Sometimes great art hurts to watch, and Bodily Harm is an example. Timothy Spall, pouting like a dejected guppy as ever, is fired and cuckolded in rapid succession - and only then do things really start to go bad.
This is bleak, black humour, encompassing sneaky blowjobs, botched suicides and terminal cancer with the same laconic tenderness. I found myself inextricably bound to the fates of this posse of frayed losers, and by the end I was wailing like a baby.
This is the kind of TV they tell us never gets made any more. It does, but it's increasingly marginalised by celebreality prolefeed. Do yourself a favour - the next time Paris Hilton or some such parasitic cretin oozes into your frame of reference, swat her aside like the rancid cockroach that she is, and watch something like Bodily Harm instead.
This is bleak, black humour, encompassing sneaky blowjobs, botched suicides and terminal cancer with the same laconic tenderness. I found myself inextricably bound to the fates of this posse of frayed losers, and by the end I was wailing like a baby.
This is the kind of TV they tell us never gets made any more. It does, but it's increasingly marginalised by celebreality prolefeed. Do yourself a favour - the next time Paris Hilton or some such parasitic cretin oozes into your frame of reference, swat her aside like the rancid cockroach that she is, and watch something like Bodily Harm instead.