The White Lotus, Season Two

Available on: NOW TV/Sky Atlantic

As well as the fact it includes one of the funniest character deaths in recent TV history, the second season of Mike White’s critically acclaimed dark comedy is notable for the fact it overcomes the familiar pitfalls of the proverbial difficult second album.

Featuring a new set of awful hotel guests, it builds on the success of the debut season and delivers a sequel that is arguably even juicier in terms of laughs, shock value, and social commentary. Whether it’s the return of Jennifer Coolidge’s gloriously dim-witted socialite or the bizarre foursome that is comprised of Aubrey Plaza, Will Sharpe, Theo James, and Meghan Fahy’s characters, there is plenty to chew over.

While the cast, much like the first season, are a delight, it’s White that deserves the plaudits for devising a follow-up that builds on the success of The White Lotus’ debut outing without repeating the formula. Granted, the season’s glorious Sicilian setting helps matter, but it takes a writer of considerable discipline to avoid re-treading familiar tropes and White does so, successfully leaving viewers such as I crossing their fingers for a third instalment.  

I Hate Suzie Too, Now TV

Lucy Prebble and Billie Piper got together once more this Christmas for a follow up to I Hate Suzie. Like the first series, I Hate Suzie Too has an arty, experimental feel and is starkly referential of Billie Piper’s real life.

In this second series, central character Suzie Pickles must take part in a Strictly-esque dance competition in order to revive her career. For the show, she is paired with her fictional ex-husband Bailey (Douglas Hodge) an uncanny homage to Chris Evans. Bailey is funny, magnanimous and harmless – a friend to Suzie akin to the friendship that Piper and Evans profess to having in real life.

The central theme of this follow up series is the artifice of celebrity. While taking part in the dance show, Suzie is forced to watch VTs of herself as her agent and publicist deconstruct her natural mannerisms and personality. In another scene, she is forced to wrangle her unruly, working-class family into the perfect picture of domestic bliss. It’s an interesting look at the undignified and desperate life of a tabloid celebrity that Billie Piper is all too qualified to illustrate.

21st century feminist themes pervade the story: Suzie’s ex-husband uses his own sensitivity and self-awareness to gaslight and manipulate her – all the while taking her money. Their custody battle draws attention to the law handicapping bread-winning women – something we’ve heard a lot less about than men who deride handing over half of their earnings in divorce.

The mode in which these ideas surface in I Hate Suzie Too is probably the opposite of Christmassy. The prevailing mood of the show is chaos and desperation, encapsulated in the programme’s ending – when Suzie reveals her custody battle and fight for her career have caused her to lose her hair.

Not a traditional drama and not conventional Christmas viewing for its bleakness and franticness, but I Hate Suzie Too certainly has the ability to make you think about the falseness of celebrity and the unique struggle of women in the spotlight.  

What We Do in the Shadows, Season 4

Available on Disney+

WWDITS has long been shaping into a modern-day comedy classic, though this latest season does little to add to its legacy.

While there is still plenty of laughs to be had at the expense of the Staten Island dwelling vampires at its core, the fourth instalment of this small-screen adaptation does little to progress the arc of its central characters.

The hedonistic Laszlo, played by the ever-delightful Matt Berry, is still as sexually compromised as he’s always been, and his spouse Nadja (Natasia Demetriou) foregoes the biggest development in her character to date in favour of opening a vampire nightclub that only ever serves as a side plot to the show’s main goings-on.

Nandor (Kayvan Novak) spends most of this season looking for a wife and while this undoubtedly throws up some laughs, it’s not really anything we haven’t seen from him before. His long-suffering familiar Guillermo (Harvey Guillén) is even more muted, doing very little up until a climatic and promising finale.

Perhaps the most surprising character development is that of the deceased Colin Robinson (Mark Proksch), who spends most of the show as a toddler that crawled out of his cavity and has an unusual penchant for musicals. If that sounds absurd, it’s because WWDITS is a completely absurdist show and that, along with its leading cast, is unquestionably its USP.

Even when this series feels familiar, there are still some stellar episodes to enjoy – none more so than a DIY caper that underpins the showrunner’s ability to effortlessly toy with multiple televisual genres. This ultimately makes the show worthwhile and goes a long way to explaining why it has already been commissioned for another two seasons.

