy Jenkin sees it as the latter, so the Drop the Dead Donkey co-creator brings us another news comedy. This time it's a scurrilous red-top called the Sunday Comet, which may, purely in your imagination of course, feel like a broad caricature of, say, the News of the World at its height (or depths). Only a clip was available, but highlights look to be Celia Imrie as a royal expert and an Australian proprietor played by Michael Kitchen.

The phone-hacking comedy Hacks might have been the first entry in a new genre: the reverse satire.

Written and directed by Guy Jenkin, the co-creator of Drop the Dead Donkey and Outnumbered, it took a swipe at a real-life farce that has aroused intense public ire - the parade of newspaper executives explaining that they never asked where the stories on their front pages came from - and turned culpability into one big joke.

Its characters included an Antipodean media magnate (Stanhope Feast, played by Michael Kitchen) with a much younger wife called Ho Chi Mao (Eleanor Matsuura), plus a tabloid editor, Kate Loy (Claire Foy), who was aware of the nefarious means used to extract celebrity pay dirt, and oblivious to its human cost and cruelty.

Except she wasn't oblivious - the voices of phone-hacking victims were keeping her awake at night - and Foy, promising actor though she is, has something about her that suggests warmth and vulnerability.

This put Hacks in the indelicate position of making its targets sympathetic. Kitchen's character even got all the best lines. Now where's the fun in that?

It didn't take long for the first phone hacking comedy to make it to our screens. This hour-long swipe at the tabloid scandal, written by Guy Jenkin of Drop the Dead Donkey fame, is set at The Daily Comet, where staff land stories by any means necessary. Phone hacking, entrapment, blagging... the hacks here do it all. Press baron Stanhope Feast (Michael Kitchen, playing a gruff Antipodean magnate with a young Asian wife) demands some big exclusives from his flame-haired editor Kate Loy (Claire Foy). But her moral compass went awry some time ago and it's about to cause a major scandal. The salty script is peppered with political references, while a colourful cast includes Nigel Planer and Celia Imrie.