The Mandalorian (Season 3)

Available on Disney Plus

The third season of this hugely popular Star Wars spin-off recommences after the events of the hopelessly forgettable Book of Boba Fett, with Pedro Pascal’s titular protagonist still shepherding his adopted (and endlessly marketable) child Grogu around the galaxy.

Jon Favreau’s screenplay, which was co-written with Noah Kloor and Dave Filoni, initially focuses on the anti-hero’s quest for spiritual redemption and sees him return to his tribe’s long-abandoned home of Mandalore so that he may be re-baptised in the planet’s holy waters.

As well as being a means of lessening the series’ reliance on Pascal’s physical presence (his character remains helmeted throughout), this opening gambit does effectively establish its overall premise – that being the Mandalorians’ quest to retake their homeland, a venture which eventually puts them in the crosshairs of a familiar foe.

Nobody benefits from Favreau’s commitment to world-building more than the character of Bo-Katan Kryze (played by Katee Sackhoff), who essentially assumes equal billing with Din Djarin and Grogu for much of this series.

Alas, the pacing of The Mandalorian’s third act is problematic, with many of its episodes becoming bogged down in the sort of fine detail that only the most devout of fans would care for.

It is also difficult to shake the nagging feeling that the show would have been best served by concluding at the end of its second season, when Grogu was successfully packed off to Luke Skywalker’s Jedi school. Alas, content is king in the world of Disney and it’s clear to see that this once unique tale is now just another conduit through which the larger Star Wars universe can be fleshed out.

Thankfully, this latest serving of The Mandalorian does manage to recover from an inauspicious beginning (thanks in no small part to a Jack Black and Lizzo-starring sixth episode that is delightfully bizarre) and delivers a finale that is befittingly grandstand.

Rain Dogs, BBC

Daisy May Cooper has to be on TV. There is no one that better displays and communicates what it means to be British and working class: to be rye in the face of a system cripplingly rigged against you, to never be more than three sentences away from a dick joke. Her performances are her own and might appear crude from some angles, but Rain Dogs shows her off as an actor capable of unique and sophisticated performances.

It's a completely unflinching show written by Cash Carraway (the novelist that came to prominence with Skint Estate), one that isn’t afraid to reference rape and suicide. May Cooper, as you can picture, is the perfect person to deliver the lines and you believe every second of her as a single Mum down on her luck. You admire her sardonic resilience and root for her to find a way out.

A second great performance in Rain Dogs is offered by Jack Farthing who plays Costello’s (Daisy May Cooper) best friend and simultaenous worst enemy, Florian Selby. The two’s relationship forms the backbone of the show and is definitely the programme’s most original component, something it’s hard to recall seeing before. Florian and Costello are pathologically abusive to one another, yet also capable of saving each other’s life. They are worryingly but un-romantically co-dependent. All each other has.

Neither do the two characters as individuals conform to TV archetypes or bare reference to characters you might have seen on TV or met in real life before. Even their names are weird. Florian Selby is a tortured rich boy with a personality disorder and violent tendencies. Costello Jones is a sex working writer who sleeps on lilos so that her daughter doesn’t have to. As characters, they are not easily recognisable, but they do somehow work in the main and find ways to be compelling. Florian and Costello’s friendship is beautiful and the way that Florian saves Costello from herself in the show’s finale has a deep emotional impact.

Perhaps Rain Dogs biggest draw is also its biggest flaw. That’s to say: not helping us understand why Costello and Florian have to be apart at all? Their characters are elusive but it’s clear from the first minute that they are better off together. When they go their separate ways in the middle of the series, the most frustrating question for the audience is understanding…despite their tendencies to hurt one another from time to time…why?

These are the overriding feelings you get by the end of Rain Dogs. The originality of Florian and Costello as characters, as well as their unique relationship, create a lot of moments to love in the eight-part series. But the elusive nature of their relationship can also be frustrating and lead to things feeling convoluted at times. Rain Dogs was individual, bold and indulgent to its merit, but maybe could’ve given us a bit more of what we expect from a drama of its kind.

Dreamland

Available on Sky Atlantic/NOW TV

Dreamland is the latest brainchild of Sharon Horgan, who has long since established herself as one of the most eminent and talented voices in television today. It is an adaptation of a short film (Morgana Robinson’s Summer) that Horgan created for Sky Arts in 2017 but is crucially only executive produced by her on this occasion.

