A terrifying drama that was chillingly plausible
The Hunting RTÉ 2, Wednesday
The Great House Revival RTÉ One, Sunday
The BRIT Awards UTV/VMT3, Tuesday
EVERY generation looks at the one that has gone before and gives thanks that life has got better. Those of us now in middleage might, however, be the first to thank God we’re not younger. The world has changed beyond all recognition since the arrival of social media, and there is huge pressure on those under 30, and teenagers in particular, to be seen to live fabulous lives filled with adventure and fun.
The most insidious change, though, probably has come with the redefinition of intimacy. Every generation has told its friends about teenage fumbles – lads have always boasted and girls have shared just as much, but now, sharing of sexual images is an everyday thing, a practice unfathomable to the older among us.
The problem is that such images, meant to be seen by one person, can instantly proliferate, ending up not only on dozens of phones but on websites where the whole world can see them.
This is the backdrop to The Hunting, a compelling import from Australia that opened with a double episode on Wednesday and concludes with two more this week. It is, of necessity, explicit, though mostly in terms of context and language than anything that is shown. Two girls who ‘sext’ their partners (as the sending of sexual texts messages is known) learn that the images have been shared; one finds a printed-out screengrab of herself pinned to her school locker, while the other, the daughter of strict Indian immigrants who don’t even allow her wear a bikini to the beach, has to deal with the horror of her parents when they find out what she has done.
In the middle are two young, naïve teachers who are trying to protect the boys involved from prosecution when the school policy is, correctly, to inform the police immediately.
It is not the best-written television series in history, and the acting is a bit patchy, but thematically it might be one of the most important you will see all year.
Peer pressure is always with us, and one of the boys, also an immigrant, this time from the Middle East, is looking for acceptance in a new society and shares images only because he wants to please the star soccer player.
That boy in turn is a clever manipulator, of girls and boys alike, who sees himself as above the rules because his parents are wealthy and liberal.
But peer pressure, as we also know, can make essentially good children do bad things, and as things were left hanging after the second episode, it remains in the balance as to who will be punished and who will find redemption.
Depending on the age of your children, this is a series you should watch with them, if only to raise the issues involved. Few, I imagine, are unaware of how such images can be shared but young love can impair judgement, and far too many naively believe they are exchanging a personal gift, not something that might go viral.
I found the entire drama chillingly plausible and utterly terrifying, and if watching it makes a few teenagers utterly terrified to the point where they actually stop and think, that only can be a good thing.
Talking of good things, The Great
House Revival returned this week with avuncular architect Hugh Wallace following thirtysomething Fiona Kelly as she bought a derelict house in Phibsboro in Dublin and set about the restoration of it. It proved to be quite a project. Subsidence meant that most of the floors listed precariously. The roof timbers were, after over 200 years of service, rotting. The steps to the front door collapsed.
Anyone else would have walked away, but Fiona stuck to her guns. Historians helped her reveal the secrets of the house, built as a single-family dwelling but later converted to a tenement that was home to 17 people. As the work progressed, the layers of the plaster on the wall were peeled back to reveal poignant echoes of paints and wallpapers past. Instead of re-plastering, Fiona left them exposed as murals, the new life in her home fully informed by everything that had gone before.
She also added a spectacular kitchen extension, and now has the joy, gifted to very few of us, of spending her entire day walking from past to present, literally living history. It was a superb opening to the series.
Not quite so superb was the annual
BRIT Awards, hosted on Tuesday by comedian Jack Whitehall. He’s an affable presence with a good line in mild insults – when Harry Styles said it was 10 years since One Direction were formed, Whitehall quipped: ‘That’s, like, three Simon Cowell faces ago’ – but the night proved challenging for me.
The BRITs are 40 years on the go and I used to eagerly anticipate them; in 1988, I even got to go to them in London’s Royal Albert Hall. This year sadly reminded me of just how out of touch I am. A woman called Lizzo seemed very popular, but I’ve never heard her song before. The winner of Best Album was a 21-year-old English rapper known simply as Dave, and I’ve never heard of him either. On and on it went, a litany of names and bands that have passed me by.
The biggest shock though, came when a singer called Mabel won the award for Best British Female Solo Artist, and got a huge hug from her mother.
Her mother Neneh Cherry, who sang Seven Seconds with Youssou N’Dour 36 years ago.
It proved little consolation that I actually knew her name.