EastEnders is farcical, lazy, a melodramatic mess, and filled with dodgy politics

Hard to believe, but when EastEnders began in 1985, it was pretty good. Powered by relatable characters like the Fowlers and Den and Angie Watts, the soap seemed to reflect real life. BBC1 audiences quickly built to 20-million-plus and when Den handed Angie divorce papers on Christmas Day, 1986, it hooked a staggering 31.15million of us – the biggest UK TV drama viewing figure of all time.

But look at the show now – it’s farcical, a melodramatic mess, awash with lazy plots, dodgy politics, and crazy twists. Once the producers brought Den back from the grave in 2003, it opened the door to more miraculous resurrections, like ageless Kathy, with her portrait in the attic, and Cindy, who is still more man-hungry than a cartoon cannibal.

By 2021, audiences had plummeted to a near-terminal 1.7million after a 12-month homicide spree that killed off Chantelle (death by dishwater), Kush (pushed under tube train), Tina (strangled) and six more…even Bronson the dog copped it. Panicking, BBC bosses recycled old storylines at a breakneck pace and started reviving old faces – the latest being Nigel Bates, who now looks like The Penguin from Batman.

Even Grant Mitchell is back for the soap’s 40^th anniversary week, and we can vote for who Denise Fox ends up with. Oh, and they’re burning down the Queen Vic. Again.

In the name of virtue-signalling – and to show how out of touch the soap’s largely wet, middle-class writers are with real Cockneys – the pub has celebrated Diwali and US Independence Day, and hosted Europe Week (just after Brexit and coinciding with an unlikely outbreak of attacks on Poles).

But the only time they ever had a St George’s Day knees-up it was an Alfie Moon scam…

Other ideologically driven twists included the Square’s first terrorist bombers who, inevitably were right-wing Englishmen rather than say a crew from the Masjid-al-Tawhid mosque in near-by Leyton. And when the BLM protests hit the UK, a massive mural appeared magically overnight on the side of Ian Beale’s house. It was tasteful of course, but nobody asked who’d painted it, not even Ian. I’m pretty sure the late Johnny Allen would have backed the idea of defunding the Walford cops, though.

Enders had their first resident drag queen, Tara Misu, in 2022 but sexuality is the soap’s long-term obsession. Usually the message is: female sexuality healthy and vital, male sexuality creepy and grubby. John Bardon’s OAP character, Grandad Jim was portrayed as perverted for wanting old-age passion on his wedding night.

Viewing figures topped 3million last month, but the scripts are still bonkers. Ineffective drip Reiss is Walford’s latest murderer. He’d killed a nurse, let his pregnant wife Sonia take the blame, then kidnapped Bianca and persuaded her to confess to the crime so Sonia would walk. It must make sense to the writers. (Bianca’s so loud, if she’d shouted “Rickkaayyy! ’Elp!” they’d have heard her in the Hindu Kush.)

Elsewhere Phil Mitchell, the hoarse whisperer, is having a breakdown – Steve McFadden on fine form – and flirty Priya has promise, but the best thing about last week’s episodes were old clips of Arthur Fowler on a TV game show and the brief return of Gary and Minty. (What? No Dawn Swann or Shirley Carter? Hearing Vinnie describe dating sour-faced Shirley as winning first prize in love was the last time Enders made me laugh.)

All our soaps are grim, formulaic, flogged to death and ont the decline. They have a higher death-rate per capita than Cape Town with characters who are either murderers or murder victims in waiting. If life were like EastEnders there would be a Dignitas clinic on every corner. The solution is to take them all off screen for six months so the writers can watch vintage episodes when the shows felt authentic, and then bring them back for just two episodes a week, balance the misery and murder with hope and aspiration, and inject buckets of everyday humour. Don’t hold your breath.

ITV’s superior crime drama Unforgotten served up the cold-case corpse of a publican broken by lockdown. Scriptwriter Chris Lang’s clever twists made the show a smash, but he’s over-loaded the latest series with issues. Lang’s targets include GB News (barely disguised as Britannia News) who he portrays unfairly as “reluctant to engage with contrary views” – he obviously never watches Farage, which regularly books guests who disagree with the host. It’s BBC News and ITN who rarely reflects all sides of an argument.

Other subplots involve university cancel culture, a conspiracy-obsessed incel, and asylum seekers from Afghanistan. Now most fair-minded viewers will probably agree that Afghan translators were betrayed by the Allies. Here though, Lang includes a qualified doctor picking vegetables and a cardiologist who delivers pizzas, even though both the NHS and the BMA welcome refugee medical professionals with open arms.

Sanjeev Bhaskar’s likeable DI Sunny Khan is still the smartest, calmest cop at Bishop Street nick. I suspect many viewers miss Nicola Walker’s mumbling Cassie Stuart, but I’m warming to Sinead Keenan’s icy DCI Jess James, whose husband is cheating on her. All TV cops come with an unhappy home-life.

If you can suffer the politics, Lang’s cases are well-plotted, so I’m in it for the long haul. But I’m also predicting that MyAnna Buring’s Katie Hopkins-style character will “see the light” and the bad guy(s) will be English. It’s ITV after all.

BBC1’s Virdee is a noirish cartoony thriller with a side order of Bollywood. It opened with tough Bradford DCI Harry Virdee in frantic pursuit of a wrong’un with all the chaotic thrills drone camerawork can offer. There’s a missing teen, ritualistic killers and brutal rival drug gangs who offer bribes as freely as Russian agents.

Rule-breaking good guy Harry is that rare thing, a happily married cop. Unfortunately, he’s a Sikh married to Muslim Saima, so his bigoted father Ranjit has disowned him – in one scene he pours curry over Harry’s head. Insert your own tears on my pilau joke here. If his boss knew Harry was working with his dodgy brother-in-law Riaz, Bradford’s biggest dealer, she’d be lining up to do the same.

Small points arising. A DCI wouldn’t be doing this kind of action-policing, and Harry nabbed the bad guy when he got his foot caught under a railway line – how do you that without wearing clown shoes?

The final episodes of Cobra Kai, Netflix’s morish Karate Kid sequel, deliver everything fans of the show could ask for – sincerity, shocks and of course “badass” crane kicking action. Thanks, sanseis.