On paper it's no more than a flimsy exercise in Absurdity: an Old Man and an Old Woman prepare

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On paper, it's no more than a flimsy exercise in Absurdity: an Old Man and an Old Woman prepare for a grand lecture, at which a celebrated Orator will deliver to the world the message that the Old Man has been working on for years. When the Orator arrives, to speak to a huge, invisible audience, represented by a crowd of empty chairs, the old couple kill themselves - this is the fulfilment of their lives' work. Why this accusation should come as a shock is anybody's guess, since English and American philosophers, with their traditionally stern faith in the meaningful and the empirically verifiable, have been saying that about the French for years now. Still, nobody ever said that what's bad for philosophy has to be bad for the theatre - even the most rigorous logical positivist would have a hard time convincing anybody of the virtues of a theatre of verifiable propositional statements. Watching this week's two offerings in the French Theatre Season, you'd be hard put to it to extract any sense or meaning. Apparently, French intellectual life has been shaken in recent months by the publication of a book which suggests that contemporary French philosophers and intellectuals are basically a bunch of charlatans, who use grandiose vocabulary to disguise the vacuity of their ramblings.

He cannot understand why things have fallen apart for him.The truth is (as Steve Coogan and Armando Ianucci know) that TV is a fashion business, and most of those whom the medium makes temporarily famous will soon return to obscurity Except, of course, for Esther.. This week Partridge was reduced to stealing a traffic cone for fun, and driving round the ringroad, thinking up yet more terrible ideas for TV shows. Such as, "a programme entitled Yachting Mishaps, some funny, some tragic".Sinking further into the depths, he asks the Geordie bellboy, "Have you ever thought that suicide might be an answer?" "Sometimes, aye." "When?" "When I've seen you looking all depressed an' that." At the moment it is hard to see how Alan - having pulled his Corby trouser press apart to see how it works - can avoid trying to top himself. You could yell "Sod off!" at the top of your voice, and still get the same kind of teary blown kisses as you would have done had you worn your poor palms out applauding.One moment it's all make-up and lights, the next it's failure That's why I'm Alan Partridge (BBC2, Mon) is so unbearable. American monsters, like Larry Sanders, are allowed to be successful. But British ones, having tasted the high life, must be brought low and lower. Now the former chat- show host is exiled doing the night DJ's shift at Radio Norwich, his company has collapsed, his wife has left him, and he lives in a Travel Lodge where the staff hold him in increasing contempt.Even with an egotistic, bullying swine like Partridge, there comes a point (as the writers know) when you want him to succeed once more But I have a feeling that they will not let us off the hook.

And suddenly I realised that this too was an act, not (as I had previously thought) a spontaneous expression of the temporary bond of human fellowship formed between actor and audience. His is a hard, seasonal business, much of which consists of telling Danny La Rue to go to Sheffield, when La Rue would rather be baring his legs in southern climes, and dealing with the competing demands from actors for time off or larger dressing- rooms.The most disillusioning moment came when the cast of Mother Goose (Birmingham) rehearsed yelling "Goodbye everybody!" at the end of the performance. This is the series that follows "the Sam Goldwyn of Pantomime", a silver-haired monster of an impresario called Paul Elliott as he casts and produces his 20 pantos round the country.Mr Elliott adores his job, but those who work for him - judging from actor Matthew Kelly's comments - hate him. Lily Savage in the Kingdom of the Thunder Dragon might have asked questions in the Bhutanese monasteries that Joanna was far too polite to essay. You know, about whether you call the Lama "Dalai".There was more camp in Pantoland (C4, Mon) than in 20 tented expeditions to mountain kingdoms, kicking off with a Widow Twanky bigger than Lily and Joanna combined.