Burly miner struts across the Cornish cliff, rippling his muscles. ‘I’ve a message from Trenwith. Where’s Poldark…?’
‘He’s behind youuuuuu….!’
Sorry, I thought we’d got lost in panto-land for a minute. I’ve watched both the previous series and it seems they’re certainly ratcheting up the ham-factor this time round if the opening episode was anything to go by. Perhaps this is inevitable after the first couple of series – Downtown Abbey certainly suffered the same fate.
Maybe it’s the new telly I got last year, but the colours seem to be set permanently to one of those especially lurid filters, such as Lark or Juno, that you find on Instagram. Our three central heroines – Demelza, Elizabeth and Caroline look like Charlie’s Angels in olde worldy frocks or maybe a Timotei ad, so lustrous are their floating manes and improbably perfect white teeth and flawless complexions.
There was much consternation in the nation that Ross, Every-Woman’s eye-candy (hashtag #hotstuff), didn’t flash his torso in Episode One. Normal service was swiftly resumed in Episode Two, with Demelza’s brothers also plunging obligingly bare-chested into the sea for good measure.
No, Episode One was about LAYING ON THE DRAMA. Continue reading
(Series 19, ep. 15) There was luck for some and not so much for others in this episode. Fletch was the lucky one – he’s inherited a sum of money so large it had to be written on a piece of paper and not uttered aloud. This always happens on telly. I suppose it might be so the viewer can put their own figure on it – Noel Edmonds used to call £250,000 “a life changing sum of money” on Deal Or No Deal, and to me it would be but to Sir Paul McCartney probably not so much.
Anyway, I was squinting at the piece of paper Bernie was holding for Fletch and I thought it said £75,000, but whatever it was, it’s hopefully enough to stop Fletch having to get involved in crime in the future. It’s definitely enough to get new shoes for Mikey and his siblings, and possibly enough to enable them to move out of Di Lucca Towers. Who knows what house prices are like in Wyvernshire these days? Continue reading
(Series 19, ep. 7) Holby City has proved in the last few weeks that it can go to some very dark places indeed. Selfie’s back story of abuse, highlighted by the dreadful actions of Tristan, was intense and dramatic.
By contrast, we got this lovely episode, where there was humour and lightness in every story.
I’m going to have to start with Keller, and Sacha’s attempts to recapture his lost youth – or Tom Jones’s lost youth, if the new hairdo was anything to go by. “No one’s commented on my hair,” he moaned to Dominic. “Not to your face,” said Dominic. Well, someone had to. This wasn’t even the funniest bit of hair-related Dom/Sacha dialogue. Dominic realised (because he is sensitive, deep down. And he was also relying on Sacha’s sofa as a bed for the night) that Sacha was upset, and tried to make amends. “Can I say I’m sorry in a cuddly, let’s-be-friends again kind of way?” he said. “Stop talking to my hair!” Sacha replied. “I’m not,” said Dominic. “I’m looking at your physicality, your stance, your manliness.” “I look absolutely ridiculous, don’t I?” Sacha said. The reply was absolute genius: “Only from the scalp up. The rest of you is 100% to die for.” Continue reading
(Series 18, ep. 49) I was absolutely gripped by this week’s episode. I don’t think there’s a Holby fan on the planet who doesn’t like Fletch. He’s a genuine, kind, caring, funny man who just wants to help people and make a living so he can support his kids. So I was rooting for Fletch, and I love Raf and the bromance between them, so I was rooting for Raf, too. As well as being engaged with the human side of the story, I was intrigued by the puzzle of the mystery illness that got worse and worse, and even had the best medics in TV-land stumped for a while. It was nail-biting stuff, and thank heavens for Bernie, an oasis of calm among all the angst.
A special mention also for Kai O’Loughlin, who plays Mikey Fletcher. This week he subdued his cheeky chappie persona a bit (usually he seems about to burst into a chorus of ‘Consider Yourself At Home‘ at any moment, which is a lovely thing to watch but wouldn’t have been appropriate here) and he was brilliant. He’s completely believable as Fletch’s son and has masses of charm, personality and talent. His scene with Hanssen was absolutely precious. I was glad it was Mikey who provided the clue that eventually led to a diagnosis. “He’s okay now. I’m looking out for him,” he said. Continue reading
(Series 18, ep. 48) I know not everyone is on board with the whole #Berena thing. There are some who are against it for the same reasons that Coronation Street has had to fend off complaints recently, and I’ve got no time for that view. There are others who would have preferred Bernie and Serena to have remained as supportive colleagues, and that does make sense and would have been a nice relationship to explore. But where could that have gone, drama-wise, much beyond “Gosh that was a hard day. Let’s kick back with a nice bottle of Shiraz”? It certainly wouldn’t have delivered such blissfully toe-curling scenes as we had last night, as Serena ‘fessed up to a comatose Fletch that she kissed a girl and she liked it, and the even more blissful scenes she shared with Bernie. I’m all for a storyline that brings out the beautifully subtle and elegant comic talents of Catherine Russell. She and Jemma Redgrave are brilliant together, and I’m looking forward to watching this story develop. Continue reading
(Series 18, ep. 39) This was my favourite kind of Holby episode – there was a lightness of touch about the whole thing, with lots of funny dialogue. There were some lovely character combinations – Sacha in particular was beautifully used to bring out the sweeter and more human side of Jac, while appearing in his own story line that involved a hilarious scene with Ric.
Jac was suffering from the effects of being sprayed with nasty gas last week (this was the second of a two-parter), which was unfortunate timing because she had to do ground-breaking surgery on that hot-shot tennis player. No worries – Mr Oliver Valentine had been training for this moment and working his precious socks off for her, so he was ready. Continue reading