Britain’s Hour

What do The Hour and Mad Men have in common?

No, not some terrible joke, but the question that has repeatedly overshadowed critical commentary on BBC Two’s newsroom drama The Hour. Putting the obvious difference aside-  heady New York advertising world versus post-war BBC television programme- it seems to me the only thing the two shows share in common is an almost pathological attention-to-detail. Like its American “counterpart”, The Hour is ostentatiously stylish. Cinched waists, slim lapels, fedora hats: it actually basks in its own image, smugly aware that even if the script is a bit flat, at least it looks polished, shrewdly slick. Even the HB pencils have been specifically manufactured for the show, exact replicas of the BBC standard-issue pencils of the era. Talk about obsessive. What The Hour does with pencils, Mad Men does with ice cubes (yes, ice cubes), each individual cube lovingly hand-cut one square inch smaller than their chunkier modern-day counterparts. It’s exhausting even to contemplate.

Although I disagree with this rife Mad Men comparison, I think it proves that British drama can still compete with bigger-budget US shows such as The Wire and The Sopranos. Given that the BBC works on a relatively tiny scale, it does well. Yes, The Hour’s pilot episode was a little bit patchy, and at times the script seems flat and unconvincing, but the series is only 6 episodes long. Hardly time to slowly develop complex characters or to build up multiple storylines. British drama cannot indulge in such luxuries like American television. Four episodes in and thankfully the murder plot, political intrigue and clichéd love triangle of The Hour have come together into something that actually resembles plot development, even if the whole thing seems to be hurtling towards the finale at an alarming speed (last week, the Shady Villain sat calmly at a Formica canteen table one moment, the next threw himself suddenly, violently, and perplexingly down a stairwell. Even the actor himself looked a bit confused). The acting is brilliant, too- Romola Garai tackling the role of plucky, principled Bel Rowley with ease; Dominic West, suave and almost fawning, here a far cry from his tough cop act in The Wire; and the ever-brilliant Ben Whishaw playing the maniacal, tenacious journalist with bravado. Even Julian Rhind-Tutt, the infallible Mac from Green Wing, does a small but very good turn as the Prime Minister’s sleazy press secretary. The slogan “Original British Drama” that looms large on the screen before each episode has some merit. Its nationalist pride is intentional, and I believe justified. It may not be quite as splendid as American drama, but The Hour is entertaining and gripping- proof that British drama still has what it takes.