ACCUSED (BBC) “Alison’s Story” Review

Deeply thought rendering but like the depths of a snowy cavern, heart-stopping; for my heart like the dismal December weather was brought to an icy freeze by the senseless, adulterous wife.

At the end of this distasteful drama one may sit there depressed, disillusioned and wondering who we were supposed to ‘accuse’? Who is responsible for our dismal turn in mood, for however happy you went into this drama, you will struggle to smile afterwards. And part of the reason is the lack of a life affirming message; drama does not always have to be positive, but it surely it should look for some resolution to the problems it delves in so that we all feel a little enriched from its viewing? So I’m searching for this resolution….who should have been the ‘accused’ in this drama? Was it the women who broke up her marriage with an affair, or the husband who raped her and then was involved in beating up her new boyfriend and framing her with class A drugs? The answer, (surely the latter?), you would think would be obvious, yet this drama’s ‘achievement’, (for I imagine such was its intention so as to expose the fraught dilemmas of a broken-up family), is that one must blame both. And it is this which is its undoing, for it removes the identifiable heroine, that flawed figure who commits a terrible mistake, repents and redeems herself continually only to be shackled in injustice, out of which she breaks free, triumphant, to become the transcendent mother, the affirmation of humanity, of people’s great ability to change. It is this hyperbole which drama can make into seeming reality, and which makes us all feel that bit better about ourselves as human beings.

There was certainly potential for such a transcendent performance. The actress, Naomi Harris, who plays the wife has had some tremendous televised performances in dramas, such as ‘Small Island’ and the brilliant ‘Blood and Oil’. Yet here, (though it is as much of the writing than the acting), her character fails to identify herself to the audience. For example, the reason for the wife’s affair is never really explained: there are fickle displays of flirtation with the other man, and there is one display of exasperation by the hard working husband when is wife (yet again) fills the diesel car up with petrol. Yet ultimately what is shown is a loving husband devoted to his children and wife, who has given her no reason to commit an affair. This might be the point. Affairs can happen to anyone, even in loving relationships. However, first of all how many married couples will disprove this, and how many psychologists will point to underlying causes of adultery that this drama brushed over with little more success than a student attempting a last minute clean. Second of all, the fact that the drama gave us no reason to understand the adultery places a barrier of misunderstanding between the audience and the protagonist, which blocks her from becoming an eponymous heroine, that heroine who like us all is capable of making mistakes, but rises against the disproportional injustice that threatens to engulf her. Instead our protagonist, unable, it seems, to understand the pain she has placed her husband, gives him an effectual ultimatum: either we return to being a ‘functional’ couple, or we should break up. When that evening she says “she is going to a drink”, no one can miss the implications of this heart-breaking euphemism, for whatever her intentions, the husband and the audience knows exactly what “going for a drink” meant last time. It is an audible threat of adultery and any sympathy we might feel for her freezes with her frosty insensitivity.

Thus, when the most dramatic scene occurs, that of rape, it is the audience which may shock themselves. As the husband drunkenly pins his wife on the bed and commits the most ghastly and primitive act of retribution, I imagine we were all undoubtedly shocked. Not the least because the loving, doting husband has transformed himself into the most despicable of criminals in just one fateful act. Yet, somehow more shocking is our reaction: we feel disgusted but simply at the act, not for the wife who has been grotesquely raped by her husband. How do we not feel for her? It is simple: how can we sympathise with someone who has in cold calculation, without any apparent reason broken up her marriage and provoked her husband? All we feel is a slightly sick, quiet condemnation. And though this unique reaction might have been intended, one has to ask, what kind of drama is it that arouses only quiet condemnation out of a rape scene in a family home? It is a drama that has failed to identify and explain its protagonists to its audience. When, in the final scene, she overcomes the injustice and her children race towards her, leaving her husband standing, looking hopelessly on, I felt only sympathy for him. Why did I sympathise with a man who had raped his wife and framed her in the eyes of the law? Because in all this distress, I needed to emphasise with someone, and, (apart from the fact that Warren Brown’s display as doting, yet dangerous husband was fantastic), I could feel nothing for the wife, a character who has set all this in motion for no apparent reason, except her own uncontrollable lust. Ultimately, in sympathising with him I accepted the ‘best of a bad deal’, which was sadly all this drama had to offer.

I say sadly, because this failure was despite the drama’s intriguing plot, of which the train accident and the drugs planting made compelling viewing. Nonetheless, I believe there was more evocative potential in the plot that could have been achieved by shaping these events as unexpected, rather than predicted plot revelations. For example, the jumps back and forth between the courtroom and the family house revealed little in terms of telling, intricate details, and a result functioned largely as an unproductive plot spoiler. Furthermore, the decision to show her missing the train before the revelation of the accident pre-empted the surprise, and thus isolated the audience from experiencing the husband’s stages of grief, relief, suspicion and anger. The aim was of course dramatic irony achieved because the audience knew that she was committing adultery. However, this was less evocative for it encouraged the viewer to become angry at the wife, rather than sympathise with the husband. Thus, this omniscient perspective encouraged negative feelings of anger alone, whereas a plot revelation would have caused the viewer to mirror the transforming feelings of the husband, whilst adding the entertaining quality of a surprising plot. Furthermore, the narrative could have then returned to why the wife missed her train, thus placing the last emphasis on explaining her transgression, and trying to replace the viewer’s feeling of anger towards her with understanding.

This failure to understand the wife was critical; the wife should have been the heroine: a flawed, but ultimately triumphant mother who had worked in every possible way to rectify her mistake and overcome her injustice, but all she became was a senseless adulterer, clinging by matrimonial right to her children. And no one wants to watch an icy protagonist like that for an hour – especially not on a cold December night, the week before Christmas, where we should be spreading joy, not despair.

Watch this if you want to explore the dark recesses of life but from a dismal angle, but don’t expect any festive cheer or heart rendering tears, for all you’ll get is an empty feeling, and a wish that you’d watched anything cheerful, even a ten year old repeat on ‘Dave’ instead!