Brassic

Available on NOW TV and Sky

The fourth season of Danny Brocklehurst and Joe Gilgun’s crime caper does little to dispel the notion that Brassic is one of the most curious shows on British television today.

An undeniably Northern homage to the works of Ritchie and Tarantino, the show has an unmistakable Marmite quality which means it is just as likely to repel viewers as it is entertain them.

As a long-term fan of Gilgun’s work, I’m mostly in the latter camp but did find aspects of this season a little difficult to grasp. For starters, the small-town setting means the show is self-contained to a point where its events begin to feel a little repetitive and, at worst, redundant. There are very little stakes involved when protagonists have an almost Houdini-like ability to evade their comeuppance.

That being said, Brocklehurst and Gilgun’s penchant for razor-sharp dialogue means Brassic always maintains a cheeky charm that is difficult to ignore. It’s a bit like when you bump into the larger-than-life football lad from your school year – you know that fundamentally they’re a bit of a plank, but ultimately their heart is (probably) in the right place.

Gilgun is also a real USP for the show. Fans of his work in This is England will already be aware of his innate ability to blend comedy with introspection, but Brassic gives him the star status needed to really flex his dramatic muscles. His character’s arc is undoubtedly the most interesting thing about this show, even though the zany nature of its goings-on sometimes mean that the underlying theme of mental health is skirted around.

Whether another season will be warranted after Brassic returns for a fifth run remains to be seen, but this remains an easy and entertaining watch in the most part.

Mammals

Available on: Amazon Prime

Mammals is a curious show. Playwright’s forays into television and/or film can often yield mixed results, and this proves to be the case for the lauded Jez Butterworth.

Admittedly, I’m not familiar with Butterworth’s previous work but his transition from theatre to the altogether different world of the small screen is sadly not a seamless one.

Much of that may be to do with the casting of his friend James Corden, that all-too-familiar jar of human Marmite, in the lead role of a cuckolded husband desperate to uncover the mystery of his improbably exotic wife’s many extramarital affairs.

Corden is a better actor than many would care to admit, but he and co-star Melia Kreiling fail to establish the chemistry needed to make a sitcom work. Their relationship is so devoid of believability that it renders it nigh on impossible to emotionally invest in, leaving us unsurprised that Corden’s character has been cheated on and, more damningly, nonplussed about it.

There is also an odd subplot involving Sally Hawkins’ character which rarely serves as anything more than a welcome distraction from Corden and Kreiling’s permanently sad faces.

Butterworth imbues his screenplay with a number of surrealist elements that appear to be in service of an overarching metaphor about the central issue of fidelity, but the events which translate to the screen rarely scratch beyond the surface of such deeper issues.  

Admittedly, Mammals is pleasingly short, which makes it an easy series to binge. But it’s hard to escape the gut feeling that, given the talent involved, this is a failed experiment.  

Wednesday, Netflix

The way that Netflix chose to reintroduce the Addams family to audiences this winter was an enjoyable deviation from how we remember them on TV. The teen series Wednesday took the Addams’ gothic daughter and shoved her into a classic Hollywood high school drama – creating a gripping story through exploring what makes Wednesday’s child reclusive but brilliant.

In this series, Produced and Directed by Tim Burton, Wednesday is tasked with uncovering the truth around a spate of murders in the town of Jericho. The murder mystery is intricate, weaving together multiple character strands and time periods, without being overly confusing. The final villain reveal in Wednesday perhaps comes slightly out of the blue (unless you’re familiar with the famous actor = perpetrator rule) and isn’t completely satisfying, but these things hardly ever are.

By far the more engaging aspect of Wednesday, that makes it bingeable as a show, is the homage to well-trodden teen drama tropes. Wednesday’s high school, Nevermore, is a classic teen Hollywood setting that draws parallels with all of your favourite high school films and tv shows. There are meet cutes; unrequited crushes and awkward friendships.

Not so Hollywood, but equally familiar at this point in history, are the ways Wednesday reminds us of the Harry Potter Universe. It’s an easy comparison to make when the subject matter is a school for extraordinary pupils with magical powers, but Wednesday works harder to align itself with the British franchise than that. There is a reminiscent dichotomy of “normies”and “outcasts” that feels like muggles and wizards. Not to mention that The Poe Cup feels uncannily like The Triwizard Tournament.

