We're in either series or season three of Broadchurch (probably season three as sounding more in keeping with its grandiose gloom). It took me a while to remember who was who and what had happened from the first round, as there has been a bit of a time lapse during which I've forgotten about why several of the characters are so grief stricken that their families have split up. The policewoman, an actress endlessly lampooned for her crying abilities after series one, has become stoic in reaction, probably the calmest of the lot.
People respond to every moment so intensely, that I wonder if, as with Casablanca, none of the actors have been told how it works out or who is the culpable villain this time due to all the twists, turns and apparent reveals in each episode. I'm also confused to find two well established comedians playing key straight roles, and between them and a former Dr Who, keep expecting humour, or a least something a bit satirical and offbeat to crop up. So it is that during a moving moment when the father of the kid who died by falling off a cliff by accident in series one (I think, unless he was actually murdered by the policewoman's husband, which I also forget and remained unclear here despite a lengthy two hander between him and the boy's father), decides his grief is too overwhelming to live on and takes himself over the side of the boat, lying on the sea to wait for the end, I find myself thinking of a death bed scene in Woody Allen's Tolstoy pastiche, "Love and Death", when the dying man calls out:
"Drifting out to sea, with the great wild herring!" and find myself inappropriately amused.
There are several things here that don't add up. Why is David Tennant as furious as a wet hen throughout? When did he acquire a teenage daughter about as spirited as a blancmange (I totally forgot about her)? What is it about the fatal attraction of the (no offence) rather ordinary Trish that is inspiring such dark passions in the obsessed florist (Lenny Henry) and her ex husband (Charlie Higson)? Why is it that (even if she was pissed up after a party), she of all people failed to realise that her rapist is apparently the guy she had slept with only that morning? Also, given that she refuses to go anywhere, as she is about as furious as David Tennant and doesn't want to see anybody due the trauma, general rage and being let down by, of all people, the best friend who has found out she was shagging her husband, why is it that at the end of this last episode she is utterly charmed to see the whole village turn out for a midnight vigil in support of her? Although, it does occur to me, maybe she was so delighted as she thinks they've turned up with their flaming torches to support her in a revenge attack on the rapist/lover and burning his garage down with him in it?
There seemed to be, however, at least a suggestion at the end of the last episode that the taxi driver, who is either the husband or son of the one who is a bit of a dead ringer for the policewoman ( I can't make out the relationship because everybody is always so at loggerheads they are barely speaking to one another except with accusatory or despairing looks) might be the rapist after all. This would make garage man just someone to be disgusted with for adulterous and leering activities, but no less culpable in David Tennant's eyes at a guess, who disapproves of just about everything most of the time, especially, as he keeps reminding us, as he is 'a father', (cue seething stare).
Maybe it will all become clear in the final episode, for surely, we must have got to that by this next one coming up? If it does, I hope I can remember what happened, or I won't stand a chance if there is a series or season four.
.
Two teddies are now
Both in my keeping,
Gifts to toddler grandchildren, us.
When new, Bruin was purple, larger,
With a deep growl.
My brother's.
Teddy was smaller, fawn,
Mine.
He lost his growl after an unfortunate fall
And a sink bath.
I loved Teddy with a depth which included emotional guilt.
I was jealous because Bruin was bigger and purple
And my own ted must never know of that.
I was the oldest but the girl.
Perhaps that played into who got which bear.
Bruin is no longer purple,
Faded after decades on my brother's windowsills,
At home and in his flat.
For a few years now, both have looked down from
The high shelf beside my daughter's childhood raised bed.
They leaned together, slightly forward,
As if wanting to come down.
I climbed up to get them the other day and soon saw why.
Both lambswool, moths have pecked their back legs into small
bald patches.
It's been a poignant time as my mother has lately died too.
I felt I had let them down, the two teds,
Neglected while cherished still.
I've dusted them off and put them on the coverlet
Of the single bed below,
Where they seem more contented, two old men together.
Better now, their worn little faces seem to say.