Awful...In All the RIGHT Ways: “Blackout” Comes to its Close

I’ve never understood why sinister films tend to make such box-office smashers; just what is it about blubbering one’s way through 123 minutes of “The Notebook” that makes audiences crawl wistfully back time after time? Why do we readily shun perky, sunny summer-flicks, but flock to lugubrious death-tales and moody murders like woe’s going out of style? I’ve checked and, as long as Wintour holds on to her Vogue throne, it isn’t. So it must be something else, some endemic screw-up that evolution never got got a chance to iron out, that gives us all our craving for calamity. I guess, somehow, this sucker for punishment bent has its dividends; if no one ever reverted to what they’ve formerly found bothersome, gyms would certainly lose a hefty chunk of their profit, we’d never eat celery and we’d have lost Cheryl Cole long ago. I’m no novice to the quirk myself; since I signed off on my last “Blackout” post I’ve been itching for a load more of its peculiarly bum-out bleakness, torturing myself with various outcome scenarios and even, once, rereading my previous posts and sorrily basking in the wretchedness of the Beeb’s three-parter. So this week, at long last, I got some much-needed closure on at least one city mayor who will certainly not be merrily dangling from a zip-wire anytime soon...

Betrayed: Demoys' relationship with Durrans soured

What the episode did well, as it panned out, was to make its culmination seem inevitable; its twists came off as unlabored, its eventual tidiness satisfying. Episode three opened with the revelation that Jerry Durrans, the spearhead of Demoys’ mayoral campaign (who had slipped under the net so stealthily in previous episodes that that was the first time I’ve typed his name) knew of Daniel’s grisly murder of businessman Pulis. Corrupt, oily and the father of Daniel’s unborn niece or nephew, a bent Pulis turned out to be in cahoots with the city’s police and with corporate giant Danto, determined to make a puppet of Demoys and derail his designs for cooperatively-operated public services. In one expert maneuver, the series salvaged the tautness that it risked in its sophomore episode and provided a flawless ‘will he/won’t he’ climax for the capricious Demoys. Equally fortunately, the finale unshackled Sylvie from her bunny-boiling, awkward worst; her wearisome obsession with Demoys came to a halt and she sought reconciliation with ex Bevan, who, without debasing one of the episode’s most powerful moments, stepped up to the mark as the series’ chief performer in the chilling stakes. Plot-wise, the sole glitch came with Ruth Pulis; despite an almost Beckham-esque sluggishness in episodes one and two in realising Demoys’ hand in her father’s demise, Ruth of this week seemed razor sharp. So too, Ruth was the one character for whom writers fell short of providing closure. She was, as the end approached with impressive momentum, slightly redundant, but the lack of finality for Ruth was an unnecessary smear on an otherwise gleaming conclusion.

Turnaround: Pulis' daughter realised Demoys' crime

Episode three hurtled along, but it crucially did so without sacrificing poignancy.; indeed, this was the series at its most stirring. The onus on family this week, with Sylvie’s reconciliation with Bevan alone, was striking (‘I have a husband, and I have two kids....and I didn’t even notice’), but with the Demoys it was made centrally-thematic. As Alex and Daniel discerned the net tightening round them, and Demoys’ comeuppance became a mere question of ‘when’, it was almost harrowing to see them put provisions in place for their children (who, by the way, seemed to become as infinitely cuter as Ruth did sharper). The ‘last supper’ template, time-worn by telly dramas in need of a spurt of tension, was used sparingly and with the series’ signature originality. It was dark (fret not, misery-lovers), but the segment afforded surprising tenderness to what was essentially the goodbye-party of a murdering politician. The other prime mushy-moment came when Demoys’ nurse mentor and fellow recovering alcoholic, Donna, turned therapist to his troubled son. As the boys’ insecurities, thankfully, were sidelined, Donna spoke lengthily about the relentless struggle against the bottle and, in so doing, reminded viewers not to go too harshly on Demoys. It was refreshing, perhaps assuring, given how much time was given up to the issue of drink early in the series, to see it brought back up and not trivialized as a mere plot device.

Touching: The episode didn't skimp on the soft-stuff

Without sounding too inane, my biggest bug-bear with dramas tends to be their drama: that is, their borderline-fantasy flourishes and dubious characters. Gladly, and again without tainting the ending, “Blackout” finished with credibility, with a powerful curtain call that, happily, ditched the theatrics. Even prior to the final five minutes, the finale seemed thoroughly, nearly uncomfortably, realistic. The attention to continuity (especially with regards to the booze issue) played its part, but what gave the biggest dose of verisimilitude was the series’ niftily put together characters. People, they seemed to show, change their minds, have alternating work- and home-personas, act occasionally out of emotion rather than rationality, and can be unpredictable without being sensational. In short, the series’ writers refused to work with limiting character categories (the killer, the cutie, the doormat), and in a mere three episodes showcased each key player as multi-dimensioned.

Watch “Blackout’s” finale with a hankering for gloom and it won’t disappoint. Settle down to it with one eye on the bleakness and the other on savvy production, applaudable candidness and deftly used sentiment, and you’ll get doubly lucky.