The audience may feel safe and warm in these familiar teen tropes, but they are less fulfilling in wrapping up some really interesting and relatable tensions in Wednesday. What makes Wednesday great as a character is how she is the perfect outcast. Entirely self-sufficient, she has learned what she needs to to survive and thrive in the absence of compassion and human company. Because this is teen Hollywood though, by the end of the series, Wednesday is in fact lusted after and has more friends than most popular members of any high school. A teenage recluse or anyone that has fantasised about finally drowning out the noise of other people, may find this story resolution less inspiring than seeing Wednesday finally finish her novel or realise the value of hours of solitary cello practise.  

Despite this minor betrayal of hermits everywhere, Wednesday provides a fresh spin on the Hollywood teen drama and also finds a way to make the Addams family relevant in 2022.

The Walk-In

Available on: ITV Player

ITV’s track rate of delivering quality drama can be considered sporadic at best. This is, after all, the network that foisted Benidorm and Keith Lemon upon us. But every now and then, they serve up a hidden gem and Jeff Pope’s The Walk-In is certainly that.

Fronted by the ever-excellent Stephen Graham, the five-episode series recounts Matthew Collin’s infiltration of the British neo-nazi terrorist group National Action, who were linked to the tragic murder of Labour MP Jo Cox. Interestingly, Collins is a reformed racist who now works as an activist for the anti-fascism group Hope Not Hate, meaning his perspective on the show’s proceedings oscillates between unwavering commitment to his cause, remorse for his past actions, and empathy for the confused National Action member who he finds himself trying to help.

It is a hard-hitting show that is often uncomfortable to watch. Pope and director Paul Andrew Williams are unflinching in their depiction of the violence organisations such as National Action are willing to commit and are also unafraid to remind audiences that the warped views of its membership are still very prevalent in British society. After all, the events of The Walk-In are a recent (and depressing) memory.

Graham is as dependable and understated as ever as Collins, whose willingness to risk everything he has to help eradicate the plague of racism offers a stark reminder that not enough is being done to challenge the sort of prejudiced, ill-informed views that, if ignored once too often, can lead to events such as Cox’s tragic passing. For this reason, The Walk-In is both challenging and essential viewing.  

Cabinet of Curiosities, Netflix

Over the Halloween period, we were treated to a new television offering from Guillermo Del Toro. He introduces each episode of this eight-part series in person, lending it a folkloric energy, promising insight into the human psyche through horror.

The episodes within Cabinet of Curiosities work best when they live up to this billing, when they are anchored in relatable, understandable human feelings and stories. The fourth episode: The Outside made a horror of a woman’s obsession with her physical appearance and the series finale: The Murmuring told a story of grief. Both were extremely satisfying watches.

Episodes that worked less well were the ones that failed to allow us to sympathise with their central characters’ plight or overloaded the visual effects and fantasy elements at the expense of intriguing story or true human emotion. Dreams in the Witch House starring Rupert Grint, was one such example.

The best episode in the series was The Autopsy. Body snatchers are a well-worn plot device in TV and film, but the suspense built at the end of this episode (when it became increasingly likely that Dr Carl Winters might have the intelligence and guts to defeat his alien invader) was truly unique and masterful.

Overall, this series was a thoroughly enjoyable exploration of the horror genre. Del Toro’s standing will forever allow him the resources to build intricate and elaborate worlds. Every inch of Cabinet of Curiosities, like his films, is meticulously crafted and emersive as a result. Some of these episodes are more watchable and relatable than others, but none are without merit.

House of the Dragon

Available on: NOW TV/Sky Atlantic

House of the Dragon is the latest case of a network trying to revive the corpse of a former cash cow, marking the first return to Westeros since Game of Thrones’ disastrous ending in 2019.

Set 200 years before the events of GoT, it is primarily focused on a civil war between the dysfunctional Targaryen family that is set in motion when King Viserys (Paddy Considine) declares his daughter Rhaenyra as his heir.

Unexpectedly, the notion of a woman occupying the Iron Throne is cause for dispute among the show’s many schemers, but the picture is muddied further when Viserys later weds his offspring’s best friend and through her is bestowed with multiple male heirs.

