Don't Forget The Driver

It’s been a difficult choice this week. What cultural thing have I enjoyed most? Line of Duty culminates on BBC One tomorrow, a denouement that promises to answer the question: who is H? I’m hoping writer Jed Mercurio throws a curveball and reveals Ian Watkins from Steps as the double agent. That ending would certainly piss on the chips of everyone whose been on tenterhooks these past weeks.

It couldn't be him, could it?

I was honestly thinking of doing it on Line of Duty, but the truth is as much as I love the intrigue and tension, I find it po-faced. There’s not much in the way of levity or romantic sub-plots to break up the tension. Don’t get me wrong: it’s great – it’s just a little one note. It’s a great note. A minor or C major (I don’t know much about notation to be honest). I would just prefer to have a few different shades. For all the tragedy of Romeo and Juliet and King Lear, there’s Mercutio and the Fool respectively. If Line of Duty saw a joke book, it would swab it for prints, bag it, catalogue and store it before anyone had a look. Another show I considered was Ghosts, a fantastic sitcom from the team behind Horrible Histories. This week’s episode had a beautiful blend of pathos and comedy, showing signs that it’s developing into something truly special. The one though that I’ve stumped for is Don’t Forget The Driver; I’ve been enjoying it for weeks and I can't ignore it any longer.

Don’t Forget The Driver is written by actor Toby Jones and theatre maker Tim Crouch. The pair met years ago whilst working on a play together. Staying in touch, the two talk regularly on creative endeavors. Crouch’s latest idea was the TV show we see today. Born in Bognor Regis, he saw something compelling in its geography, explaining: “Bognor sits on the edge of England - facing out towards Europe. The modern world has arrived and yet Bognor still has the unmistakable air of a seaside town holding onto its traditional values.” For Crouch, the seaside is the quintessence of Britishness. Its salt, sea and sand serves as a reminder to our past: the holidays that we all took; the smell we all brought back. Further, it remains largely untouched. Technology has not moved in; multiculturalism is elsewhere; modernisation not yet invented. There is still beauty, but it has faded, gathering dust.

Toby Jones (left) and Tim Crouch (right).

A BBC One show earlier in the year The Mighty Redcar invoked a similar mood. The duality of pride and shame felt in these towns. The remembrance of them being busy and bustling, alongside the lament that those times won’t come again. The young want to leave and the old want to survive. Jobs are scarce and the bank manager’s noose grows tighter. Yet for all the neglect and hardship, no one can repossess the sea: the ancient God that provides succour to all. To be by the sea, to have the sand under your feet, to breathe the breeze, is a free kind of therapy.

The first episode begins with a focus on the fridge. There are magnets that cover Edinburgh and Hooky Hole. Nice places but not too far away from home, establishing the parochial character. In contrast to that is the voice from Down Under: on Skype is our protagonist’s brother, Barry, a boorish prick doing nothing to rebrand the stereotype of Aussie men. Peter and Barry discuss their mother who is ill. Thousands of miles away, living the good life, Barry doesn’t seem too interested in her plight. Next, we’re in the living room. A girl and a boy are asleep on the coach. The way their bodies are spread suggests friendship, not coitus. Pete isn’t happy with the girl: ‘Have you eaten my Spanish omelette?’ She can’t remember. She plays sleuth and burps. The evidence is clear: yes, she has. “But that was for my lunch,” Pete replies. This is a comedy of details. Specificity is the stuff of comedy: say ‘omelette’ and you don’t get a laugh, prefix it with ‘Spanish’ and there you have it. Kayla’s burp tells us everything about her: rebellious, uncouth and cheeky. Who needs words when you’ve got gestures? The writing is peerless.

After we’re outside with Pete as he gets into his car, off to work. The camera pans back and in wide shot we see his home against others. You are  There’s the flag of St George flying outside his neighbour’s window. You get the impression it’s not the Patron Saint’s Day or an England fixture; it’s a mark of identity, suggesting a nation that fears invaders. We see one such invader a few moments later. Pete stops for a pitstop and walks the beach where he finds a body washed up on the sand. Afraid, he flees the scene, wanting no part in an international tragedy. Pete has his own problems closer to home: a mum with dementia, an unemployed daughter and a job that just about pays. Charity is fine for those who can afford it, but Pete is time poor and as much as he wants to doesn’t have the strength for it.

Pete (top left) and his problems: Kaya (bottom left), Mum (bottom right) and Fran, his love interest (top right).

Later we find he can escape it no longer. On returning from Dunkirk (he is a coach driver), he finds  a refugee stowed in the luggage compartment. Over the course of the next episodes we see how Pete cannot ignore this young woman. She pricks his conscience and despite his best efforts, his good nature wins out, protecting her in his own cowardly way. Toby Jones who plays Pete is at his conflicted best, perfectly communicating a man caught in two minds, in two worlds: he wants the quiet life, however it doesn’t want him. I think Jones is my favourite actor; I loved him in Marvellous and detectorists for his ability to show the fallible nobility of the ordinary man. He does this again here.

And before I go I must talk about the direction. A few weeks ago I went with my dad to the National Portrait Gallery to look at Martin Parr’s Only Human exhibition, ostensibly about Brexit, but really about our Britain's quirkiness. Like Parr, director Tim Kirkby knows how to show the nation. The camera freezes on British iconography: condiment bottles, food vans, seafronts, cockle stalls and bunting. The camera lingers on these images, contributing to a pacing that recreates the feel of an invigorating walk. The programme isn’t slow, but it doesn't rush around either. I guess it’s the antithesis to Line of Duty cliff-hangers and jump cuts.

A Martin Parr picture. Credit: Martin Parr/Magnum Photos

Don’t Forget The Driver is simply beautiful. So for all the hullabaloo surrounding a certain show, remember there’s an altogether more quiet and dignified one on BBC Two. Don’t Forget The Driver, then – you would regret it.

Don’t Forget The Driver is on Tuesday 10pm BBC2. Alternatively, all episodes are on iPlayer.