B B

Hypermasculinity and abuse are deep-seated issues in the UK—add adolescents and social media into the mix, and you’ve got a perfect storm. Wham, bam—I’ll smack your mum. All jokes aside, to those of you virtue-signaling and wailing for the fleshing out of the female victim—bravo, you have a conscience. It’s a misguided and obtuse conscience, but a conscience nonetheless. The male characters in this show aren’t robbing the world of its ability to mourn young female victims. We know this dialogue. Trust me, I’m a woman—I know everything. The men who touch their faces plenty are trying to communicate with us how deeply uncomfortable they are with themselves—living, breathing blood-pressure gauges. They beautifully portray the journey of hurt men trying to be good men, only to feel like failing men because society was ravaged by something beyond them. These characters tried so hard to keep going—and they do keep going—in the face of everything that is wrong with the UK and the modern world. I loved this show deeply. Give these men a break. They were moving, talented, and far more nuanced than some of you arrogant plebs seem willing to admit.