The Times

The format was designed by Richard Bacon, formerly of Blue Peter, and I think it works. The questions started off easy, such as "dead, alive or fictional" (although even here someone managed to answer that Manuel from Fawlty Towers was "dead"), but got increasingly harder. .... Carr is a quick, funny host.

“Do we have bottarga?” Gennaro asks at one point. And when you’re actually more interested in the answer to that question than identifying the killer, it’s safe to say that this is a show in need of slightly better ingredients.

Such tonal shifts make Katie Dippold’s show one peculiar barrel of fish, much in the way that Atlanta or Barry were uncategorisable (Hiro Murai, this show’s director, also worked on those). Which means, I suspect, just as many will find it frustrating as will applaud it for being like nothing else around.

Grim, claustrophobic, nihilistic, deeply unpleasant — this is all these things. But it’s beautifully made and shot.

What follows is an unpredictable, if ultimately melodramatic psychological drama motored by dark manipulations.

I’m afraid Summerwater is really quite depressing. Others may disagree, but I found episode one dourly intense, pouring on the “eerie dreamlike” stuff with a ladle and taking about 40 minutes to become interesting.

By the final couple of episodes, when the action pinballs to South Korea, things have veered from unpredictable to near-deranged.But let’s not quibble too much. When it’s being funny (such as Austin’s blagging as he fakes it as a physical therapist), being perceptive about neediness and dissatisfaction within a long-term relationship, or being simply downright entertaining in the country club, this beef can still be something rare and delicious.

It could easily have been a handwringing tale in which Margo ended up seeing the error of her ways but instead it chooses to be realistic, upbeat and bold. The result is really quite life-affirming.

But while the stage is set for more heartbreak and danger, you also sense that this show has grown up along with its ensemble.

Morton isn’t really interested in evoking Trumpism as much as serving up yet another delicious sight of Fletcher in a situation he really doesn’t understand (and doesn’t seem that keen on understanding either).