Instead, writing duties are shared by five different voices, which perhaps explains why Dreamland struggles as badly as it does to establish an overall tone and so often regresses to the sort of broad humour that is generally associated with far inferior fare to the work Horgan is best known for. This is best characterised by the series’ annoying tendency to portray working class people as stupid and something to be sneered at, though whether it is aware of such a penchant is never entirely clear.

Also proving problematic is Dreamland’s length. At a mere six episodes, each of which are only half an hour in length, it struggles to establish its characters and their familial dynamic, which leaves its cast (particularly the debuting Lily Allen) struggling to impose themselves on the story. Freema Agyeman does a commendable job in her role, but is badly let down by a screenplay which is far too clumsy in its approach to everyday racism.

This is a shame because the premise of Dreamland, particularly coming off the back of Horgan’s outstanding work on Bad Sisters, offers plenty of intrigue. Alas, by its end, I was just keen to hop on the next bus out of Margate.

Beef

Beef on Netflix is a big deal. Created by Lee Sung Jin, the series is a who’s who of Asian-American talent and a show that looks lavish and feels effortlessly cool throughout. Beef brings Steven Yeun (The Walking Dead, Nope) and Ali Wong (most known for her pioneering stand up) together for a ride that takes the Asian-American experience as one of its key themes.

Danny (Yeun) feels the crippling, corroding obligation to provide for his parents on a contractor’s wage, whereas Amy (Wong) is worth millions but still feels jaded in her role as breadwinner. She constantly wrestles with the idea of the nuclear family.

The show’s plot is reminiscent of last year’s Best Picture Nominee: Banshees of Inisherin in that a petty grievance between its two central characters (Danny and Amy are involved in a road rage incident at the very start of the series) escalates to the point of life and death.  

Beef is a show that gets better and better as it goes on. The enigmatic performances of Wong and Yeun and the cool, three dimensional LA world that Sung Jin generates, allow you to sink into the show and enjoy its characters as though you were hanging out with them.

Plot points you thought you’d left behind rear their heads at unexpected moments, working to create a thoughtful and satisfying narrative progression. Danny and Amy begin by hating each other, and tear their lives apart as a means of getting to the bottom of their beef. By the end, the show’s message is to remind us we should love each other. Danny and Amy in particular drive home the point that Asian-Americans, at a time of heightened Asian hate in America, should love each other the most.

Swarm

Available on Amazon Prime

This dark satire of extreme fandom or ‘stan culture’ has mostly drawn attention due to the similarities between the fictional pop star at its centre and Beyoncé, though such parallels are never confirmed as being intentional by showrunners Janine Nabers and Donald Glover.

Despite the tightness of their lips, the intention of Nabers and Glover are pretty clear from the offset of Swarm, which follows Dominique Fishback’s disturbed mega-fan and her gradual descent into madness and murder. Fishback certainly makes for a convincing lead, though the back story and, by extension, motivations of her character are frustratingly never adequately expressed.

This is problematic because Swarm has a propensity for leaning into horror convention (several episodes end with Fishback offing a perceived adversary in grisly fashion) but only ever truly gets under the skin of its central topic in standalone episodes, such as Ibra Ake’s ‘Running Scared’ (which features a promising acting debut from Billie Eilish) and Stephen Glover’s true-crime parody ‘Fallin’ Through the Cracks’.

Sadly, this means that Swarm never makes for a truly rounded viewing experience and instead only occasionally flirts with the notion of being wedded to deeper, more meaningful ideas. Nonetheless, it is an intense and atmospheric watch for the most part that is powered by an impressive lead performance and effortlessly cool original soundtrack.

Abbott Elementary (Season 2)

Available on Disney Plus

On first glance, Quinta Brunson’s series is just another workplace comedy that is unafraid to wear the influence of The Office on its sleeve. But, with two seasons now under its belt and a third on the way, its clear that Abbott Elementary is very much its own entity.

In the context of its sophomore season, this is evidenced most by the development of characters such as Chris Perfetti’s previously inconsequential history teacher or Lisa Ann Walter’s no-nonsense Philadelphia native. Such growth complements the arcs of the show’s more prevalent personas, such as Brunson’s idealistic protagonist and the ‘will-they-won’t-they’ dynamic she shares with Tyler James Williams’ hunky, but hopelessly awkward, character.

