This Windrush story should – and will – make you angry
Amid the noise about Black Lives Matter came Sitting in Limbo (BBC One), a film that quietly laid out one of the most shameful chapters in recent political history: the Windrush scandal. The drama was bookended by scenes from real life, beginning with Theresa May explaining that her immigration bill would create a hostile environment for illegal immigrants and “make it easier to get rid of people who have no right to be here”. But Anthony Bryan had a right to be here. He had lived in Britain for more than 50 years, arriving from Jamaica at the age of eight with his mother, who took up a job as an NHS nurse at the invitation of the government.
His nightmare began when he applied for a passport to visit his elderly mother, now settled back in Jamaica. First, his employer received a letter stating that Bryan had no right to work here. It wasn’t long before the police arrived at his door in London and carted him off to a detention centre in Dorset. After a lengthy process in which Bryan was unable to prove sufficient evidence of his status – his old school had destroyed its records – he was informed that he would be deported back to Jamaica, a country he had last seen in 1965. His family managed to raise the money for a lawyer and an 11th-hour injunction, but it was most likely press coverage of the case that embarrassed the government into letting Bryan stay.
Bryan was ably played by Patrick Robinson, best known for his longrunning role as Ash in Casualty. He appeared to age as the drama wore on, coping with the horror of being treated like a criminal by retreating into himself, and reacting as I imagine any of us would: disbelief, bitterness, depression, exhaustion. As a viewer, my chief emotion was anger.
The writer was Bryan’s own brother, Stephen S Thompson, who did an excellent job of recreating the warmth of the family set-up surrounding Bryan and his partner, Janet (Nadine Marshall). But the script was equally strong on the dehumanising effects of the hostile environment policy, and the coldness of the staff who implement it. “Calm down, Madam, or you’ll be arrested for obstruction,” a police officer barked at Janet when she pleaded that Bryan be afforded the dignity of getting dressed before he was hauled out of the house. At the detention centre, a supervisor tells Bryan: “We’re offering a service to people in your situation. It’s called voluntary repatriation.”
There was a happy ending, if you could call it that: Bryan was allowed to remain in his own country. But the film left us in no doubt about the emotional toll.
Michaela Coel is the writer, star, executive producer and co-director of I May Destroy You (BBC One), a new 12-part series. This isn’t hubris, but a sign of an exceptional talent. The drama is based on a real-life event in Coel’s life: in 2016, she was working through the night on a script and broke off for drinks with a friend. Several hours later she found herself back at her computer, feeling strange. In flashbacks, she realised that her drink had been spiked and she had been sexually assaulted.
What you do not expect from this story is humour. Yet Coel has pulled off the seemingly impossible by creating a drama that is frequently funny. We have seen the aftermath of rape on television many times – the scene in the shower, the visit to police, the swabs, examinations and interviews.
I May Destroy You is not like that. What Coel seems to be saying is that trauma doesn’t erase the essence of you.
Her character, Arabella, is a writer who found fame on Twitter. She promised her agents she was working hard on a new manuscript, but instead was partying in Italy and now has less than 24 hours to deliver a first draft. She’s fizzing with energy and easily distracted. When she meets up with her friend Simon (Aml Ameen), they’re soon snorting lines of cocaine, and knocking back shots in the bar. Her memories of the night end there; by episode two, Arabella is attempting to piece together what happened, and Simon is looking increasingly shifty.
The direction has a deliberately disorienting, hazy quality, mirroring Arabella’s memories. The cast is mostly black, save for Arabella’s two literary agents. The gulf in their interactions, though, isn’t just about colour – it’s also about class and age, as this posh, 40-something pair attempt to market and monetise a young woman whose first book was called Chronicles of a Fed-up Millennial.
I’m not sure what this drama is doing on BBC One, when it portrays a sexand-drugs lifestyle that will be familiar to BBC Three’s audience but not to a sizeable proportion of BBC One’s (average age: 61). But give it a chance, whoever you are. It deserves to be seen.
Sitting in Limbo ★★★★
I May Destroy You ★★★★