Benji Wilson

The central mystery is solved in the series finale and I doubt that you’ll guess it, partly because the writers have successfully strewn so many red herrings about the place, and partly because it’s the most stupid plot reveal in living memory.

These are all stage-managed catastrophes, as they have always been on Clarkson’s Farm. The thing with a stage-managed catastrophe, however, is that if it is managed well enough, it’s still very funny.

The writing is tack-sharp and the ensemble is full of underappreciated comic performers.

It is television as X-rated pantomime. And it is hugely entertaining, just like the first series. It works because the writers and actors are canny throughout.

It is a little gem (lettuce pun intended).

The series crackles with a tension born of not knowing where simmering resentments will suddenly erupt, while being absolutely sure that they will. And they do.

Potter craved recognition. It makes series like this one a discomfiting watch – both part of the solution as well as part of the problem.

Twenty Twenty Six doesn’t try to be that much more than Twenty Twelve redux, and that’s no bad thing. Ian Fletcher is a character strong enough to drop into any locale, and in Bonneville’s hands he is just enough of an egotist himself to keep thinking he can steer this new ship of fools.

Worth the wait. It’s a cracking crime caper that takes the family comedy of Schitt’s Creek and whips it into a wicked, pitch-black thriller.

This kind of tonal clash – trenchant marriage satire meets sci-fi meets physical comedy – can work but it needs a pin-sharp script to hold it all together. The Miniature Wife’s problem is that it doesn’t have one.