the baggy trousered misanthropist

missives issued from the lair

Mercedes-Benz Presents - Easton Pearson - Backstage - MBFWA S/S 2013/14

Do you use Timotei? Image: Marianna Massey/Getty Images.

Writing is a difficult business, fraught with self-indulgence, petulance and the kind of narcissistic navel gazing that should be punished with a hefty slap in a world where people are really suffering.

Thankfully, I’m over it, my hairdresser has sorted through the carnage my burnout breakdown inflicted on my bouff and I’m ready to tell you what I think about the telly.

It’s Broadchurch, baby!

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Image via frikate.

Broadchurch stood head and shoulders above most ITV crime dramas, but let’s not get too carried away with the plaudits. The light channel’s crack at The Killing emulated the tension and wilful misdirection of it’s Danish muse in the first and last couple of episodes, but sagged worryingly in the middle, when DI Hardy’s mysterious illness and a bit of digging by a flashy out of town journalist were all we had to sustain us.

Props to Olivia Colman though, who did her best with a script that seemed intent, at least in the early stages of the show,  upon portraying DS Ellie Miller as a distracted, petulant type whose ability to take an objective view of Danny Latimer’s murder was heavily compromised by her relationship with his family. I can understand how the writers may have wanted a more sympathetic female lead than the single-minded Sarah Lund, whose parting gift to her loved ones was the tyre marks on their faces as she sped off to the latest crime scene, but when you have a talent like Colman on your books, you owe it to her and your audience to stretch her.

She won’t break.

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