Like its predecessor, House of the Dragon is packed with quasi-Shakespearian conspiracies – devious uncles, unpleasant conspirators, and many, many scorned lovers. For this reason alone, it is not without its qualities. The cast is generally excellent – Considine, Matt Smith, Rhys Ifans, Olivia Cooke, and Emma D’Arcy are all obvious standouts.

But, like so many rebooted franchises, the show suffers because little feels original. GoT gripped the world at its peak because it was completely unpredictable and often shocking, whereas much of this feels like a case of the showrunners attempting to play the greatest hits. Heck, we’re even forced to endure another episode that is virtually impossible to see on account of its characters being permanently shrouded in darkness. And with dragons flying around willy nilly, there’s very little in the way of shock value.  

None of this necessarily makes House of the Dragon a bad show, just a forgettable one. Little that happens in the finale suggests that a second season is worth waiting for, which leads one to conclude that HBO would have been better off leaving this sleeping dragon to lie.

She-Hulk: Attorney at Law

Available on: Disney+

Reviewing Marvel’s litany of limited series feels as if it has become somewhat of an exercise in folly, given that they all tend to tread the well-worn, ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’ approach to world building.

She-Hulk: Attorney at Law is the latest slice of content from the comic behemoth and does at least try to do something a little different from its predecessors. Tatiana Maslany’s quick-witted take on the titular lead character means we are often invited to peer beyond the fourth wall of this realm of the Marvel universe, in an assumedly well-intentioned attempt to appeal to some of the franchise’s loudest critics.

It's an approach that certainly succeeds in lowering the show’s stakes, in the sense that it lends proceedings a breezy air of almost non-importance. Whereas Ms. Marvel felt somewhat critical to the short-term success of Phase 4 because it introduced the MCU’s first Muslim superhero, She-Hulk… feels like nine episodes of good-natured, mostly slapstick fun.

In that respect, the show holds some appeal. Maslany is a clear stand-out, but we also get to enjoy some comic turns from Mark Ruffalo and Tim Roth while getting to know some of Marvel’s lesser known characters a little better. All in all, everyone involved appears to be having a lot of fun and, ever so occasionally, that is no bad thing.

She-Hulk… also touches on some weightier topics in a way that never feels too heavy-handed, which is impressive as that’s a balancing act many comic book franchises struggle to navigate. Over the course of the show, writer Jessica Gao touches on workplace discrimination, ghosting, body shaming, loneliness, and the timeless head-fuck that is internet dating all while trying to keep her story focused on a woman who essentially turns into a big green monster when she’s angry.

And therein lies the problem. Even when Marvel is trying to be more self-aware, it cannot shake the notion that its latest intellectual property is just the latest entrant in a supposedly never-ending attempt to conquer pop culture. How can we expect to care about Ms. Marvel or She-Hulk when they will soon be pushed down the Disney algorithm by yet another limited series?

In fairness, this is a problem that is only caused by success and there’s no denying that Marvel do their shtick well. But it’s becoming increasingly hard to emotionally invest in their content when it is so easy to forget about.

Industry, HBO/ BBC

Season Two of Industry picks up where the first season left off. In the hyper modern world of Pierpoint Bank. It’s an effortlessly cool TV setting where an effortlessly and authentically diverse cast of characters attempt to scale the perilous career hierarchy of a London city bank.

London and cast diversity are things that UK television struggle to get right, but that’s not the case with Industry. London as a backdrop to a TV show isn’t inherently cool (despite what commissioners seem to think), but the attention to detail here and the way the elitist depiction of the capital informs the story, really earns it as a setting.

Forced cast diversity in UK shows is something else that can often cause you to cringe, but in Industry it is effortlessly authentic, real and effective. Central character Harper’s (Myha'la Herrold) black American roots inform who she is and why she needs a job at a London bank. Rishi (Sagar Radia) is a three-dimensional South Asian Londoner - a character that we all recognise from real life but find difficult to recall a TV counterpart.  

For its coolness and authenticity, Industry is so watchable and easily manages to sustain audience interest. The one questionable aspect of its allure is the use of sex. Whenever any two characters meet, it is a matter of time before they are naked – a trope that borders on the indefensibly pornographic at times.

