Histrionics as Coro plots coalesce
IT WAS a competition to see who could weep the most buckets, scream the loudest, and say the nicest thing about the late Ashley Peacock during this week’s uberdramatic episodes of Coronation Street.
Thankfully, they had enough humour dotted throughout the episodes to remind us that the show is classic pantomime. My favourite line of the hysterical proceedings was uttered by Sean, the gay bartender at the Rovers, who fondly remembered the days when Ashley the butcher would say mince and “I’d say homophobe”.
Those doing the deathbed croaks must have studied Days of Our Lives back tapes, especially Molly, who really hammed it up as she let out small bits of distressing information to “Suicidal Sal” in between life-giving gasps of oxygen. Finally, Sally could bear it no longer and almost shook the dying duck, demanding to know the real father of baby Jack.
Meanwhile, Fiz was doing Whitney Houston imitations at the hospital as she screamed her lungs out, going through the octaves while giving birth to Hope/ Thumbelina, a 24-week prem baby. Do they get paid per decibel?
Her partner John, the current Coro psycho, was a busy boy, nipping out from the hospital to drag Charlotte, who he thought he had clubbed to death with a hammer, on to the street making it look as if he’d rescued her. To his horror, she still had a pulse and was put on life support in the same hospital where Fiz was postnatal-ing it up large as the rascal Romeo skated between wards, tending to his femmes.
Meanwhile, poor old decent Tyrone, still reeling from being given the grand dump by Molly, as well as being told that baby Jack wasn’t his, didn’t get to kiss and make up with her before she croaked. Now he has vowed to kill whoever destroyed his life, with Kevin the freaked-out cuckolder egging him on. Hide the steak knives – there’s only one way out for the mechanic.
Then there was the palaver over the love triangle and the messy business of Leanne, who thought she was in love with Nick but had promised herself to Peter, who lay dying in the hospital but still managed to convince Leanne to marry him on the deathbed spot, thus providing a legal guardian for baby Simon.
Well, she did rev him up, telling him: “As soon as you’re strong enough to pick up a sausage roll, I’ll drag you down the aisle.”
“You see this in films, but are such things possible?” Ken Barlow asked as a physician said yes, it was entirely do-able, with Peter milking it for all it was worth as he struggled to choke out the wedding vows in hoarse whispers.
Ashley’s wife Claire was told that her ever-obliging husband died a hero, saving Peter and Nick from certain death – which was small comfort to her, as she uncharitably called Ashley a “bloody idiot” for not being there to bring up their son. A doctor trying to quell her hysteria asked her if she wanted anything, to which she replied: “I want my husband back. Go on, write me a prescription for that.”
Graham, the resident Coro clown, was so upset over Ashley’s demise that when Roy came around with a plate of Elliot’s prime porkers, as handed down from Fred to Ashley, he vowed to nurture and carry on the proud tradition into meat eternity.
Jason, another hero of the hour, was so traumatised he told his mother he was off out. “To get smashed – bladdered so much I’ll no longer know where I live”.
By crikey, there was a lot going on, subplots and plots rushing to their denouements so fast that traffic lights should have been set up – and still Ken and the ghastly Gail Platt continue to avoid the Grim Reaper.
But the award for X-treme Thespianing in a disaster soap must surely go to Sally, when she revealed to her husband that she was in the know about his fathering of baby Jack with a withering: “You’ve got a son. Congratulations, Kevin.”
If only he’d died in the tram crash, she said, as she gave him his marching orders, telling him there was no room at the inn for him at HER house ever again.
With so many plots coming to a head, it was a difficult decision to say which drama queen or king dominated proceedings – but on consideration, I believe Sally is thoroughly deserving of winning by a nose. Last night’s episode ended with Sally looking like a train had hit her (sorry, I couldn’t resist), all alone on the couch looking miserably through photograph albums of the couple in happier, hairier days. I haven’t enjoyed Coro so much since Tracy killed Charlie.