What is it about a global pandemic that brings out the love of murder in people?
I know that the TV and movie-watching audience has always been fascinated by the subject, but it’s still interesting during lockdown that on the UK channel ITV, the two biggest hits in recent months have been Des (about the serial killer Dennis Nilson) and The Pembrokeshire Murders (about the serial killer John Cooper) or, as I now like to call it, The Pandemicshire Murders.
At the other end of the spectrum, viewers have gone wild for Bridgerton (created by Chris Van Dusen), the first production from Shonderland’s Shonda Rimes (executive producer), who also brought us Scandal and Gray’s Anatomy.
Having signed an exclusive deal with Netflix for an eye-watering sum, she must be thrilled with the response, as must Netflix.
It’s not your average costume drama. It’s very, very funny, with a great cast, and Phoebe Dynevor and Regé-Jean Page (as Daphne Bridgerton and Simon Basset) bring to the sex scenes a chemistry that has even elderly viewers reaching for a cold flannel (trust me: I’ve talked to them).
In our current climate, it’s the escapist fantasy we all need, although it’s clear that Julia Quinn, on whose books the series is based, is no Jane Austen. Think more Barbara Cartland with bigger breasts – ginormous, to be honest; there are scenes where you think the entire Himalayan range has dropped in for tea.
There’s not even a whiff of death, but both ends of the spectrum tell us very basic things about the viewing public, and probably human nature in general: at the end of the day, all that really matters is sex and death.
The beginning and the end.