We were awoken at 5.00 this morning with a message ping on MisterMac’s phone. There’s never good news at that time of day on a Saturday … or is there? A text from a mate sharing the splendid news that Netflix is picking up Lucifer. I have no idea why we are such Lucifans – the premise is completely preposterous, the script oscillates between dark and whimsical (especially when Lucifer is in Kenneth Williams mode) and Tom Ellis crooning at the piano is, well … perhaps better left unsaid. But it is utterly compelling viewing and after the cliff-hanger at the end of season three, we were left wanting.
We have a few series in the wings for those rare occasions when we’re in the same place at the same time, but meanwhile we have his & hers watchlists: MisterMac is a fan of Vikings, Narcos and others of that ilk, whereas my tastes are gentler – or so I thought. My current viewing is Flesh and Bone, starring the amazing Sarah Hay. I’ve always been a bit of a ballet fan and after every episode, I want to dig out the leg-warmers (still in the drawer from the Fame days) and sauté around the kitchen – as in jump rather than fried potato. I even went as far as finding my old shoes this afternoon.
Anyway, back to Flesh and Bone; I should have guessed from the title that it wasn’t going to be the Pitch Perfect of the ballet world, and indeed it isn’t. Pain, points and prostitution with a good sprinkling of bitchiness seasoned with a touch of incest combine in the rather dark struggle to save the ballet company. But I bet Clare still saves the day …