Top Boy (Season Four), Netflix

One of the most interesting things about consuming culture post-pandemic has been seeing how series have responded, or been affected by, the events of the last two or so years. In the case of Ronan Bennett’s supreme crime series Top Boy, you’d be forgiven for expecting something of an about-turn given the extent to which civil rights has been at the forefront of the socio-political landscape. 

My concern heading into this fourth season (or second if you’re only counting the ones which were bankrolled by Netflix) was that Bennett would succumb to the temptation facing all critically acclaimed crime capers – the urge to go big. The teaser content for this series suggested that might be the case, with the central narrative reaching beyond the confines of the Summerhouse estate to the sunny shores of Spain and Morocco. 

Thankfully, those fears were unfounded. While this latest installation of Top Boy is more ambitious in scale – with multiple character arcs competing for viewers’ interest – it remains a closely woven affair, in which the fates of all its central players are intrinsically connected. This is never more clear than its explosive final moments, which gives us one of the most shocking moments in the show’s history.

Prior to that, we get some excellent character development along the way. Whether it’s the increasingly blurred moral compass of gang leader Dushane (Ashley Walters), the futile attempts of Sully (Kane Robinson) to extricate himself from gang culture, or the inner conflict faced by Jaq (a standout Jasmine Jobson), there is plenty to get stuck into. That’s without mentioning another powerhouse performance by Michael Ward as Jamie, the aspiring top boy who is here found adjusting to life as just another of Dushane’s underlings. 

In terms of the socio-political reach of Top Boy, there is a certain amount of restraint shown by the creative team. The show certainly doesn’t shirk its responsibilities – it clearly demonstrates the contempt in which estates like Summerhouse are held by local government and private developers – but refrains from making any big proclamations. Perhaps that is because this is essentially a story about characters who, as a result of their deprived upbringings, are deeply flawed and, by extension, very dangerous. 

This makes for a constantly evolving and always surprising show that can rightfully claim to be as good as anything produced on these shores in recent years. Previous comparisons to The Wire had felt a little too complementary but, after another stellar run, perhaps it is time for Top Boy to be discussed among such fabled company.    

Mood, BBC

Mood is based on the one woman play: Superhoe, written and performed by Nicole Lecky. In the TV version, Lecky reprises her role as wannabe musician Sasha, and proceeds to embark on an astute look at Gen Z’s obsession with fame, money and the lengths some will go to get them. While this may seem like well-trodden ground, Mood provides an updated and nuanced take on the converging worlds of social media influencing and sex work.

Before she can become a famous singer, Sasha decides she needs to hustle as an influencer in the Love Island mould. The show is in no small part a homage to the reality show. During a sad moment, Sasha asks her friends if they’d like her to “rap and lift the mood a bit” (if you don’t get that reference by now, then you probably won’t want to). Early on in the series, a few Love Island contestants make fleeting cameos, moments that remind us how important the show has become as a cultural touchstone and a crucial talking point in the conversation on fame and its trappings in this country.

Love Island has shown us how superficial the walls between the world of influencing and the world of sex work are. As some former contestants have crossed over into sex work, Sasha herself is seduced into that world when she is taken under the wing of a complicated and mysterious friend, Carly.

Sasha begins by taking pictures of herself for the TV equivalent of Only Fans, before Carly manages to convince her to start sleeping with men for cash. To it’s credit, the show isn’t an entirely negative representation of sex work and is keen to remind the audience that the industry can be body positive and only problematic when consent and agency are lost. 

Unfortunately, that line is crossed when Sasha and her friends agree to go on a trip and are held against their will in a villa crawling with entitled and predatory men. It’s a moment that helps Sasha reconnect with her true self, discover the authenticity in her passion to sing and in turn express her true identity.  

There is intertextuality in this show, in that, as Sasha makes her mark on the entertainment industry, we are witnessing Nicole Lecky emerging into the public consciousness. Lecky (as is intended in Sasha) has talent - her performance is assured and her accomplished original soundtrack punctuates the show in a unique way when big song and dance set pieces transform the drama into a momentary musical.

One criticism you might level at Lecky and Mood, is the sheer volume of subjects that are introduced all at once. Within one short series, Sasha questions her own identity; contemplates her own historic abuse; has a passionate kiss with Carly that isn’t followed up on; as well as a few other things. The show might have been better served in taking all of its admittedly interesting elements one at a time.   

All told, there is enough to like, enough to keep you interested, and enough to make you think in Mood, an impressive bow from Lecky.