Things start. You’re hopeful. You watch and keep watching. And they keep getting worse.
So it is with The Bridge and Broadchurch. I apologize.
Bleak doesn’t mean deep. It just means bleak. Which both of these extended melodramas are. Lots of talent expended for no benefit.
In The Bridge, you come to like one character. Nothing can save her. Everyone else deserves what happens to them, which is horrible. They needed 13 episodes to inflict this on us? Mostly you wind up second guessing the writer and director and actors. What were you thinking with this insane plot? How is this not an insultingly stereotyped depiction of a Mexican cop in every particular? Who told the producer and director that Matthew Lillard could act? Why does Anabeth Gish think a softcore porn role might benefit her career? Why is her character in the show in the first place? Why is one relatively minor character doing a fairly gross impersonation of a major character who doesn’t deserve to be mocked in this way? Does anybody involved think this is acting, clever, worthwhile, illuminating, or anything but totally damn dumb and pretentious?
Broadchurch. With The Killing it took me the betrayal at the end of season one to realize I didn’t care who killed the killed girl. With Broadchurch it’s taken only six episodes. I. don’t. care.
If the purpose is to convince me that all English life outside of London is low, venal, meaningless, dull, and sick, I’m convinced. Kill them all. It doesn’t matter what they do or what is done to them. They deserve it.
The boy on the beach died before the show started. I envy him. He’s well out of it. And I’m prepared to believe he got what was coming to him. Yeah, he was a kid. But he was an English kid. He’d have grown up to be like everyone else in the show — a dim, selfish, drab drone who flails at life without ever even being interesting.
Sorry. I got taken in. It happens. Forgive me.