While that budding romance makes for compellingly agonising viewing, Abbott Elementary is undoubtedly at its most endearing when focused on Janelle James’ hilariously inept principal or Sheryl Lee Ralph’s wise matriarchal figure, the latter of which was based on Brunson’s mother.

However, like any great sitcom, this show has a deeper meaning beyond its immediate events, something which is underpinned by the way in which it documents the travails underfunded public schools are made to endure. Fundamentally, this is a show about class and the impact hard working teachers can make on their students’ lives. The fact that it is so frequently charming and laugh-out-loud funny is merely a bonus.  

Shrinking

Available on Apple TV+

Conversations with a trusted therapist can be as comforting as a warm blanket, or as daunting as a chance encounter with one’s greatest phobia, and this is an emotional seesaw that Shrinking navigates well for the most part.

Created by Bill Lawrence and Brett Goldstein, the show follows Jason Segal’s recently widowed counsellor, who seeks to navigate his own grief by practising radical honesty with his patients, despite the ethical quandary such an approach poses.

Segal, also on co-writing duties here, is a fine comic and unsurprisingly effective in the lead role, though he is arguably outshone by co-stars Jessica Williams and Harrison Ford, with the latter especially elevating proceedings in a rare small-screen outing.

Shrinking also benefits from a dependable supporting cast, with Luke Tennie, Michael Urie, Lukita Maxwell, and Christa Miller all sparkling at various points in the series’ ten-episode arc.

The real stars of the show are, however, Lawrence and Goldstein, who prove that their propensity for intelligent, emotionally affecting comedy is not confined to Ted Lasso. Like the warm confines of said blanket, their writing makes for a comforting and soothing experience, and it is therefore unsurprising to learn that Apple has already ordered up a second series of this charming show.  

The Last of Us, Now TV

The narrative and stories of The Last of Us games were always their most compelling component and what made the franchise highly anticipated as a TV series.

When Episode One aired and it was able to pay homage to the games at the same time as creating high drama and somehow (somehow!?) providing a slightly fresh take on the zombie genre, expectations were high. Was this the next mega TV series on the level of Game of Thrones or Breaking Bad?

The Last of Us carried this expectation well to begin with. Episode 3 was the perfect episode of television. A heart wrenching love story with subtle twists and apocalyptic stakes that will last long in the memory.

By the end though, this first series will be remembered as a collection of great moments rather than a compelling, coherent series that built a formidable franchise and left us dying to understand what would happen next.

Like a console game, the episodes unfolded as a series of disconnected levels. Each time we tuned back in we found Ellie (Bella Ramsey) and Joel (Pedro Pascal) in an entirely new and disjointed situation - irrelevant to their progress or their final destination. It contributed to the series feeling arc-less and fragmented.

Cordyceps made the zombie genre feel more real and was a fresh take, but that didn’t stop The Last of Us constantly reverting to other well-worn zombie tropes. Every fight with the infected ended with human victims staring down at their limbs and seeing bite marks; every episode opened with encounters with new, hostile groups who quickly either established themselves as friendly or otherwise.

The finale was the final nail in an underwhelming coffin. Ellie and Joel abruptly arrived at the hospital destination we had sort of forgotten about. The final action sequence was made to feel like an afterthought and was dealt with with a slow montage. There was only one infected in the entire final episode.

The Last of Us first series, like a Playstation game, was a collection of disjointed moments and failed to leave me clicking for a second series.

Nolly, Channel Four

Why did Russell T Davies, a man who could probably get anything commissioned, choose to tell the story of Noele Gordon – the star of Birmingham based soap, Crossroads?

Nolly is in part a tribute to the women herself; part an exploration of the hardships of middle aged women in showbusiness; and also largely a homage to the importance and novelty of British soap opera.

Russell T Davies has a history with soap, he storylined Coronation Street for a brief period in the 90s and clearly has a soft spot for the medium. Nolly champions the cultural importance of soap. In a quaint and charming scene in which Nolly takes the bus, she and the working class women who use public transport make the case for how important Crossroads and Coronation Street are in their lives. All the while in opposition to a vitriolic male passenger who prefers to watch the news and the football on TV.

Nolly (Helena Bonham Carter) being sacked in the first episode of this miniseries ignites and drives the plot. The press and the nation’s reaction to her losing her job reminds us how big soap moments of the past have been – cultural artefacts perhaps more resonant than those hanging in art galleries or libraries.

