Last Tango with Last Tango
T.R.U.E. (Tuesday Round-up of Everything), Week of 7/29. Post #1:
"Last Tango in Halifax," Season Two
The concept was always a little thin, a little pandering, a little does-anyone-at-the-BBC-actually-WATCH-television-or-go-outside: November-December romance between two one-time teen lovers who find each other again, six decades later, on Facebook.
But watching Derek Jacobi and Ann Reid and especially Nicola Walker doing their understated things, getting trapped in rainstorms in haunted old inns, mucking out sheep stalls, making do, making love, getting through...like, "Downton," in the end, it was easy to excuse. Easy to fall into. Hard not to like.
I've now watched half of Season Two, and--sadly, predictably--find that it's no longer hard. Having married off Derek and Ann, creator/writer Sally Wainwright begins casting about for some other justification for continuing the show, and decides on the Anything I Can Think Of school of plot development. The first 150 minutes of this year have brought us, let's see: an unwanted teen pregnancy (with a previously unmentioned girflriend); financial crises at two separate houses; Caroline's lesbian lover deciding to move in; Caroline's lover announcing she wants a baby...by sperm donor...which she will have by making love with an old flame...who's going to drop by during the happy couple's forthcoming birthday weekend away; revelations of an abortion from 30 years ago that will poison a relationship now; the teen mom running away; Caroline's oily ex-husband (more on him and his oil below) getting dropped by his publisher, having nowhere to go, and so moving in on the Nicola Walker character, who, yeah, makes poor decisions with men, and who deserves better, fairer treatment than this show wants to give her. And then there's the resurrection of the useless suicide-or-murder plot that almost ruined Season One. Oh, and I forgot the anaphylactic shock bit. All without varying that essential, lightweight tone. There's no comedy, here. No release. No actual characters, just situations. It's soap-opera slurry, with absolutely nothing at stake.
And then there's Tony Gardner playing Rupert Graves playing one of Rupert's trademark sleazebags.
You know how, on "Chopped," every now and then a contestant will grab the truffle oil out of the pantry, and we'll all scream, "No, NO!" at the screen, because we know the judges HATE truffle oil, always feel it overpowers everything else? The Gardner-Rupert character has become the BBC drama equivalent of truffle oil. They keep reaching for it. They keep sprinkling liberally over their dramas. We keep screaming. "NO!"
Too late...
"Last Tango in Halifax," Season Two
The concept was always a little thin, a little pandering, a little does-anyone-at-the-BBC-actually-WATCH-television-or-go-outside: November-December romance between two one-time teen lovers who find each other again, six decades later, on Facebook.
But watching Derek Jacobi and Ann Reid and especially Nicola Walker doing their understated things, getting trapped in rainstorms in haunted old inns, mucking out sheep stalls, making do, making love, getting through...like, "Downton," in the end, it was easy to excuse. Easy to fall into. Hard not to like.
I've now watched half of Season Two, and--sadly, predictably--find that it's no longer hard. Having married off Derek and Ann, creator/writer Sally Wainwright begins casting about for some other justification for continuing the show, and decides on the Anything I Can Think Of school of plot development. The first 150 minutes of this year have brought us, let's see: an unwanted teen pregnancy (with a previously unmentioned girflriend); financial crises at two separate houses; Caroline's lesbian lover deciding to move in; Caroline's lover announcing she wants a baby...by sperm donor...which she will have by making love with an old flame...who's going to drop by during the happy couple's forthcoming birthday weekend away; revelations of an abortion from 30 years ago that will poison a relationship now; the teen mom running away; Caroline's oily ex-husband (more on him and his oil below) getting dropped by his publisher, having nowhere to go, and so moving in on the Nicola Walker character, who, yeah, makes poor decisions with men, and who deserves better, fairer treatment than this show wants to give her. And then there's the resurrection of the useless suicide-or-murder plot that almost ruined Season One. Oh, and I forgot the anaphylactic shock bit. All without varying that essential, lightweight tone. There's no comedy, here. No release. No actual characters, just situations. It's soap-opera slurry, with absolutely nothing at stake.
And then there's Tony Gardner playing Rupert Graves playing one of Rupert's trademark sleazebags.
You know how, on "Chopped," every now and then a contestant will grab the truffle oil out of the pantry, and we'll all scream, "No, NO!" at the screen, because we know the judges HATE truffle oil, always feel it overpowers everything else? The Gardner-Rupert character has become the BBC drama equivalent of truffle oil. They keep reaching for it. They keep sprinkling liberally over their dramas. We keep screaming. "NO!"
Too late...
No comments have been added yet.
