Seeking a change of pace from genial lashings of River Cottage, I suggested to The Goddess a thriller, State of Play, even going so far as to disclose its probable political content. Such is Her love for me that She said She’d try the first episode. (This is Her code for And if it’s boringly political, you are on your own.)
I vaguely remembered the excited reviews of Paul Abbott‘s series a few years back. I’d read them too late – they’d already screened the first couple of eps – but to be honest, at the time, I would’ve been too entranced in The Shield and The Wire to consider anything else seriously.
After the first ep, I found myself hunched forward, bunched fists at my sides. After the second ep, I looked wild-eyed at The Goddess: I’m all wound up and there weren’t even any bodies! After the third ep, a Voice beside me said, despite the lateness of the hour, Can we watch the next episode?
You get the picture.
I’m glad I didn’t try jumping in mid-season way back when: the pace is unforgiving. Never was there anything as crass as a character reminding another of what they’d discovered in an earlier episode. There were no genre white lies of Shh, everything’ll be okay to hold on to. I was never given the opportunity – the breathing space, even – to think, Okay, this is the bit where they do something stupid but a handy deus ex machina will save the day – because that shit just didn’t happen. That’s how freaking good the writing is.
We lapped it up.
And I am so not going to the big-screen adaptation.
