‘The Bridge’ – Series 4, Episode 2

This is a full review of The Bridge: Series 4, Episode 2. Catch up with my episode 1 review here. Don’t read on unless you’re completely up-to-date on the BBC2 schedule.

It’s business as usual for episode 2 of The Bridge which after the hardship and the outright panic of episode 1 is a blessing for viewers.

The Case:

This week we learn more about suspect number one Taariq and his amazing fluffy yet angular hairdo. Turns out he’s a hero; saving two girls from violence and giving them a hot meal. These young thieves won’t win any acting prizes but they seem to make a living from scamming people and pickpocketing wallets and passports. But this is The Bridge, so no good deed goes unpunished. Taariq’s desperate situation is getting worse – he’s grassed up to the cops by his horrible boss, and worse still it seems he’s been set up with a phone that tracked the victim’s whereabouts. Poor Taariq has got to be the unluckiest man in all of Scandinavia, and despite my still being convinced he’s not the killer he is not out of the woods yet.

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Taariq – this picture is in the dictionary below the word unlucky

Taariq’s relationship with Margarethe sounds unlikely. He tells us that he met her secretly in the gay club because she wanted to make amends for the cruel decisions of the state. By day she’s the immigration department’s Bruce Wayne; all above-board, all business, but by night she’s Batman; out to right the wrongs and offer help to the helpless. Was she really this strange split personality, riddled with guilt? At the moment we know so little about her. Her husband Niels looks dodgier than ever “They have nothing” he says in a secret phone call, “stick to the plan”.

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‘Too Much TV’ – On the Box

Well thanks BBC2 for this new tea-time waste of time. Too Much TV is the perfect name for a desperate and disparate bunch of ‘presenters’ – some with little or no presenting experience – chatting awkwardly about television shows that are all at least 469% better than the one they’re hosting.

They’re a motley crew of left-over raffle prizes in the school hall that should never have been grouped together (“The chocolate and wine are gone! I want to get my moneys worth but I don’t want lavender soap or a fucking Spanish wicker donkey!”). They’re like the very end of a list of potential presenters shouted out at random at a BBC meeting: “Can we get Dermot O’Leary? Fiona Bruce? Oh God, Terry Wogan has died! How about Carol Vorderman?… None of them? Oh shit, I guess this lot will have to do”.

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