So the BBC's shiny period drama Taboo came to an end last night, and I think it's time we talked about it. To be specific, I think it's time we talked about how it promised so much in the first episode and then proceeded to deliver increasingly little with each installment.
What started out like a sort of Regency Batman of Monte Cristo, with dollops of mysticism and gorgeous scenery of equal parts East End mud and East India bling, soon deflated into a confused muddle of board meetings, growly monologues, pointless visions and shots of Tom Hardy striding through the mud with his special hat on. All structured around the least engaging trade negotiation plot since The Phantom Menace.
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| No, I didn't use an accent coach, since you ask |
Rather than rant further, I give you some alternative titles for the show that I feel are more accurate descriptions than the one which makes it sound like an aftershave from the 80s:
- Jonathan Pryce Drops The F-Bomb
- Bane Has Magic Skype Sex With His Deep One Sister
- Look! It's Another Muddy Scene On The Thames At Low Tide!
- How Come The Only Two Doctors In London Look Identical?
- Sea Otter Pelts: The Crystal Meth Of 1814
- What, So Is It Magic Or Not?
- We Get It, A Boat Sank
- Mark Gatiss Is Apparently Allowed To Play Any Character He Wants In The Style Of Widow Twankey
- Just Get On A Boat To Nootka Fucking Sound Already
