At this point, Duff came into her own, simultaneously fragile and steely, berating her criminal man-child when he implausibly refused to attend his victim’s funeral. “I can’t go through with this,” said the boy. “You were brave enough to kill him,” snapped Mo.
Inevitably, they were caught. A series of flash-forwards nudged us towards Mo’s trial and conviction. The gang boss, of course, sat watching from the public gallery, untroubled by the ponderous, ineffectual machinations of the law.
Accused was almost cartoon-like in the blows rained down on its characters. But then thuggery, intimidation and desperation are corny. Brutality is a cliché. Fear was overdone years ago. Murder lacks originality, certainly for TV viewers unmoved by violence seen from the comfort of their sofas.
For a small number of people on godforsaken council estates, however, this is life. Perhaps they watch Accused, too, but for them, there’s no off switch.
Mo had no way out, either. While she was given a suspended sentence, the gangsters didn’t as much as have their pricey sportswear collars felt.
At this point, you wished for comeuppance, redemption and deliverance. A Hollywood treatment rather than the empty rage and unresolved hurt McGovern and writer Carol Cullington more skillfully offered.
You wanted a proper cliché. You wanted the scumbag Cormack dead. You wanted his face stamped on. Preferably with some very sharp heels. It would have been unrealistic, but it would made us all feel a lot better.
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