Aside from that though, Industry’s ability to make banking and finance cool and dramatic add to its list of triumphs. Harper’s sale at the end of Episode Two is insatiably theatrical, adrenaline fueled and gripping. The end of Season Two builds to a lively fever pitch when Harper, Eric and Rishi look for a way out, leaving you desperate to know how it will work out.

The season finale expands the scope of Industry by bringing the political and media sphere into play. True to form, it does this seamlessly and in a televisual way reminding you of the best of House of Cards.

For all of the above reasons, Season Two of Industry picks up where Season One left off and elevates this show further. Genius lines litter the eight episodes (“During the gold rush, all the gold miners actually went bust…I’m interested in the picks and the shovels”) and you leave the series wanting more rather than less. The shocking cliffhanger at the end of Season Two evidences the fact we will get more and it will be interesting to see how far this show can go.

Bad Sisters

Available on: Apple TV+

Sharon Horgan’s latest televisual triumph will bring a familiar sense of dread to viewers who are unfortunate enough not to get along with their in-laws. An adaptation of a Belgian series (The Out-Laws), it focuses on four sisters who are so appalled by their brother-in-law’s treatment of their other sibling that they decide that the only rational thing to do is murder him.

If that sounds a little farfetched, then it’s high time for me to admit that the events of Bad Sisters do border on the implausible at times. But when a show is as well scripted and supremely acted as this, then you’re more inclined to forgive its indiscretions.

Much of that is down to Horgan, who once again proves herself (as if she needed to) to be one of the foremost names in comedy today. Despite a fairly generous runtime of 10 episodes, Bad Sisters is expertly paced and builds brilliantly to its shocking and emotionally charged crescendo.

For that to be the case, you have to create characters that an audience is willing to invest in. And the Garvey sisters are that and then some. Whether it’s the maternal Eva (Horgan), maritally conflicted Ursula (Eva Birthistle), hard-nosed Bibi (Sarah Greene), naïve Becka (Eve Hewson) or long-suffering Grace (Anne-Marie Duff), these are a fraternity worth rooting for.

And in Claes Bang’s John Paul, we might just have one of the most contemptable villains to grace the small screen in many a year. Though his character wanders closely to pantomime territory at times, he is so appallingly coercive that you cannot help but root for his demise. Indeed, the moment we finally get to see him meet his maker is one of the most satisfying moments of TV I’ve seen in a long, long time.

Critics might suggest that a series about domestic violence shouldn’t be as funny as Bad Sisters undeniably is but, in my eyes at least, that is to deprive victims of the right to choose how they process their anguish. Abuse of any form is such a personal and profoundly painful experience that it is nigh on impossible to cover it in a way that will be satisfactory to all. Crucially, the show remains grounded and respectful even in its zaniest moments.

Truly, this is one of the standout shows of 2022 and well worth 10 hours of anyone’s lives. Horgan is such a precocious talent that you cannot help but be excited by the thought of what she might cook up next. Whatever it may be, I’ll certainly be tuning in.  

Rings of Power, Amazon

Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power is the most expensive TV show ever made and, for better or worse, it definitely looks like it. The unique wonder and scale of the 00s films is retained in this gargantuan Amazon product and if you take nothing else away from watching this debut series, you will be impressed by the grand yet intricate depiction of Numenor and the epic founding of Mordor.

It seems that this is also the basis on which the shows detractors are levelling criticism. As Game of Thrones has taught us, scale and set pieces cannot always paper over the cracks of disjointed stories and uncompelling characters.

The multistranded storyline in Rings of Power can feel unsatisfyingly disconnected at times, with some characters being championed and favoured at the expense of others. The world of the harfoots (early hobbits) and the character of Nori (Markella Kavanagh) suffers in the shadow of main protagonist and action hero, Galadriel (Morfydd Clark). Because the show feels so much like a big budget film, you find yourself in constant expectation of action and fighting. Time with descendants of hobbits and the politics rather than the power of Numenor, create a sense of restlessness.   

Rings of Power’s narrative is driven by two central mysteries: who is Sauron and who is the man in grey who lands on earth (suppose we should’ve guessed the latter). They are mysteries that true fans of Tolkien and The Silmarillion probably worked out around Episode One, but that keep more casual fans in the dark until the finale.