Russel T Davies is a master at creating cosy, heart warming moods in his shows and he does it again with Nolly. Her relationship with Tony Adams (Augustus Prew) and the love that the crew on Crossroads feel for her create a sense of comforting geniality that feels distinctly British. On Nolly’s last day on Crossroads, a female PA reminds the Producer that Nolly drove her to her wedding – a testament to the woman and the compassionate, socialist themes that Russell T Davies favours.

Nolly does not quite have the massive impact of It’s A Sin. It’s a smaller, quainter, shorter story that is enjoyable nonetheless.

Happy Valley, BBC

To read certain sections of the media, and speak to certain TV buffs, you’d think that Sally Wainwright and Sarah Lancashire weren’t allowed to be criticised. There’s no doubt that the two of them hit upon an incredible formula with Happy Valley.

Wainwright’s writing is sophisticated and in three series she has managed to merge everyday Britishness with authentic crime and high drama – no mean feat. Sarah Lancashire is the perfect vehicle through which to tell these stories. She is a northern stalwart: someone who can love and fight with equal ferocity. To be honest, the two of them don’t strike me as people in need of gushing praise. When Ryan tells Cathy in this latest series that he loves her, she says: “What’s brought that on?” For that reason… we should be honest and admit that Series Three was probably the weakest series of Happy Valley.

One of the biggest flaws in this final series was the detatched second story. Faisal the pharmacist (Amit Shah)’s story bore minimal consequences for our main characters and was wrapped up abruptly. The way that Cathy solved that crime in omnipotent fashion, happening upon someone else who bought drugs from Faisal, felt like too much of a convenient afterthought that also contributed to her feeling godlike, rather than the gritty and dogged protagonist we came to love.     

None of this is to say that Series Three wasn’t littered with its own iconic moments. Cathy finding Claire (Siobhan Finneran) in Sheffield and phoning her as she stood behind her back was gripping TV. The stylistic decision to directly pick up from the last scene of each episode and lead into the one that followed was also a masterstroke and contributed to ramping up the drama as the series progressed.  

Tommy escaping from the courtroom was, similarly, a brilliant TV moment. Could someone do that? Who cares. It felt real enough to keep us wrapped up in the moment.  

From the moment he was out in the world, we knew that things were only leading in one direction – to Cathy and Tommy having their final showdown. This did unfold in an unexpected way. Instead of a fight, a struggle, or an action set piece, Tommy was magnanimous – he forgave Cathy. It was an original twist but their final conversation gave the sense that there was too much to tie up in the history of this programme, that it could never be rendered in a fully satisfying way. The psychology of the twisted psychopath didn’t gratifyingly marry with the man who cried as he looked at photos of his ex-girlfriend.

Happy Valley has established itself as the benchmark of British TV. But maybe, by now, it is slightly tired.  

His Dark Materials, Season 3

Available on: BBC iPlayer

At one time, it was envisaged that this big-budget adaptation of Philip Pulman’s cherished novels would run for as long as eight seasons. But here we are, bidding adieu to Dafne Keen’s Lyra Belacqua and her cohorts at the third-season mark.

In honesty, it’s probably for the best. Judging by fan reaction, His Dark Materials has done a far better job at adapting its source material than the ill-fated film version of 2007 did, but this final outing mostly meanders towards its conclusion. And, like much other fantasy genre fare, it tends to explain away some of its more puzzling elements with convenient nonsense that sounds just about clever enough to be acceptable.

That being said, the show is a fine vessel for Keen and co-star Amir Wilson, who both show themselves to be young actors of considerable pedigree. Opposite them, James McAvoy and Ruth Wilson bring the sort of panache that is befitting of their elder statesmen roles on the show, demonstrating conviction even when events around them take a turn for the nonsensical.

It’s a shame that this ambitious, quasi-spiritual show did not end on a higher note, but that appears to be a by-product of the scheduling delays caused by COVID-19. Still, there’s probably enough here to satisfy Pulman fans, including a late tease of a potential spin-off.

The White Lotus, Season Two

Available on: NOW TV/Sky Atlantic

As well as the fact it includes one of the funniest character deaths in recent TV history, the second season of Mike White’s critically acclaimed dark comedy is notable for the fact it overcomes the familiar pitfalls of the proverbial difficult second album.

Featuring a new set of awful hotel guests, it builds on the success of the debut season and delivers a sequel that is arguably even juicier in terms of laughs, shock value, and social commentary. Whether it’s the return of Jennifer Coolidge’s gloriously dim-witted socialite or the bizarre foursome that is comprised of Aubrey Plaza, Will Sharpe, Theo James, and Meghan Fahy’s characters, there is plenty to chew over.

