Earlier this week, I started watching the new documentary series The Children, which focuses on Coventry social services and late teens who are too old for foster care but not yet adults and are disturbing. This was not a story about overworked social workers or snobbery shaking a finger at the less fortunate.
It was clear, unbiased, and, thanks to both of those factors, much more powerful than anything with an agenda or a built-in story arc. The plight of the sanguine Annabelle, who became pregnant at 18 and decided not to let her child suffer from the upbringing she received, will remain with me for a long time.
But it also struck me that documentaries like Children are now the Cinderellas of television. Yes, they're being viewed — indeed, this paper was brimming with enthusiasm — but you won't see social media interacting with them or reviewers talking about them the way people missed Netflix's Tiger King. Last weekend on TV Bafta, the documentary categories were upgraded to the «Other Awards This Evening» category as part of a TV ceremony.
However, I'd rather listen to the makers of Sky's excellent song «Libby, are you home yet?». — about the 2019 murder of Hull University student Libby Squire — than listening to another actor's acceptance speech about their emotional truth, or nonsensical daily thoughts about «having to tell stories.»
The whole world is jealous of British television, and rightfully so. It can be socially oriented (Children), it can be big and ambitious (Once Upon a Time in Iraq, 2020), it can have an unmistakable signature of authorship (anything from Louis Theroux), or it can be brilliantly eccentric (anything from Adam Curtis). Ever since Michael Apted pioneered Seven Up! in 1964—following a group of people every seven years to create a searing, unsentimental portrait of a changing Britain—our documentary filmmakers continually sought to get to the bottom of the human condition. Documentaries such as Fisherman's Party (1986) and Angel Heart (1989) reflect a distinct Britishness, allowing our weaknesses and eccentricities to be revealed in a way that even the most naturalistic form of fiction cannot.
Author: Louis Theroux's documentaries are unmistakably recognizable. Photo: BBC/Barry J. Holmes
As an art journalist, I have been following documentaries in this genre, not least after it was announced that BBC Four would no longer be commissioning new films. There's been a lot of great work done — I recently saw a new profile of Michael Tippett by John Bridcutt that's going to air soon, and it's real insightful work — but I can't help but feel like there should be more of this kind of stuff. . While I can't envy the success of Piano on Channel 4, I feel a pang of sadness that it takes a talent show-style arts program to get everyone talking.
So why don't documentaries get more success? Firstly, it is difficult for them to stand out in a crowded market, which is exacerbated by the presence of multiple platforms to watch and an abundance of choice. In addition, they are often harder to sell. Broadcasters are now enslaved to the idea of a brand, and a one-off documentary about a farming community in the north of Scotland will not be considered lasting. Some docu-series fit the task of a diligent marketer—such as David Olusoga's deceptively powerful House Through Time and the disappointing Civilizations, the godfather successor to Kenneth Clark's «landmark» 1969 Civilization series—but they are now rare. .
British documentaries also seem a bit out of fashion, and there's nothing to be ashamed of when you consider that they're at the forefront of the genre right now. Think about how Netflix and other broadcasters have shaped the documentary format, and the end product is often more like a drama than anything factual. Such was the case with The Making of a Killer, which aired in 2015 and laid the foundation for a true crime series masquerading as the who-and-sometimes-why-dunites that I've been trying to escape ever since. These shows have their place, but they're too ubiquitous, which makes me fear that the little story the UK excels at might be discontinued.
A House Through Time by David Olusoga Credit & Copyright: Claire Wood
The other driving force behind documentaries at the moment, unsurprisingly, are celebrities. This can pay off richly—unlike the celebrity travel stories I recently vilified in this column—of such one-off episodes as Rebecca Vardy’s documentary on her upbringing among Jehovah’s Witnesses and the abuse she endured, as well as the history of trafficking Mo Farah (another BAFTA). -winner), drawing attention to deeply serious topics. However, the purpose of such programs, as part of their quest to raise awareness, is to generate news feeds, and their distribution will (again) likely supplant the less greedy, more subtle, and more esoteric ones.
It is worth noting that «Children» was on the 4th channel, which until recently was threatened with privatization. The effect of this could lead to the closure of dozens of manufacturing companies, and the remaining ones had to fight for survival in the international market. A series about a group of underprivileged children from Coventry would never have been greenlit in this supposedly brave new global landscape.
So we have to remember what we almost lost: programs like this, which are far more important than anything a world-traveling TV executive or even an algorithm could put together.
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