By the time you get to that final episode, the reveal of Sauron in particular, is clever and satisfying enough. Episode Eight works really hard to bind everything together and, by the end, joins us nicely to the events and feelings of the film trilogy. Gandalf is reunited with the hobbits and Sauron has set the destruction of Middle Earth in motion.  

This feeling of being firmly back in the world of Tolkien is maybe something you hoped to feel more of for the first seven episodes, but it may prove to be the correct creative decision for this TV debut, especially if subsequent series more closely resemble the characters and themes we know.    

This England, Now TV

2020 and the covid pandemic was being recognised as a defining moment in history as it unfolded. So it makes sense that a mere two years later, Michael Winterbottom has claimed first dibs on attempting to process it artistically.

Hindsight is a wonderful thing, and This England definitely bears value in presenting the major sagas of the pandemic as we now understand them to have actually unfolded. Dominic Cummings’ whereabouts and covid case numbers were reported among a fever dream of smoke, mirrors, hysteria and spin at the time. Now we know the true nature of the events of 2020, we can better understand the true depth of the government’s incompetence.

Which of This England’s real-life characters comes off the worst? Matt Hancock is incompetent with an edge of corruption, distorting test numbers in order to make him and his department appear more capable. Boris is presented as a well-meaning but vapid and haughty buffoon. It’s a depiction that has upset people on the left, who feel that it too kindly humanises a man responsible for the deaths of thousands. In reality, it is probably quite an astute way to characterise someone who, even in 2022 (and despite his clear ineptitude for office), is still popular with large sections of the UK public. This is the second big budget drama about Dominic Cummings (see Brexit: The Uncivil War) testament to his position as the main villain and architect of one of Britain’s most poisonous political eras.

The problem with This England is how fresh in the mind the events of 2020 are. Not enough of the programme’s scenes show things we don’t already know and that we haven’t tried to forget. Two full episodes of this series show people dying in hospital on ventilators. In ramming home the criminal negligence of Boris and his cabinet, This England becomes unbearable for anyone affected by covid-19.

Along the same lines, the tone of the series is hard to engage with. For moments it is political satire, ridiculing Johnson’s decision to write a book on Shakespeare instead of engaging with his job, and then at other times we see people saying goodbye to their parents through an iPad. The series doesn’t always move satisfyingly between these two modes – evidence of the gulf between different individual experiences of covid. While some enjoyed memes about Barnard Castle, others had their families torn apart.

The events of This England are undoubtedly Boris Johnson’s legacy. He’ll be disappointed with how pathetic and un-Shakespearian they are. The characters of the covid pandemic were not calculated or even proud villains. They were lazy, ill-prepared human beings… who were bad at their jobs.

Inside Man

Available on: BBC iPlayer

Inside Man is the latest drama from Steven Moffat, the man credited with bringing Doctor Who back from the televisual afterlife. Though I am not a self-professed Whovian, I am aware of the sardonic dialogue that characterised Moffat’s time as showrunner and believe it to be a styling that can be fairly placed under the Marmite category. Put simply, you either like it or you don’t.

Having now watched Inside Man, I think I might be leaning towards the latter. While I appreciate that you have to suspend your disbelief with any drama, this show – and in particular its characters – are so unbelievable that it’s hard to take anything they do seriously.

Take David Tennant’s vicar for example. Upon learning that one of his congregation has been looking at child porn and that, due to an unfortunate series of events, this might implicate his teenage son, his immediate reaction is to nearly bludgeon to death (albeit accidentally) and kidnap the woman who could take the information to the police. Rather than, you know, tell her the truth and ensure the paedophile goes to jail. Oh, and he has a catchphrase (‘I’m a f***ing vicar’) that he says a lot.

Another issue I had with this series is the miscasting of many of its key characters. Stanley Tucci is many a thing – all of them good – but he does not make for a convincing murderer. Tucci has long been a fine actor but he carries no menace and here delivers a benign Hannibal Lecter impersonation. Tennant, having played a convicted killer with aplomb in Des, would arguably have been better placed in this role, with Tucci perhaps making for a more convincing man of the cloth.

