Jan Moir’s verdict on the Broadchurch finale
(so what on earth WILL we do on Monday nights now!)
AFTER eight weeks, a dozen suspects, a hundred theories and a thousand gem lettuces sold by Sir Lenny Henry in the farm shop, the beast of Broadchurch has finally been unmasked.
Last night around ten million viewers tuned in to discover that it was brash rope salesman Leo Humphries (Chris Mason) who attacked Trish Winterman (Julie Hesmondhalgh) with a child’s cricket bat at the birthday party way back in episode one.
In a sickening twist, it was also revealed that he then coerced 16-year old taxi driver’s son Michael Lucas (Deon Lee-Williams) into raping her – and filmed the assault for good measure.
Leo was also arrested in connection with three further offences of rape, which he had also recorded on his mobile phone. Why? ‘I wanted to remember it, I wanted to see myself,’ said Leo, who said he felt ‘proud’ of what he had done.
The bleak denouement came after a handful of suspects had been arrested in a flurry of action during a gripping and emotional final episode.
As he was quizzed by the police, with a psychopathic grin on his face, it was clear that sick Leo had been hiding in plain sight all along, smug in the shadows of all the major suspects. A sexual marauder who wanted control over women and preyed on the weakness of his teenage accomplice, he was a fitting villain for a terrible crime. Yet it was Michael’s petrified compliance that was most shocking.
As Leo admitted to his crimes, it was case closed for the last ever Broadchurch mystery in this third and final series. DI Hardy (David Tennant) and DS Miller (Olivia Colman) can now congratulate themselves as they ride off into the sunset, safe in the knowledge the streets in this oddly ultra-violent seaside town have been swept clean of wrongdoing for ever.
There was a sense of resolution in the air as some loose ends were tied up, while other characters continue to unravel like skeins of wool. Broken Mark Latimer (Andrew Buchan) was last seen driving out of town, having never recovered from the death of his son in the first series.
Trish’s husband (Charlie Higson) looked keen to make the marriage work second time around. Ed Burnett (Sir Lenny Henry) excused his suspicious behaviour by explaining that he felt guilty because he heard the attack, but did not realise what was happening.
And Hardy and Miller filmed their last scene sitting on a bench by the sea, failing to fall in love with each other right to the end. Thanks to these two charismatic leads, Broadchurch has become one of the most successful police dramas of recent times. The eightpart series attracted huge audiences each week, despite its panoply of flaws and a tendency to annoy as well as entertain.
Consider the evidence, my fellow fans. The sinister background music was always too loud! So, on occasion, was howling DI Hardy, who was going full Braveheart from episode three. And don’t you think there was too heavy a reliance on the blue twine as a Major Clue and plot device? That bloody twine! It bound the victim, but also trussed up beetroots, sat prettily on a shelf in Leo’s rope shop and hid in a bush for nearly two months. It should have had a show of its own – and very nearly did.
Writer Chris Chibnall was back on form after the disaster that was series two, with its turgid court scenes and lack of a satisfactory conclusion. Here, he was determined to include elements of social conscience and political correctness into his last script – but sometimes they were too oppressive.
There was a positive view of the experience of reporting a sexual assault, in particular the careful and supportive treatment of Trish during her examination in the rape centre. There was DS Miller wielding those giant cotton buds and bagging evidence with her special expression of throbbing concern, while DI Hardy voiced his dismay about police funding cuts. ‘Sexual offences never get the same resources as murder,’ he complained. Elsewhere Sir Lenny provedits drawbacks.that celebrityAs farm castingshop man-has ager Ed, he never quite shook off his starry status, clearly believing it was he who was the cherry on the Broadchurch cake – when everyone knows that position is reserved for the goddess that is Olivia Colman. My only complaint about her is that it is she – and not Tennant – who should be the superior officer. Even so, it seemed to take an age for McBatman and Miss Robin to solve a relatively straightforward crime in a small community. Clues piled up like driftwood, but were largely ignored as Hardy went on a Tinder date (what was all that about?) and attended to his troubled daughter, while Miller smashed her son’s smartphone with a hammer. Meanwhile, how could a police fingertip search of the party venue grounds have failed to turn up a dirty great football sock drenched in DNA? It took a passing doggie to dig it up. Well, that was all part of the fun. The Brits are a nation who adore crossword puzzles, jigsaws, quizzes – and a good, oldfashioned whodunit. Clues, red herrings, dead ends – the cops might miss them, but they bring out the amateur detective in everyone at home. Many viewers thought the dodgy vicar was the culprit; could the Rev Coates (Arthur Darvill) have done it in the vestry with the candlestick? Or was it posh landlord Arthur Tamworth (Richard Hope) in the field with the lead piping?
In the end it was pale- eyed, angelic Leo, the handsome young man with everything to live for, but who had become sick and corroded by a porn habit that found him watching two hours of hard core pornography every day – and who tried to corrupt others into enjoying it with him. Poor Michael was only 16 years old with a viciously unhappy home life – and now his future is in tatters, too.
Some devotees may feel slightly cheated by the ending – I was convinced ex-husband Ian Winterman was the guilty party – but DS Miller’s rage and fury at the ghastliness of some men were majestic to behold. Her stellar performance was just one of the many things that made Broadchurch a hit – along with the magical location.
It has been filmed in various places, but the defining image of ‘Broadchurch’ is of the harbour settlement of West Bay in Dorset. Here, bodies and barbecues could be found on the beach, while more than one suicide was contemplated on the lonely cliff tops.
Niggles apart, it was marvellous fun – but the tide has turned forever. What will we do on Monday nights now?