With an air of familiarity, the holy trinity returns

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Not since Clarkson, Hammond and May unceremoniously left the old Top Gear (henceforth known as "the show we shall not mention"), and Chris Evans was charged with reviving it to much expectation - somewhat unfulfilled, as it turned out - has there been, er, as much expectation about a TV show making its debut.

However, we should identify exactly what the expectations were for The Grand Tour, CH&M's vehicle for Amazon Prime, which was streamed for the first time last night. Because this was, essentially, the show-we-shall-not-mention in a different location, replete with daft blokeish banter between the presenting trio, gloriously photographed filmed sequences made even better by 4K ultra-HD technology, and exotic cars tyre-screeching their way around race tracks, accompanied by yet more daft, blokeish banter.

Despite the BBC retaining certain intellectual elements of the show-we-shall-not-mention, there was little attempt in the first Grand Tour show to compensate with anything different: the Dunsfold Aerodrome hangar studio was replaced by a giant military field hospital-style tent, pitched for the first show in the Mojave Desert; James May appeared to have received a partial makeover - well, a jacket and a new pair of suede shoes, and...um...that's it.

Clarkson remained bumptious and risk-taking with a near-the-knuckle joke early on about gypsies, Hammond remains impish and slightly irritatingly full of himself (and still with that porn star goatee), and May continues to be the fogeyish maiden aunt of the trio. Which meant that it simply worked. What the BBC failed, horrendously, to address with its continuation of the show-we-shall-not-mention is that it made no real attempt to offer anything different, presenters aside. 

Because it was this particular triumvirate of presenters who made it work. They are the holy trinity of the first show's title (even if it was meant to refer to the Porsche, McClaren and Ferrari which featured in the main film of the episode). Under CH&M, the show-we-shall-not-mention was an excuse to tune in on a Sunday evening to. It was, essentially, three oafs in a pub, like that other Sunday evening tradition, Last Of The Summer Wine - three man-children doing silly things, except with expensive cars rather than bathtubs and Nora Batty's stockinged calves. 

Whatever they say in press interviews about not actually getting on, CH&M's chemistry is rare in TV land, and this proved all the more endearing over the 12 years of the old show. No wonder Amazon wrote such a substantial cheque to secure their services. It did, though, take The Grand Tour a considerable amount of time to get to air. Early on, some cleverly made social media promos suggested that they were taking ages to even come up with a name for he new show, eventually settling on what is obviously a cunning play on both GT cars and the initials of the-show-we-shall-not-mention. 

While the revived show-we-shall-not-mention was soldiering on in the face of clear critical and audience resistance, CH&M including Clarkson's old schoolmate and producer Andy Wilman, were developing the concept for The Grand Tour. For all that time, however, the end result us overwhelmingly more of the same, which makes it all the more entertaining. This is only a mild tinkering with the format, a change to the can design rather than New Coke.

Opening with grey, melancholy footage of Clarkson handing in his security pass at a grim, rainy London institution (yes, we get it...), before taking off for Los Angeles, whereopon colour returned in the form of a vivid blue Ford Mustang Rocket, which Clarkson powered out of LA and into the desert, where, in a moment of faux soppiness, he is reunited with May and Hammond in similar vehicles. In Hollywood terms, the scene was an extended 'establishing shot', presumably for Amazon Prime's new audiences, but also a reminder to devotees of the old show-we-shall-not-mention of what they had missed after CH&M left the BBC.

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It's clear, though, what power they have. All three of them - even May - seem to harbour rock star aspirations, judging by the show's live musical opening, with the Hothouse Flowers doing Johnny Nash's I Can See Clearly Now before CH&M joined them on stage like a reforming supergroup to introduce each other amid bantz about the various institutions each had been fired from (though obviously not Clarkson, who merely had his contract at the BBC not renewed...).

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It was, though, then clear, from the preview compilation introduced by Clarkson that what lay ahead in terms of films, japes and larks would be remarkably similar to the tonality of their lengthy incarnation on the-show-we-shall-not-mention. In what must be a challenge for both the BBC and Amazon's copyright lawyers, there were in fact plenty of familiarities: a test track at an old military faciilty in England, a news segment (jokingly called 'Conversation Street'), and a celebrity participation segment (albeit one that turned out quite badly for the celebrities involved).

These were, however, simple mechanics to make CH&M's fanbase feel at home in a different setting. The filmed sequences were hilarious but also visually stunning (almost worth the purchase of a 4K television alone), and while retaining the innate depth of petrolheadedness of the trio's previous show, were still as much about one of television's most unique presenting chemistries. 

Whatever you might think about Clarkson, his past demeanours, lack of political correctness and his teeth (which look horrendous in ultra-HD...), about Hammond and his exaggerated delivery or May and his near-narcoleptic presence at times, theirs is a formula that Amazon has cleverly exploited. Because it looks like The Grand Tour is going to be worth the subscription price alone.