Covid has visited some awful things upon us so it seems churlish to complain about small nuisances resulting from the pandemic.
Yet, like the weaselly guy in a war film who constantly whinges about rations not being up to scratch as his comrades face down the actual Nazis, I’m unable to maintain a stiff upper lip any longer. Not after sitting through Traces last week.
TV being increasingly rubbish is a growing source of irritation. A bit like those people in supermarkets who can’t pull their mask up over their nose. Listen, mate, how would you like it if I wandered about with my private parts draped over the front of my joggies? You wouldn’t, so get that conk covered. Dramas are just difficult to film with social distancing, which is why Traces was dragged from the relative oblivion of the Alibi channel where it originally debuted, to be shown on prime-time BBC1.
Despite sterling efforts from Martin Compston and Laura Fraser everything about Traces is tackier than a Blu Tack factory.
Dialogue, sets, plot, even the acronyms for the organisations the characters belong to are a bit limp. SIFA?
I watched Traces back when it appeared on Alibi and didn’t mind it, so perhaps Lockdown 3 has finally broken me.
Traces might be better left, much like a nose poking over a mask, nicely tucked away.
Traces BBC1, Monday, 9pm
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