Sex abuse story that’s relentless, brutal and — tragically — 100% true
Never in my life have I seen any drama, documentary or film that was as hard to watch as Three Girls (BBC1). This is an important, necessary series: it is television as testament — but it is not entertainment on any level.
After 40 minutes, when 15-year-old teenager Holly was driven to a warehouse to be passed around, raped and abused by a crowd of British Pakistani men, I had to pause and go outside to clear my head.
It was brutal. It was relentless. Knowing that it was all true made it even more depressing. To screen this at 9pm on three consecutive nights might be too much for millions of viewers, who could quite understandably feel that they cannot bear, and do not need, to hear every sordid detail.
Yet in truth, the scale of real-life sex abuse is too vast to be conveyed in a Tv drama, even one as raw as this. As its title told us, Nicole Taylor’s script — based on the real-life investigation into the rotherham paedophile ring — focused on just three girls. Last year’s official report by Professor Alexis Jay suggested 1,400 children were victims over a 16-year period.
Perhaps anxious to avoid any accusation of racism, Three Girls has made almost nothing of the fact that all the abusers were of Pakistani origin. Some of the men wore traditional Islamic clothes, but there was no mention either of their religion.
It was fear of appearing racist that made police and social workers blind to the appalling sex crimes that were endemic in rotherham for so long. So far, this drama has failed to address that, though we are only one-third of the way through.
The three young actresses at the core of the story were outstanding. Liv Hill played hyperactive, easily led ruby, bouncing off the walls. Her manipulative, bullying older sister Amber was chillingly acted by ria Zmitrowicz.
But it was Molly Windsor as Holly who was on camera in almost every frame, and constantly superb. Miserable at home, lonely at school, sullenly eager to rebel, it was plain to see how vulnerable she was.
The fact it was other teenage girls who were first to recognise that vulnerability, and to exploit it, added one more layer of nastiness to an account that was already grim beyond words.
Last weekend’s Baftas, with awards for two other true-life dramas (Damilola, Our Loved Boy, and Murdered By My Father), emphasised that Britain does this soul-searching genre better than anyone. But how shameful that these events could ever happen in our country.
No Bafta for Alan Titchmarsh with his latest format, a sort of parlour-game version of The Antiques roadshow, called Masterpiece (ITv). But this Tv veteran knows there’s always a place for light-hearted entertainment with an educational twist.
Three pairs of players have to guess the price of collectable items. Some stand out as classic memorabilia, such as the minidress signed by all four Beatles.
Others are harder to appraise: most people have chucked out junk from their kitchen no worse than the stainless steel contraption that turned out to be a highly valuable butter-spreader.
The contestants are not experts and their guesswork can sometimes be dull. The show is at its best when connoisseur rachel Houston-Holland is letting Alan in on the trade secrets.
It’s fun to play along at home... unless, of course, you’ve been to the tip lately and realise you have ditched an heirloom.