While the cast, much like the first season, are a delight, it’s White that deserves the plaudits for devising a follow-up that builds on the success of The White Lotus’ debut outing without repeating the formula. Granted, the season’s glorious Sicilian setting helps matter, but it takes a writer of considerable discipline to avoid re-treading familiar tropes and White does so, successfully leaving viewers such as I crossing their fingers for a third instalment.  

I Hate Suzie Too, Now TV

Lucy Prebble and Billie Piper got together once more this Christmas for a follow up to I Hate Suzie. Like the first series, I Hate Suzie Too has an arty, experimental feel and is starkly referential of Billie Piper’s real life.

In this second series, central character Suzie Pickles must take part in a Strictly-esque dance competition in order to revive her career. For the show, she is paired with her fictional ex-husband Bailey (Douglas Hodge) an uncanny homage to Chris Evans. Bailey is funny, magnanimous and harmless – a friend to Suzie akin to the friendship that Piper and Evans profess to having in real life.

The central theme of this follow up series is the artifice of celebrity. While taking part in the dance show, Suzie is forced to watch VTs of herself as her agent and publicist deconstruct her natural mannerisms and personality. In another scene, she is forced to wrangle her unruly, working-class family into the perfect picture of domestic bliss. It’s an interesting look at the undignified and desperate life of a tabloid celebrity that Billie Piper is all too qualified to illustrate.

21st century feminist themes pervade the story: Suzie’s ex-husband uses his own sensitivity and self-awareness to gaslight and manipulate her – all the while taking her money. Their custody battle draws attention to the law handicapping bread-winning women – something we’ve heard a lot less about than men who deride handing over half of their earnings in divorce.

The mode in which these ideas surface in I Hate Suzie Too is probably the opposite of Christmassy. The prevailing mood of the show is chaos and desperation, encapsulated in the programme’s ending – when Suzie reveals her custody battle and fight for her career have caused her to lose her hair.

Not a traditional drama and not conventional Christmas viewing for its bleakness and franticness, but I Hate Suzie Too certainly has the ability to make you think about the falseness of celebrity and the unique struggle of women in the spotlight.  

What We Do in the Shadows, Season 4

Available on Disney+

WWDITS has long been shaping into a modern-day comedy classic, though this latest season does little to add to its legacy.

While there is still plenty of laughs to be had at the expense of the Staten Island dwelling vampires at its core, the fourth instalment of this small-screen adaptation does little to progress the arc of its central characters.

The hedonistic Laszlo, played by the ever-delightful Matt Berry, is still as sexually compromised as he’s always been, and his spouse Nadja (Natasia Demetriou) foregoes the biggest development in her character to date in favour of opening a vampire nightclub that only ever serves as a side plot to the show’s main goings-on.

Nandor (Kayvan Novak) spends most of this season looking for a wife and while this undoubtedly throws up some laughs, it’s not really anything we haven’t seen from him before. His long-suffering familiar Guillermo (Harvey Guillén) is even more muted, doing very little up until a climatic and promising finale.

Perhaps the most surprising character development is that of the deceased Colin Robinson (Mark Proksch), who spends most of the show as a toddler that crawled out of his cavity and has an unusual penchant for musicals. If that sounds absurd, it’s because WWDITS is a completely absurdist show and that, along with its leading cast, is unquestionably its USP.

Even when this series feels familiar, there are still some stellar episodes to enjoy – none more so than a DIY caper that underpins the showrunner’s ability to effortlessly toy with multiple televisual genres. This ultimately makes the show worthwhile and goes a long way to explaining why it has already been commissioned for another two seasons.

Brassic

Available on NOW TV and Sky

The fourth season of Danny Brocklehurst and Joe Gilgun’s crime caper does little to dispel the notion that Brassic is one of the most curious shows on British television today.

An undeniably Northern homage to the works of Ritchie and Tarantino, the show has an unmistakable Marmite quality which means it is just as likely to repel viewers as it is entertain them.

As a long-term fan of Gilgun’s work, I’m mostly in the latter camp but did find aspects of this season a little difficult to grasp. For starters, the small-town setting means the show is self-contained to a point where its events begin to feel a little repetitive and, at worst, redundant. There are very little stakes involved when protagonists have an almost Houdini-like ability to evade their comeuppance.

