The ‘Bodyguard’ wasn’t much cop – here’s why
What on earth came over us? Mass delusion? Curious resistance to watching what was clearly a BBC period drama (Vanity Fair) on the wrong channel (ITV)? Whatever it was, Bodyguard left us looking a right charlie. The finale was so overhyped by the BBC, they even had Bruno Tonioli on Strictly offering to play the Home Secretary (not such a bad idea, admittedly, when the alternative is Keir Starmer).
So, on Sunday night, 10.4million of us gathered in real time around ye olde television set preparing to be amazed and thrilled, then… Pffftt!
By that point, we had so heavily bought into the Most Watched and Talked About Drama of the Year, it was almost embarrassing to admit the truth: Bodyguard wasn’t much cop. And that wasn’t just because the police in the show had been cast with diversity, rather than talent or charisma, in mind. At one point, the leaden exchanges between the female and male detectives were so lacklustre, I thought: Gawd, bring back John Thaw.
What went wrong? How could this ratings smash deliver such an anticlimax? Its writer, director and producer, Jed Mercurio, is hinting there will be three more series to come. What, even with all these gaping holes in the plot still to be explained?
Why did Nadia, the suicide bomber, not simply blow herself up on the train when she was discovered in the loo by David Budd? In the best twist, cowering Nadia unmasked herself as a bileminister spewing jihadist, so why on earth would she miss the opportunity to wreak havoc? If the bomb squad could defuse Nadia’s suicide vest, why couldn’t they defuse Budd’s? Do we really believe that Nadia built all of the bombs – the one that blew up Julia Montague, the suicide vest Budd woke up in – before she went to jail? If so, this must count as the finest Here’s One I Made Earlier, and Nadia thoroughly deserves a Blue Peter badge.
Anyone else still not getting the link between the Islamists, the Prime and Luke Aitkens, the crime boss? Luke was such an evil genius, he drove Chanel Dyson (the Home Secretary’s former PA) everywhere in broad daylight. With astonishing foresight, he also had all the bullets in Budd’s gun replaced with blanks in case he, you know, just happened to try to commit suicide. (Another
Blue Peter badge!) Meanwhile, Luke thought it would be a really good idea to blow up the Home Secretary to stop her introducing a new counterterrorism bill that would give security services the power to put under surveillance minor, yet strangely essential, characters in BBC dramas. Couldn’t he just have got Gina Miller to run a campaign?
What was Chanel Dyson’s motive and why did she have such a daft name? Stand by, in the sequel, for Versace Hoover and Dior Squeegee.
The Scooby-doo ending. Why did Lorraine Craddock, Budd’s boss, confess so willingly? Ditto Luke.
Most implausible of all, how on earth did Budd get an appointment with occupational health without a referral letter and an 18-month wait?
The murder of Montague (Keeley Hawes). At a stroke, this took away the sexual chemistry between Montague and her bodyguard, which is what made the drama so compelling in the first place. It also removed any reason for Richard Madden to strip to his underpants. (Boo!) Mercurio congratulated himself on his daring in sacrificing his leading lady in episode three. It wasn’t brave, Jed, it was disastrous. Viewers who hoped, till the final minutes, that this was a scarlet herring and Julia was in hiding for her own safety were sorely disappointed. Moral: Never kill off your strongest character.
Mercurio can do so much better, as his riveting Line of
Duty proves. Bodyguard was a cheat, all the more infuriating because it made us realise we should have been watching (the excellent) Vanity Fair all along.
What could possibly be the secret of the show’s huge success? I reckon it’s a national craving, in these testy times, for some unifying factor, for a topic we can all discuss safely, without being screamed at. And don’t underestimate the consolation of seeing fictional people being blown up by imaginary terrorists when the threat from their real-life counterparts is ever present.
Above all, who wouldn’t like a bodyguard like Budd? A real man in an age of wusses who will smooth our path and Scottishly murmur the words we long to hear: “All clear,
Ma’am.”