The Idol (Sky Atlantic) | Sky/Now) Gods of Tennis (BBC Two) | iPlayer Davina McCall’s Pill Revolution (Channel 4) | channel4.com Significant Other (ITVX) | itv.com

I can’t recall a modern series working as hard to pre-empt criticism as Sky Atlantic’s new six-part music business drama The Idol. Co-created by Sam Levinson (Euphoria), it opens with pop star heroine Jocelyn (Lily-Rose Depp) undulating sexily at the shoot for her comeback single, which she will later fret is “superficial” (she’s not wrong: it sounds as if Britney coughed up an electronic furball). At said shoot, central-casting evil music execs josh about romanticising mental illness (Jocelyn has had a nervous breakdown) and say things like “Will you let people enjoy sex, drugs and hot girls. Stop trying to cock-block America.” When someone fusses over her breasts being exposed, Jocelyn seethes: “I’m not allowed to show my body?” Later, when a revenge porn-style photo of her semen-covered face circulates online, she shrugs blankly: “I feel like it could be a lot worse.”

On one level, The Idol is yet another risible, cliche-riddled take on the music biz in which no cast member (Hank Azaria, Jane Adams) is permitted to speak normally. On another, it’s a post-#MeToo melodrama with a lead character whose heavily semaphored empowerment puts viewers squarely at fault if they dare to question the sleaze and cynicism on display. It’s made clear that Jocelyn, a standard-issue “broken hottie” in outfits that resemble liquorice laces, wouldn’t care if (spoiler alert) people were shocked by her masturbating while self-choking. But The Idol isn’t shocking; it aspires to be shocking – and that’s different.

Just as you think things couldn’t get sillier or more overheated, Tedros (Abel Tesfaye, AKA the Weeknd) turns up (“Hello, angel”) brandishing cocaine, wanting to “do shots” and being simultaneously sinister, sexy and bossy, like a SoundCloud Christian Grey. With tedious inevitability, Jocelyn becomes transfixed, when surely a real-life jaded pop star would ignore the coked-up bozo?

I’m a fan of Levinson’s Euphoria, which has solid foundations in story and character. The Idol, however, is a confetti cannon of confected hullabaloo. It makes sense that Elizabeth Berkley is due to appear in a later episode: the only hope for the series is to achieve a so-bad-it’s-good, Showgirls-like status.

The UK’s elected hormone whisperer is quite a leap for a presenter who used to huddle under brollies outside the Big Brother house

I may be unreliable when it comes to assessing the new three-part docuseries Gods of Tennis (BBC Two), which views the sport in the 1970s and 80s through the lens of social change, focusing mainly on the Wimbledon championships. As someone who avidly watched tennis with my grandmother, I still lap up the stars of the time (John McEnroe, Jimmy Connors, Chris Evert et al). I’d cheerfully watch old footage of them (and their matches) for days.

The opener deals with two champions: the late, charismatic Arthur Ashe, standing up for civil rights, and the redoubtable Billie Jean King, fighting for equal pay for female players. Interviewed here, King, 79 (coal-black hair, dressed like Hillary Clinton), is still steely eyed and formidable, rasping: “I’m not finished yet.”

The third episode (all are on iPlayer) mainly looks at the achievements of Czech-born champion Martina Navratilova and the homophobia she and King faced. The middle one focuses on “super brat” umpire-baiter McEnroe and Swedish ace Björn Borg, who retired young after wearying of teenyboppers. “He was in a different league,” sighs former British player Sue Barker wistfully. “He’d never have looked at me.” (Aw, Sue!)

Both men are interviewed. Snowy-haired, in an immaculate tracksuit, Borg could be a retired superstar DJ; McEnroe (my favourite) remains bolshie and punk rock. There’s old footage of Connors admonishing McEnroe (“Keep your mouth shut out here”), but Connors could talk. He’s shown putting old flame Evert off her game by turning up to watch with his new girlfriend, the actor Susan George.

Björn Borg in ‘retired superstar DJ’ mode in Gods of Tennis. BBC

Sleek and reflective, Evert joins the myriad other interesting interviewees here (Pat Cash, Tracy Austin, Stan Smith). Gods of Tennis sometimes neglects its own social revolution remit, and it doesn’t resonate quite as powerfully as the previous series, Gods of Snooker (tennis was never such a hidden world). For all that, it’s great viewing – a welcome homage to a cherished tennis era.

Davina McCall has pulled off quite the career reinvention in recent years, mainly based on her influential menopause documentaries, starting with Sex, Myths and the Menopause. She turned herself into the gynae-spokeswoman du jour; the UK’s elected hormone whisperer. Quite a leap for a presenter who used to huddle under brollies outside the Big Brother house. And McCall did it well: speaking plainly with her signature gusto and genuinely shattering myths around hormone replacement therapy.

Her latest Channel 4 documentary, Davina McCall’s Pill Revolution, focusing on contraception, doesn’t have the same impact. The menopause documentaries shone flashlights into dark (and distinct) medical corners. This time, contraceptive issues (including side effects, old technology, misinformation and lack of choice), although worthy, make things feel more scattered, while the soundbites (“Let’s start the contraception revolution right now”) are strained.

‘The gynae-spokeswoman du jour’: Davina McCall investigates The Truth About the Pill. Channel 4

Still, you can’t fault McCall’s effort levels as she bounds around, interviewing women and experts. She’s even filmed “demystifying” having her Mirena coil fitted. With the camera fixed at the head end, she keeps up a running commentary: “I’ve got a bit of cramping… Sore there… That felt like a scrape.” It’s a lot more relaxed than it looks written down, but part of me did wonder how many viewers would be inspired to make coil-fitting appointments and how many might quietly cancel them.

Over on ITVX, the bittersweet new six-part comedy Significant Other (adapted from an Israeli series of the same name) stars Katherine Parkinson and Youssef Kerkour as two lost souls who come together under strange, stressful circumstances. She bangs on his door, thinking she’s having a heart attack. He, bereft at his marital breakup, has taken an overdose.

Youssef Kerkour and Katherine Parkinson in Significant Other: ‘getting deeper and stranger’. ITV

There’s an intriguing, meandering pace and ambience to the show. While she’s emotionally withdrawn, he’s self-absorbed, and neither of them seems to care much if anyone likes them. The main themes are loneliness, awkwardness and panic at failing at relationships and life. Two episodes in, it’s short on jokes (the comedy lies in presumptions and disappointments), but the characterisation is layering, getting deeper and stranger all the time, and I’m minded to keep watching.

Star ratings (out of five)The Idol ★Gods of Tennis ★★★★ Davina McCall’s Pill Revolution ★★★ Significant Other ★★★

What else I’m watching

The Crowded Room (Apple TV+) This series lurches from muddled to over-obvious, but some may enjoy the twisty machinations. A psychological thriller in which a troubled New York City shooter (Tom Holland) talks to Amanda Seyfried’s criminal psychologist.

Amanda Seyfried and Tom Holland in The Crowded Room. Apple TV

Panorama: Ultra-Processed Food – A Recipe For Ill-Health? (BBC One) An absorbing half-hour look into how ultra-processed food (and certain packaging) could negatively affect our health. It could make you rethink your weekly shop.

Kisses at Fifty (BBC Four) A classic 1973 Play for Today, written by Colin Welland (Chariots of Fire) and directed by Michael Apted (the Up series). The poignant tale of a man (Bill Maynard) who leaves his wife for a barmaid he kisses on his 50th birthday.