That being said, Brocklehurst and Gilgun’s penchant for razor-sharp dialogue means Brassic always maintains a cheeky charm that is difficult to ignore. It’s a bit like when you bump into the larger-than-life football lad from your school year – you know that fundamentally they’re a bit of a plank, but ultimately their heart is (probably) in the right place.

Gilgun is also a real USP for the show. Fans of his work in This is England will already be aware of his innate ability to blend comedy with introspection, but Brassic gives him the star status needed to really flex his dramatic muscles. His character’s arc is undoubtedly the most interesting thing about this show, even though the zany nature of its goings-on sometimes mean that the underlying theme of mental health is skirted around.

Whether another season will be warranted after Brassic returns for a fifth run remains to be seen, but this remains an easy and entertaining watch in the most part.

Mammals

Available on: Amazon Prime

Mammals is a curious show. Playwright’s forays into television and/or film can often yield mixed results, and this proves to be the case for the lauded Jez Butterworth.

Admittedly, I’m not familiar with Butterworth’s previous work but his transition from theatre to the altogether different world of the small screen is sadly not a seamless one.

Much of that may be to do with the casting of his friend James Corden, that all-too-familiar jar of human Marmite, in the lead role of a cuckolded husband desperate to uncover the mystery of his improbably exotic wife’s many extramarital affairs.

Corden is a better actor than many would care to admit, but he and co-star Melia Kreiling fail to establish the chemistry needed to make a sitcom work. Their relationship is so devoid of believability that it renders it nigh on impossible to emotionally invest in, leaving us unsurprised that Corden’s character has been cheated on and, more damningly, nonplussed about it.

There is also an odd subplot involving Sally Hawkins’ character which rarely serves as anything more than a welcome distraction from Corden and Kreiling’s permanently sad faces.

Butterworth imbues his screenplay with a number of surrealist elements that appear to be in service of an overarching metaphor about the central issue of fidelity, but the events which translate to the screen rarely scratch beyond the surface of such deeper issues.  

Admittedly, Mammals is pleasingly short, which makes it an easy series to binge. But it’s hard to escape the gut feeling that, given the talent involved, this is a failed experiment.  

Wednesday, Netflix

The way that Netflix chose to reintroduce the Addams family to audiences this winter was an enjoyable deviation from how we remember them on TV. The teen series Wednesday took the Addams’ gothic daughter and shoved her into a classic Hollywood high school drama – creating a gripping story through exploring what makes Wednesday’s child reclusive but brilliant.

In this series, Produced and Directed by Tim Burton, Wednesday is tasked with uncovering the truth around a spate of murders in the town of Jericho. The murder mystery is intricate, weaving together multiple character strands and time periods, without being overly confusing. The final villain reveal in Wednesday perhaps comes slightly out of the blue (unless you’re familiar with the famous actor = perpetrator rule) and isn’t completely satisfying, but these things hardly ever are.

By far the more engaging aspect of Wednesday, that makes it bingeable as a show, is the homage to well-trodden teen drama tropes. Wednesday’s high school, Nevermore, is a classic teen Hollywood setting that draws parallels with all of your favourite high school films and tv shows. There are meet cutes; unrequited crushes and awkward friendships.

Not so Hollywood, but equally familiar at this point in history, are the ways Wednesday reminds us of the Harry Potter Universe. It’s an easy comparison to make when the subject matter is a school for extraordinary pupils with magical powers, but Wednesday works harder to align itself with the British franchise than that. There is a reminiscent dichotomy of “normies”and “outcasts” that feels like muggles and wizards. Not to mention that The Poe Cup feels uncannily like The Triwizard Tournament.

The audience may feel safe and warm in these familiar teen tropes, but they are less fulfilling in wrapping up some really interesting and relatable tensions in Wednesday. What makes Wednesday great as a character is how she is the perfect outcast. Entirely self-sufficient, she has learned what she needs to to survive and thrive in the absence of compassion and human company. Because this is teen Hollywood though, by the end of the series, Wednesday is in fact lusted after and has more friends than most popular members of any high school. A teenage recluse or anyone that has fantasised about finally drowning out the noise of other people, may find this story resolution less inspiring than seeing Wednesday finally finish her novel or realise the value of hours of solitary cello practise.  

Despite this minor betrayal of hermits everywhere, Wednesday provides a fresh spin on the Hollywood teen drama and also finds a way to make the Addams family relevant in 2022.

