Put Winslet in everything (her kids aren’t bad either)
Channel 4, Thursday HHHHH A Spy Among Friends ITVX, Thursday HHHHH
IAm Ruth starred Kate Winslet as a mother whose teenage daughter is undergoing a mental health crisis brought on by social media and has withdrawn to her bedroom. It’s Winslet’s first TV drama since Mare Of Easttown, and would it surprise you if I said she was sensational, fearless, a tour-de-force? Or that I wished she was in everything? (Call The Midwife, that would be immensely improved, as would Casualty.)
She’s transfixingly real, and will keep you with her even when the material becomes distressing, as it does. I’m so grateful I got to raise my children in the pre-internet age. I used to worry that they were watching their video of The Jungle Book way too often. Innocent times.
This is the first in a new season of I Am…, the one-off, female-led, semi-improvised dramas by Dominic Savage. Winslet plays Ruth, a single mum who lives with her 17-year-old daughter, Freya, played by Mia Threapleton, Winslet’s real-life daughter. Ruth also has a son, Billy, at university, who pops up briefly, played by Joe Mendes, Winslet’s real-life son. That was some ‘Take your kids to work’ day. Thankfully they are both excellent.
At the outset, Freya is up in her bedroom, curtains closed. We see her take underwear pictures of herself and, although this is never specific, she has to be doing something with them on social media as her phone keeps beeping, even through the night. (‘I just want to take your phone and smash it into a thousand pieces and s**t on it and flush it down the loo,’ her mother will later shout.)
That’s her angry stage but, for the moment, she’s at that stage of saying the wrong thing that we all know is the wrong thing as soon as we’ve said it but can’t help ourselves. So, as she opens Freya’s curtains and window, it’s: ‘Get some fresh air.’ And then: ‘Put your phone down and take a walk round the block, darling.’ And, most desperately, as it’s an attempt to grasp at normality: ‘Nothing else for the wash?’
Freya is not initially communicative. Freya says: ‘Can you leave me alone?’ If asked what’s the matter, she says: ‘Nothing.’ She also does the look. You know, that look. The one that tells a mother she’s the dumbest creature on the planet. I know that look. It usually comes before or after the why-areyou-bothering-me-with-your-existence one. (Even when your children are raised on The Jungle Book, you are not spared any of this.)
There’s a visit to a GP. There’s a visit to Freya’s school. But there is no plot as such. It’s mostly the to and fro of mother and daughter, who both want it to stop yet don’t know how. Ruth, at work, leaves heartbreaking messages on Freya’s phone: ‘We’ll be OK, darling. It’s just a phase. We’ll figure it out.’ At other times she is angry about, say, the length of Freya’s skirt – ‘I can see your knickers’ – but Freya will then put her on the back foot. ‘Don’t criticise me.’ ‘I’m not criticising you.’ ‘What are you doing then?’ ‘I’m sorry, darling, I’m sorry.’ It is fraught, and what is happening with her phone? Why is it beeping all night?
I can’t say how it concludes but can say that
Winslet’s performance, while not the only reason to watch, is the main one. Her portrayal of parental despair is so truthful that it makes it impossible to look away. Also, there’s a scene where she eats Marmite straight from the jar. Respect.
A Spy Among Friends, based on the book by Ben Macintyre, was launched on ITVX, the new streaming service that replaces ITV Hub, which no one will miss as it was useless. This is certainly a prestige drama. It stars Guy Pearce as Kim Philby, the British spy who was outed as a double agent for the Soviets in the early 1960s, and Damian Lewis as his long-time friend Nicholas Elliott, who was also a spy and was also duped by Philby. He’d had no idea. When Philby is unmasked, Elliott is dispatched to Beirut, where Philby was living, to extract a confession or ‘turn’ him again, and the pair spend a few days together before Philby bolts to Russia. That’s the basic set-up, but there are many timelines, perhaps too many. I was often desperate for it to stay put.
Also, for a drama, this lacks drama. It’s told mostly in brown, smoky rooms and via a series of interrogations. It’s broadly true but there is a fictional character, investigator Lily Thomas (Anna Maxwell Martin), who interrogates Elliott on his return from Beirut, and if it’s not that interrogation it’s Elliott interrogating Philby or Thomas listening to recordings of Elliott interrogating Philby or Philby being interrogated by the Russians. Excitement? There was none. I could even see why they’d invented Thomas. It would just be a succession of posh chaps saying ‘old boy’ and ‘old bean’ otherwise.
The period detail is wonderful, but I can’t see it drawing in anyone who doesn’t have a deep interest in the subject and, as it is, I have other spies on the go, the ones in Slow Horses. But thanks for the offer! (It’s always best to be polite.)
FATHER JOHN MISTY: CHLOE AND THE
NEXT 20TH CENTURY
Josh Tillman, once of Fleet Foxes, has made his masterpiece. His music is postmodern lounge pop with sumptuous tunes and astute observations – the sound of Arctic Monkeys’ dreams.
WEYES BLOOD:
AND IN THE DARKNESS, HEARTS AGLOW
When this landed last month, I gave it four stars, which now feels a bit harsh. As a songwriter, Natalie Mering reels off thoughtful ballads, and as a singer, she makes them fly.
ELVIS COSTELLO
AND THE IMPOSTERS:
THE BOY NAMED IF
After exploring every genre under the sun, Costello returns to base, lights the fire in his belly, parties like it’s 1979, adds a little tenderness and sets it all to some memorable melodies.
COURTNEY MARIE ANDREWS:
LOOSE FUTURE Some singers make records that feel like friends. After doing that in lockdown with Old Flowers, Andrews does it again with some gleaming love songs.
JESSIE BUCKLEY & BERNARD BUTLER: FOR ALL OUR DAYS THAT TEAR THE HEART
The birth of a new genre: operatic folk. Butler brings a rock guitarist’s punch and
Buckley, better known as an actress, shows that she’s a phenomenal singer.
STORMZY: THIS IS WHAT I MEAN
On his third album, the grandmaster of grime takes a turn towards soul and matches the excellence of his debut.
RINA SAWAYAMA: HOLD THE GIRL
The closest thing this year to Dua Lipa: dance-pop that is both shiny and sassy.
EZRA FURMAN: ALL OF US FLAMES
Furman’s sixth album, Perpetual Motion People, was a treat. This one, her ninth, has the same nonchalant ferocity.
TAYLOR SWIFT: MIDNIGHTS
A superstar who seems to want it even more now that she’s in her 30s, Swift has become highly prolific without spreading herself too thin. Here she discovers synth-pop and swearing. We can probably blame at least one of these on London, where she now lives.
FLORENCE + THE MACHINE: DANCE FEVER
All the frustrations of lockdown, poured into pounding rhythms and soaring vocals.
THE PROCLAIMERS: DENTURES OUT
With a title like that, it’s crying out to be given to grandad. If he can take the joke, he’ll have some fun with these cuddly curmudgeons.
HERE IT IS: A TRIBUTE TO LEONARD COHEN
There are countless covers of Cohen, but these are among the best. The backing, from a gifted house band, is close to jazz; the singing, from Norah Jones to Peter Gabriel, is full of soul.