What do women want? That was the fundamental question that vexed both Sigmund Freud and Jane Austen, who wrote over a hundred years apart but agreed on the same answer. For Freud, women wanted a symbolic way to “detach themselves from the mother and find their way to the father”. For Austen, they wanted a big empty house containing a massively repressed husband who was nonetheless smouldering with opaque passion and prone to momentary declarations of love throughout a lifetime of otherwise emotional lockjaw. Which made Miss Austen Regrets (BBC One, Sunday) something of a revelation.

The prospect of yet another agonising trip through the ornate and overly precious pre-conjugal world of Austen was, for me at least (a proud and self-declared Austenhater), something akin to offering Mr Darcy a 90-minute scream therapy session (although, clearly, he could do worse). Thankfully, the drama by the director Jeremy Lovering, inspired by correspondence between Jane and her sister Cassandra, quickly turned the traditional approach to Austen worship on its head.

Based mostly between 1814 and 1815, when Austen (Olivia Williams) was writing Emma, the drama depicted the author, flitting between her brother's estate in Kent and her cottage in Hampshire, always witty, often flirtatious, at her creative peak, yet deeply unhappy with her lot. Through startling silver-blue frames and slow-motion set pieces, more pop promo than period adaptation, Austen drily defended her single status (“I never found a husband worth giving up flirting for!”) while advising her niece Fanny (Imogen Poots) on prospective partners. The narrative here was beguilingly loose and without urgency - basically, three parties, two illnesses and a wedding.

The central performance from Williams was a knockout, complimented by harsh unglamorous close-ups of a harried face, pale and careworn, and sad, soulful eyes. But best of all, however, were the silences. Whereas the wearisome Austen brand mistakenly equates prolixity with charm, here the words were cut down to a minimum. Gorgeous scenes, composites of close-ups, of Austen alone, staring, reflecting and aching, all underscored by the pining piano of the composer Jennie Muskett, somehow described Austen's crushing loss and confusion without a line of dialogue. The closing topper, where Austen revealed that she was pressurised into remaining unmarried by her sister, and was thus a novelist by default, made complete sense.

Nearly 200 years later, and Austen's proto-feminist counterpart is wannabe glamour model Chelsea White, the documentary subject of Page Three Teens (BBC Three, Sunday). Chelsea, like Austen, wanted to support herself through creative endeavours. In the two months before she turned 18 (the legal age for glamour modelling), she thus “thoroughly” investigated the topless business. Which here meant visiting a photo session where a semi-naked babe said “Jordan is an inspiration to girls like me!”, and a wily photographer announced “I think people have realised that you don't have to be thick to be a model!” Yes, but it helps.

Meanwhile, Chelsea - too small for the mainstream, too young for fashion magazines, and too generic for the tabloids - clearly didn't stand a chance. But the show simply stumbled along, haphazardly sticking asides about the dangers of paedophile grooming next to leering close-ups of Chelsea's chest. Typically, it followed the news of Chelsea's all-clear after a breast cancer scare with the announcement: “And there's more good news - she's got a meeting with The Sun's Page 3 photographer!”

Of course, what women really want comes in the form of lean, mean dung-squeezing, urine-drinking Old Etonian action man Bear Grylls, star of Born Survivor (Channel 4). Poor Bear, however, possibly suffering a credibility breakdown after the “faking it” scandal that rocked his reputation, has split into two personalities. There's the one on camera, doing all the naturey stuff - in this case negotiating the jungles of Panama, climbing down vines and, er, walking quickly. And there's the Bear on the soundtrack, Voiceover Bear, who seems to have overdosed on danger pills. “One move and it could be game over!” growls Voiceover Bear as Screen Bear climbs into a pothole. And, best of all, while Screen Bear stares blankly at a spiky plant, Voiceover Bear hisses: “One touch, and you're dead!” Or not.

Out of the Box

Those of you still reeling from the sight of tennis pro Mark Philippoussis turning 13 American women into back-stabbing harridans in 2007's Age of Love will be pleased to know that celebrity-dating TV has hit a new high/low. Paris Hilton's My New BFF (Best Friend Forever) will feature 20 lucky contestants, personally vetted by Hilton, who will vie for the chance to become the celebutante's über-mate. So far, more than 85,000 desperate suckers/contestants have posted audition tapes online, hoping to make the final 20. When questioned recently about her inspiration for the format, Hilton, who is also one of the show's producers, said that she thought it would be a good way to “meet some new friends”. So, er, salsa classes were out of the question, then?

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