The Walk-In

Available on: ITV Player

ITV’s track rate of delivering quality drama can be considered sporadic at best. This is, after all, the network that foisted Benidorm and Keith Lemon upon us. But every now and then, they serve up a hidden gem and Jeff Pope’s The Walk-In is certainly that.

Fronted by the ever-excellent Stephen Graham, the five-episode series recounts Matthew Collin’s infiltration of the British neo-nazi terrorist group National Action, who were linked to the tragic murder of Labour MP Jo Cox. Interestingly, Collins is a reformed racist who now works as an activist for the anti-fascism group Hope Not Hate, meaning his perspective on the show’s proceedings oscillates between unwavering commitment to his cause, remorse for his past actions, and empathy for the confused National Action member who he finds himself trying to help.

It is a hard-hitting show that is often uncomfortable to watch. Pope and director Paul Andrew Williams are unflinching in their depiction of the violence organisations such as National Action are willing to commit and are also unafraid to remind audiences that the warped views of its membership are still very prevalent in British society. After all, the events of The Walk-In are a recent (and depressing) memory.

Graham is as dependable and understated as ever as Collins, whose willingness to risk everything he has to help eradicate the plague of racism offers a stark reminder that not enough is being done to challenge the sort of prejudiced, ill-informed views that, if ignored once too often, can lead to events such as Cox’s tragic passing. For this reason, The Walk-In is both challenging and essential viewing.  

Cabinet of Curiosities, Netflix

Over the Halloween period, we were treated to a new television offering from Guillermo Del Toro. He introduces each episode of this eight-part series in person, lending it a folkloric energy, promising insight into the human psyche through horror.

The episodes within Cabinet of Curiosities work best when they live up to this billing, when they are anchored in relatable, understandable human feelings and stories. The fourth episode: The Outside made a horror of a woman’s obsession with her physical appearance and the series finale: The Murmuring told a story of grief. Both were extremely satisfying watches.

Episodes that worked less well were the ones that failed to allow us to sympathise with their central characters’ plight or overloaded the visual effects and fantasy elements at the expense of intriguing story or true human emotion. Dreams in the Witch House starring Rupert Grint, was one such example.

The best episode in the series was The Autopsy. Body snatchers are a well-worn plot device in TV and film, but the suspense built at the end of this episode (when it became increasingly likely that Dr Carl Winters might have the intelligence and guts to defeat his alien invader) was truly unique and masterful.

Overall, this series was a thoroughly enjoyable exploration of the horror genre. Del Toro’s standing will forever allow him the resources to build intricate and elaborate worlds. Every inch of Cabinet of Curiosities, like his films, is meticulously crafted and emersive as a result. Some of these episodes are more watchable and relatable than others, but none are without merit.

House of the Dragon

Available on: NOW TV/Sky Atlantic

House of the Dragon is the latest case of a network trying to revive the corpse of a former cash cow, marking the first return to Westeros since Game of Thrones’ disastrous ending in 2019.

Set 200 years before the events of GoT, it is primarily focused on a civil war between the dysfunctional Targaryen family that is set in motion when King Viserys (Paddy Considine) declares his daughter Rhaenyra as his heir.

Unexpectedly, the notion of a woman occupying the Iron Throne is cause for dispute among the show’s many schemers, but the picture is muddied further when Viserys later weds his offspring’s best friend and through her is bestowed with multiple male heirs.

Like its predecessor, House of the Dragon is packed with quasi-Shakespearian conspiracies – devious uncles, unpleasant conspirators, and many, many scorned lovers. For this reason alone, it is not without its qualities. The cast is generally excellent – Considine, Matt Smith, Rhys Ifans, Olivia Cooke, and Emma D’Arcy are all obvious standouts.

But, like so many rebooted franchises, the show suffers because little feels original. GoT gripped the world at its peak because it was completely unpredictable and often shocking, whereas much of this feels like a case of the showrunners attempting to play the greatest hits. Heck, we’re even forced to endure another episode that is virtually impossible to see on account of its characters being permanently shrouded in darkness. And with dragons flying around willy nilly, there’s very little in the way of shock value.  

None of this necessarily makes House of the Dragon a bad show, just a forgettable one. Little that happens in the finale suggests that a second season is worth waiting for, which leads one to conclude that HBO would have been better off leaving this sleeping dragon to lie.