There are also a series of bizarre side characters that make Inside Man even more implausible. One of them is Tucci’s cellmate, who we are expected to believe has brutally murdered countless women although all we see him do in the show is drop camp wisecracks. Kate Dickie also pops up in the last episode for no apparent reason, just one of many bizarre turn of events that occur over the series’ four episode run.

There is enough drama to keep you invested in Inside Man, something that can always be said for Moffat’s work. It’s just a shame that that doesn’t guarantee that it’s any good.  

Marriage, BBC

You can make a case for minimalist paintings and minimalist architecture, but what would minimalist television look like? It seems to be a preoccupation of Marriage’s creator, Stefan Golaszewski who defies every screenwriting tutor in the world to create interesting television that does not lead with story, true jeopardy, melodrama or dialogue.

Everything in Marriage is said with looks and actions in what is thoroughly visual television. When Ian (Sean Bean) wants an answer from his wife Emma (Nicola Walker) and instead of replying, she closes the curtains, it feels infinitely more clever, real and incisive than any line she could have returned with. All of the scenes in Marriage interact intricately with the spaces and sets in which they take place, with physical distance between characters a far more important device than speech.

The highpoint of this mode of storytelling occurs in the final episode when Ian’s daughter, Jess is asked to read a letter that her father wrote for her when she was young. We don’t hear the contents of the letter, but we don’t need to. Jess (Chantelle Alle)’s eyes and face help us intuitively understand the depth of feeling being conveyed and the embrace between father and daughter that follows is deeply emotional to watch.

For a series that sets itself up as an authority on the human condition, there are a handful of moments in which it is hard to understand the characters’ feelings and motivations, and it is during these moments that the series strays from uniquely authentic to pretentious. The moment in which Ian starts crying the moment that Emma stops, as they sit by their son’s grave, felt unnatural and overly proud of itself. You could hear the director blocking the scene rather than being immersed in the drama. Along these lines, the shows’ theme music has a pompous, postmodern theatre feel to it, and was a bad choice.

Luckily, there are far more moments in Marriage that are intricately worked out, relatable and authentic impressions of people and marriage. It doesn’t feel exaggerated to say that Golaszewski’s storytelling can feel groundbreaking at times and there are sequences you will find yourself thinking about for weeks after watching.

The Sandman, Netflix

The Sandman launched with all of the spectacle and anticipation that you’d expect from a Neil Gaiman Netflix project that stars Gwendoline Christie, Patton Oswalt, David Thewlis and Jenna Coleman (among others). These performances and the grandeur of certain sequences in The Sandman will render you spellbound for moments (particularly in the beginning) but will likely fail to hold you there for an entire season.  

One of the biggest strengths of Gaiman’s other big tv project Good Omens was it’s narrative discipline, something you’d expect from an author whom Terry Pratchett considered his equal. It’s difficult to say the same for The Sandman whose serial story moves jarringly at times and whose biggest plot devices aren’t always satisfyingly earned.

Too often in the fantasy genre are defining plot points abruptly introduced to us with no build, before quickly becoming very important. This happens in The Sandman when we are introduced to Rose Walker (Vanesu Samunyai) late on in the series, who we are told is a vortex. Vortexes can spell the end of the dream world but at this point in the series, it’s hard to know why we would be compelled to attach substantial understanding, meaning or feeling to that.

Where Good Omens was narratively friendly to audiences, The Sandman is exclusive and indulgent. There are standalone episodes that appear in the middle of the series. Episode Five takes place almost entirely in a diner and Episode Six sees central character Dream (Tom Sturridge) spends the episode travelling around the world with his sister Death (Kirby Howell Baptiste). These are drastic detours from the main story arc and experimental to an almost Lynchian degree. Placed within the middle of what established itself as quite a broad fantasy series, these episodes have the potential to leave audiences feeling at sea.

The Sandman is not a complete narrative dud. The series builds momentum towards the end and generates some suspense as you move towards its climax. The show plays masterfully with morality in that central villain The Corinthian (Boyd Holbrook) wants to free Rose but is also a serial killer. Whereas antihero Dream wants to kill Rose in the hope that the rest of humanity will live and continue to dream. The Sandman makes it difficult to know who to root for in a TV era where creators’ main aim is to make it difficult for us to know who to root for.

