All the small sings
I’ve just watched the BBC’s new choir-soap All the Small Things on iPlayer. Fortunately I was sort of working at the same time so can’t claim that it’s an hour I’ll never get back… but goodness me.
Predicated on an accurate-enough observation — that choirs are a breeding ground for temptation, hormones, infidelity and betrayal (though it’s not all fun) — there was some reasonable hope that this might be a half decent, touchingly human drama.
I was wrong; it’s uniformly awful. At least this Guardian review says all you need to know about it.
But I’ll probably tune in next week anyway.
I managed to wade my way through the whole first episode on iPlayer this morning. When Layla started to sing I nearly choked on my Horlicks…
And the fact that the choir sang a rather perfect close harmony rendition of Nobody Does It Better in the opening scenes and then proceed to murder The Creation later on just gave it an extra air of unreality.
It is arse. Total arse.