Back to Life

George Lazenby didn’t. David Moyes couldn’t. Donald Trump isn’t. Back to Life has.

How do you follow someone, something, iconic that's defined a generation? It’s one of the hardest things to do. Fresh in everyone’s mind is what’s come before: their brilliance, their ingenuity, their class. You’ve been thrown into history too soon. Better if there was a gap, a go-between, to ensure you weren’t juxtaposed against one of the greats.

Back to Life has been put in the TV slot vacated by Phoebe Waller-Bridge. Fleabag achieved what The Office did in 2001, achieving the impossible, writing a second series that surpassed its first, improving on perfection. In doing something original with the fourth wall, in creating a character that captured millennial angst, Waller-Bridge showed she could reflect life and push on art. It was a phenomenal achievement, demonstrating how TV can equal theatre in terms of innovation and experimentation. So how do you follow that?

Fleabag: not an easy programme to follow.

Daisy Haggard’s Back to Life is proving something of an underground hit. It hasn’t been trailed as much as Toby Jones’ Don’t Forget the Driver (which is also great), but for me it’s the TV show of the moment. This week The Girl and I shot through all six episodes on iPlayer. We did consider watching them live on Monday nights, but we were so impressed by the opening we thought it right to watch them all.

The opening episode begins with Miri cutting her fringe. She makes a mistake; tries to even it out; thus making it worse. The camera cuts to a job interview – an interrogation where the ‘no comment’ get out is denied. Nathan presents his findings: ‘Your CV it’s quite gappy. As in there’s a gap in it. It’s mostly gap. In fact it’s all gap.’ Miri hasn’t worked since Fat Face in 2000. Why has she not had a job since? A mealy-mouthed excuse follows. ‘I was travelling.’ The camera cuts to Miri collecting her possessions from prison. Miri hasn’t been travelling; she has in fact been doing quite the opposite. She’s been holed up stationary for the past eighteen years, unable to move a muscle; the only world she's seen is the one from her cell window.

From here, we go back to her release from prison. Her mum and dad greet her. We know they will be entertaining as Carol chides her husband on his hat, “You look like fucking Guy Richie.” On the journey home, Miri breathes her head out of the window, inhaling sensory freedom. Now at home she goes into her bedroom, finding it’s been kept how she left it. Prince, David Bowie and The Naked Chef adorn the wall. Looking at Jamie Oliver, she says, “Thank God, he’s still with us.” Miri, like her parents, has a great sense of humour. Pulling a box out, she observes ancient artefacts: a Discman, printed pictures, a Tamagotchi. The little machine won’t start up; “Rest in Peace,” she retorts. With a wry sense of humour, Miri belies the prisoner stereotype: she has a personality agreeable to all.

The thing is she’s been sent away for eighteen years. You do not serve a stretch for stealing pick n’ mix. Consequently, she receives telephone, online, letterbox and graffiti threats. The community has closed ranks and want her out. Miri doesn’t have many people to turn to. Her childhood friend Mandy is persona non grata (she didn’t visit when she was in prison), her ex-boyfriend Dom is now married with children, even her mother doesn’t appear to trust her (hiding the kitchen knives in top cupboard). Whatever Miri has done has got people scared. No one is buying the idea that prison can reform and rehabilitate: as far as they’re concerned, she is the Bride of Chucky, Myra Hindley, a Kathy Bates character all rolled into one.

Over the course of the six episodes, clues as to what Miri has done are drip-fed. The series has been executive produced by the writers behind The Missing and their influence is felt here. As although it has the beats of comedy, at its heart is a murder mystery. Haggard puts the success of the plotting down to co-creator, Laura Solon. Solon won the main Edinburgh Award in 2005 and went on to adapt Hollywood film scripts. The pair have been firm friends for years, working on BBC sketch show Man Stroke Woman back in 2007. Across the pond, Haggard shared her script ideas, with Solon giving notes for improvement. These skype chats have produced a comedy about a murder that neither descends into spoof (Touch of Cloth) or grotesquery (Nighty Night), instead it pulls off the difficult feat of being serious and funny.

Solon and Haggard worked together on Man Stroke Woman.

For all of Miri’s struggles to forge a new life, she does experience kindness. Nathan, the chip shop owner, takes a chance on her. Like Miri, he isn’t welcome in Kent. The reason is less dark. He’s bringing the worst symbol of hipsterdom to Hythe: leather aprons. An upmarket fish and chip shop is as wanted as a returning killer. Another person who befriends Miri is her neighbour Billy. The two meet when Miri is making a phone call in the garden. Billy isn’t the most socially confident, but his goodness is clear. The only thing coming between a romance is a Brontian madwoman in his attic, raining a volley of cunt curses on Miri. Over the series a Punch-Drunk Love relationship develops between these misfits.

I really loved Back to Life. It occupies the same time slot as Fleabag but shouldn’t be treated the same. Yes there is darkness, comedy, a search for identity, but Back to Life wears its heart on its sleeve from the start; it’s less arch and ironic. Haggard has created something special here, proving the best way to follow greatness is not through imitation, but by being yourself. Back to Life is a laugh-out-loud crime-drama. How many of them have you seen? My guess is none. So watch this one.

Back to Life is on BBC One, Monday 10.35. Alternatively, all episodes are on iPlayer.