Not without its moments. The Sandman is a deliberately disorientating series. You may love it or be left alienated as a result of watching.

Westworld S4, Now TV

If you’re anything like me, then you might have forgotten that Westworld still existed.

After a spellbinding, almost flawless first season, HBO’s sci-fi epic lost its way somewhat.

Characters were redefined, the stage became problematically more grandiose, and things generally just got a little silly.

Its hard to stay emotionally invested in a show when its stakes are compromised by the fact that almost any character can be brought back from the dead without question.

And yet here we are. Season four of Westworld has come and gone, and it’s hard to draw any specific conclusions on whether the show’s shelf-life should extend beyond this.

Jonathan Nolan and Lisa Joy are clearly still having a lot of fun with their cash cow, and it’s hard to deny its base appeal. The cast is a real joy and some of the cinematography is truly wasted on the small screen. Ramin Djawadi’s score still gives me all the feels too.

But there is no denying the suspicion that Westworld is not nearly as clever as it thinks it is.

Sure, the deep-rooted philosophical throughlines are still there. At this stage, however, they are a mere accompaniment to the crash, bang, wallop nature of a show that has become indulgent in spectacle.

Gone are the days when character arcs would be fleshed out over the length of a series. In this iteration of Westworld, characters are killed off and brought back within minutes.

This still makes for entertaining television. It’s just not all that rewarding anymore.

I suspect HBO might squeeze one more season out of this before they retire the hosts for good. And at this stage, I’d say that’s the best course of action.

We Own This City, Now TV

David Simon's return to Baltimore fails to yield the returns of his most feted creation, but We Own This City is a powerful tale all the same. Chronicling the rise and fall of the abhorrently corrupt Gun Task Force, who essentially ran roughshod over the city for several years, it is a signature Simon tale of institutional failure.

Co-written with George Pelecanos and directed by Reinaldo Marcus Green, the mini-series jumps back and forth in time as it details how the Gun Task Force were eventually brought to (some form of) justice. The show benefits from a strong and eclectic cast, with Jamie Hector, Jon Bernthal and Wunmi Mosaku standing out.

Like much of Simon's work, this show demands a certain degree of focus to truly understand and appreciate its inner workings. But for that you'll be rewarded with the sort of intelligent and insightful television that makes for a sweet alternative to the big budget fare that typically accounts for much of what's on offer nowadays.

Breeders S3, Now TV

It seems strange that a comedy series made by Chris Addison and starring Martin Freeman isn’t talked about more, and if Breeders has passed you by until now, it’s worth a watch. Comedy drama is a tricky genre, with few creators able to strike the balance between funny and serious – but it’s a tightrope that Breeders walks well.   

The third season, written by Addison, Freeman and Simon Blackwell (The Thick of It) is very funny – with moments that inspire out loud laughs as well as approving smirks. You feel in completely safe hands with the comedy in Breeders and get the sense that the funnies are being crafted by people whose sense of humour is more adept and inclusively nuanced than your own. Martin Freeman is unequivocally back home in this sitcom setting and throughout will remind you of the comedy chops that lay the groundwork for his stardom.

As well as the funny, there are also serious moments in Breeders. Season 3 continues to interrogate family dynamics and the perils of parenting in a way that is sometimes interesting, but admittedly, sometimes isn’t. One moment of true merit though, that could only be achieved in the comedy drama format, occurs in the middle of the series when central character Ally (Daisy Haggard) confronts death in the most sardonic way imaginable. The third season is worth a watch for this unique take on death alone.

Like all of Sky’s offerings, Breeders is a lavish, glossy and visually ambitious piece of TV. It can make for a nice experience, but is also sometimes jarring and unrealistic. For example, a lot of the family turmoil that we are expected to relate to takes place in a 2-million-pound pad in London that wouldn’t look out of place on MTV Cribs. It’s not the vision of domestic chaos that most are used to.

Owing to its examination of said domestic chaos, Breeders draws obvious parallels with Catastrophe. The two shows tread the same ground about families and the idea that the essence of parenthood is underlying and ever-present trauma. Breeders is on a number of levels the more sophisticated and nuanced of the two shows, but having said all of that, is maybe not more charming for being so. Regardless, it is an extremely comedically competent series that can be palatably binged in a weekend or two.