Over Christmas, one of British TV’s finest offerings returned to our screens. Following the sensational revelation of Danny Latimer’s killer (whose identity will not be mentioned in this article, though other spoilers may appear), Broadchurch has returned. Despite a certain continuity — DCI Alec Hardy continues to grimace a lot, the Latimer parents still have a rocky relationship, and everyone in the town seems to harbour dark histories or secrets — the new series has swung even further into the twin territories of emotional turmoil and sinister undertone.
What used to be essentially a police procedural has become a courtroom drama. It still looks gorgeous, with the same soft focus, picturesque framing and South Coast summer light that made the first series the best-shot British TV show of the last few years by a mile. House prices in the local area have shot up as seven million people each week sit down to watch a programme that is part crime drama, part Visit Devon advert. The acting, too, is masterful, as the cast continues to go from strength to strength. Nearly all the new characters are great, with particular mention going to Marianne Jean-Baptiste’s hardened defence lawyer and Charlotte Rampling’s sardonic prosecutorial equivalent, second only to the Latimer parents in terms of believability. Their backstories, as well as Eve Myles’ as Claire Ripley, continue to enthrall.
However, one gets the continued sense that the writers feel a constant need to beat the drama of each previous scene. It would be lovely if, just for a moment, everyone could please stop shouting. Almost every scene this series is packed full of weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth, and whilst it does give the actors a lot with which to work, and a range of emotions to express (Olivia Coleman is especially good at this), the overall effect is to detract from the power of the series. If characters shout at each other in every single episode, then how do you go on to show when they’re really angry?Not all of the new characters are a success, either. Meera Syal is really, really annoying as the judge (who, for some reason, wears a barrister’s wig). When she tries to be authoritative and reserved, she comes across as smug and asinine.
Broadchurch is, perhaps, a bit high on its own success. The oh-so-clever parallels between the Broadchurch and Sandbrook cases are obvious — the dodgy fathers, the wives who may or may not have been accessories to the crime, DCI Hardy’s repeated infringements of the law retrospectively screwing up the prosecution; the list goes on. Not a single character can get away with just being normal, which is fine, apart from the fact that like the shouting, it diminishes the effect of everything else. Of course Sharon’s son is in prison. Of course she hates Jocelyn for failing to defend him. Of course he killed someone. Because it wouldn’t be Broadchurch if there weren’t tears and passions running high. It’s worrying that a show which was so real in its first instance is now in danger of jumping the shark.
Nonetheless, these criticisms are irrelevant in the face of the fact that every Monday night and the arrival of the next installment is so avidly awaited. We do still care intensely about the characters, and they do seem like real people. We’re moved by Beth Latimer’s intense sorrow, Hardy’s dogged determination to get a conviction, and Ellie Miller’s desperation for exoneration in the eyes of the town. They have almost as little control over events as we, the viewers, but still they continue to fight. This humanity is key to the continued appeal.
