What the hell is happening to television? We sit here and wallow in the doldrums of Strictly Come Dancing and X-Factor whilst simultaneously having to put up with many of British television’s best series’ being cast out, left to come to an anti-climactic death. And now, the BBC’s thrilling and long-running spy-drama Spooks is set to be given its screened funeral this coming Monday. In my opinion, we should all be bloody devastated.
It’s a programme that carries plenty of emotional weight despite its themes being predominantly action and thrill-based. The sense of feeling for the characters is a particular attraction of Spooks. Whether its Tom Quinn or Ros Myers, you want these people of power to succeed and yet you still have the sadness for them when they die having led a life of detachment from the rest of society. There’s still the adrenaline of the chase and threat of terrorists but Spooks is particularly impressive in its portrayal of tragedy. You care about these people.
Do I care about John Sergeant fucking up a Pasodoble? No. Do I care if some washed up celebrity has dropped a tart on the floor? No. Spooks may be fictional but to me there’s more real life in it than there is in any of the shite reality TV you see so celebrated nowadays. Quite frankly I’m dumbfounded by its cancellation. Surely our country has a regular and large audience for Spooks still… surely!
And so, my dear Spooks, I say goodbye to you, angry at your death, just like Harry Pearce’s anger at the deaths of his MI5 officers. Angry at your premature cancellation despite still having plenty to offer. Angry at all the shite that is still on TV when you’re forgotten in its history. But don’t worry, my friend. As I will remember you, as will my Dad. I’ll watch you in the future and marvel at your meaningful thrills. I’ll wonder what you could have done if you hadn’t been forgotten, and to be honest, I’ll probably be the only one…