Seventies style is the great – even historical – charm of this series. Fast cars, millionaires, casinos … a rollicking, over-the-top, sunshine Riviera lifestyle offering a welcome relief from the tungsten-lit, meat-paste-sandwich existence endured by most of the TV audience of the day. In a 1971 Britain where the highlight of the year was in being converted to natural gas, 'The Persuaders' larged it and with glitzy comic panache.

Tony Curtis and Roger Moore are perfectly matched in this tongue-in-cheek antique, bouncing ad-lib and repartee off each other like a seasoned double act, pistol in one hand, champagne glass in the other. The seeds of Moore's forthcoming Bond interpretation were clearly sown here.

Episode One introduces us to millionaire playboys Danny Wilde (Curtis) and Lord Brett Sinclair (Moore), who are thrust comically together by the machinations of former Judge Fulton, now in luxury retirement in the south of France. They take up the Judge's challenge, to bring to justice some of those who have escaped his judicial net in the past and subsequently Wilde and Sinclair joke, drink, flirt and punch their way through the series, always getting their man and surrounding themselves with tasty totty into the bargain.

Yes, the sets look cheap, the hair-do's are lacquered to withstand nuclear attack and Brett Sinclair's wardrobe (designed by Roger Moore) defies description, but for a taste of excitement from the tiny niche of a pre-decimal, post-sixties world, it doesn't get better than this. This is a world where men are men and women are willing; where the hotel manager always knows your name and your usual suite is reserved; where the headwaiter shows you to the best table and the prettiest girl at the poolside falls instantly for your chat up line. And having dispensed with the baddies, straightened your tie and finished your cocktail, you screech off into the St Tropez sunset in your Aston Martin, with a mini-skirted leggy blonde fingering your gear knob.

Curtis and Moore had a ball when they made 'The Persuaders' and it shows. The humour, enjoyment and warmth they bring to their performances are clearly genuine and they stroll effortlessly through each episode, inviting the viewer to sit back and enjoy their exaggerated antics.

So, get the Space Hopper down from the attic, shake the moths out of the tank-top, fluff up the sideburns, and settle down for a nostalgia-fest of epic proportions. Sheer bliss.

Those were the days ...
Review date: 2003-07-02 Rating: 10 out of 10

It's all here – everything you ever wanted to remember about the seventies but were afraid to look back at. The full collection of 24 wisecracking, Ferrari powered, Martini-sipping, dolly-squeezing episodes is a gallop down memory lane for people of a certain age, and a jaw-dropping peephole back in time for a younger generation. Memories are made of this.

Seventies style is the great – even historical – charm of this series. Fast cars, millionaires, casinos … a rollicking, over-the-top, sunshine Riviera lifestyle which offered a welcome relief from the tungsten-lit, meat-paste-sandwich existence endured by most of the TV audience of the day. In a 1971 Britain where the highlight of the year was being converted to natural gas, 'The Persuaders' larged it and with glitzy comic panache.

Tony Curtis and Roger Moore are perfectly matched in this tongue-in-cheek antique, bouncing ad-lib and repartee off each other like a seasoned double act, pistol in one hand, champagne glass in the other. The seeds of Moore's forthcoming Bond interpretation were clearly sown here.

Episode One introduces us to millionaire playboys Danny Wilde (Curtis) and Lord Brett Sinclair (Moore), who are thrust comically together by the machinations of former Judge Fulton, now in luxury retirement in the south of France. They take up the Judge's challenge, to bring to justice some of those who have escaped his judicial net in the past and subsequently Wilde and Sinclair joke, drink, flirt and punch their way through the series, always getting their man and surrounding themselves with tasty totty into the bargain.

Yes, the sets look cheap, the hair-do's are lacquered to withstand nuclear attack and Brett Sinclair's wardrobe (designed by Roger Moore) defies description, but for a taste of excitement from the tiny niche of a pre-decimal, post-sixties world, it doesn't get better than this. This is a world where men are men and women are willing; where the hotel manager always knows your name and your usual suite is reserved; where the headwaiter shows you to the best table and the prettiest girl at the poolside falls instantly for your chat up line. And having dispensed with the baddies, straightened your tie and finished your cocktail, you screech off into the St Tropez sunset in your Aston Martin, with a mini-skirted leggy blonde.

Curtis and Moore had a ball when they made 'The Persuaders' and it shows. The humour, enjoyment and warmth they bring to their performances are clearly genuine and they stroll effortlessly through each episode, inviting the viewer to sit back and enjoy their exaggerated antics.

So, get the Space Hopper down from the attic, shake the moths out of the tank-top, fluff up the sideburns, and settle down for a nostalgia-fest of epic proportions. Sheer bliss.

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