During the course of Fearless: Samantha Barry (RTÉ1), the person in question was variously described as "energetic", "driven", "a ball of energy", "charming" and "amazingly spectacular". And yes, as the film's title had assured us, "fearless", too.
But why fearless? Was it because she had agreed to have as her boss the fearsome Anna Wintour, a woman reputed to be so terrifying in the fashion world that she only has to fix her basilisk stare on underlings from behind those impenetrable sunglasses for them to expire on the spot? Or have you not seen The Devil Wears Prada?
Anyway, Barry had opted to take up the role as the eighth editor-in-chief of Glamour magazine, with Wintour in overall command as Condé Nast's (and here I quote) "US artistic director, editor-in-chief of Vogue US and global content advisor", which is quite a mouthful.
At this point I should confess that, until last Monday, I'd never heard of Barry, though maybe that's just because I'm not in the habit of reading fashion magazines, especially those, like Glamour, which are now available only online.
I learnt from this gushing profile (Glamour, apparently, is "one of the most prestigious female-focused media brands in the world") that she hails from Ballincollig in Co Cork, studied journalism at Dublin City University, worked with radio stations in Papua New Guinea and had a stint as a reporter with CNN, which seemingly so impressed the Condé Nast people that they offered her the Glamour job.
But I didn't learn much more about her, or indeed anything about what makes her tick. She came across as extrovert and forthright in a jolly-camogie-sticks kind of way and quite unlike someone you'd imagine would be working in an industry that's mostly run by grim-faced people fixated on stick-insect aspirations. Perhaps that's what won the approval of the icy Wintour, who deemed her a "perfect leader" who "looks at everything from a global perspective".
Barry herself spoke of her "overall vision for the brand" because, of course, despite all the talk by Wintour of Glamour offering a true "reflection of young women", that's what it is: a brand, and a superficial one at that, there to make money for its owners.
Still, Barry lent the documentary some human appeal, a quality that was conspicuously absent from the first episode of Inside Monaco: Playground of the Rich (BBC2), a rebranding exercise as blank as the prince who runs that ridiculously privileged European principality.
Formerly the paparazzi had been banned from taking unauthorised snaps there, but now that everyone has smartphones, Albert II has decided to loosen the rules in the hope of opening up the place to a younger set than the dwindling old millionaires who have traditionally taken advantage of its tax-free enticements.
Still, if you're not of native Monégasque descent (9,000 out of the 37,000 population) or don't have at least €500,000 in your bank account, you won't get to reside there. But if you do have the readies, you can stay for €40,000 a night in the poshest hotel suite, pay €2,000 a day to berth your yacht or shell out €5,000 for a Methuselah of Champagne.
There were lots of unlovely people interviewed for the film, including the reigning prince, who sadly didn't inherit the looks of his mother Grace Kelly, nor her charm.
Yet for all his dullness, I preferred him to English self-made billionaire John Caudwell, who was the owner of Britain's Most Expensive Home (Channel 4) and oozed arrogant entitlement as he blithely splashed out £65m for the refurbishment of his Mayfair townhouse.
The only amusing moment came when we met his current partner who, at 35, was three decades younger than the 66-year-old Caudwell. She had vowed, she said, not to get involved with someone who was much older than herself or divorced or with grown-up children, "but when I met John, somehow that wasn't so important". I couldn't help thinking of Mrs Merton's question to Debbie McGee about her hubby: "What first attracted you to the millionaire Paul Daniels?"
Murder in the Outback (Channel 4) ran over four nights and concerned the 2001 killing of Peter Falconio in northern Australia, for which Bradley Murdoch is serving a life sentence imposed in 2005.
Falconio's body was never found, so there has been much speculation about the case for nearly 20 years. No conclusion was reached here, either, and so the viewer wondered why it merited four episodes.
The Secrets She Keeps (RTÉ1) is a six-part Australian thriller with Laura Carmichael (Edith in Downton Abbey) as a disturbed woman with sinister designs on a more successful woman of her own age who is about to give birth.
Already there are echoes of both Single White Female and The Hand that Rocks the Cradle, but the first episode was gripping in a clammy kind of way and the series may be worth pursuing.
So might I May Destroy You (BBC1), created by and starring Michaela Coel as a scatty young blogger on the way to a successful writing career but ending up, after a wild night out, with little memory of what had happened but bad flashbacks that suggest she may have been raped.
There were too many characters to absorb in this week's opening episodes, but Coel effortlessly commanded the screen.
In Eric Clapton: Life in 12 Bars (BBC2), the rock legend came across as a self-absorbed, miserable git. Ronnie Wood: Somebody Up There Likes Me (Sky Arts) was much more fun, mainly because Ronnie and the Stones are fun.
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