Too Close

This was a profound, hefty psychological tug of war adapted skilfully from the novel by Natalie Daniels (Salaman's pen name), with some of the best writing and performances I have seen this year.

Too Close feels like the most woman-centred, woman-driven mainstream production we’ve yet seen. That’s a bonus. Too Close is a fantastically compelling, brilliantly scripted whydunnit that is unquantifiably better than it needs to be.

The script came alive when Watson and Gough were left on their own to work through the story that led to the crime.

I found myself almost ambivalent about whether or not Connie committed her heinous crime. I was far more interested in the meetings between Dr Emma and Connie, which by the end of the episode felt less like interrogation scenes – and more like a dance.

There are plenty of intriguing subplots and red herrings in Too Close, but what drives the engine is the full-speed collision of two cracked psyches, expertly played.

In Gough and Watson, it unites two intelligent and feeling actors over a twisting script that rakes over a full suite of middle-class anxieties: sex, class, parenting, race, fashion, even interior design gets it in the neck. At times, it’s more like a play than a TV series: sharp and involving, but occasionally somewhat static.

Although “Too Close” struggles to find the right balance between the demands of its plot and the depth of its characters, its most impactful moments are found when Connie and Emma—women of different ages, backgrounds, social classes, and lifestyles; women who have both done horrible things while overwhelmed by the emotional and domestic labor that so commonly falls to their gender—realize that the forgiveness they’re seeking from others needs to start with themselves.