Did I mention, yeah, wait…I did mention it but I took a gander at Peaky Blinders season 3 on Netflix around about 9 last night and was immediately sucked in. My mind scratching and clawing at reality as an unstoppable force of sheer visual magnetism and sophisticated savagery dragged me kicking and screaming…begging for the dull boredom of a Wednesday evening in front of the telly…but it would not let go. It just would not let go.
End to end, I watched 6 one-hour episodes, back to back in one massive story arc of epic proportions, until I lay trembling and disoriented on the couch at 3 AM. If you’ve never seen the show, have never been mortally wounded by the complicated treachery of the Shelby’s or Birmingham circa 1922 then I apologize for alerting you to the possibility but go, go now and watch season 1….watch season 2…DO NOT leap unprepared into season 3 as you’ll likely not survive. I have barely just done so…and it’s been 14 hours since and I am still sorting out the return to this muted, ordinary thing called life.
I did not, could not imagine the depravity and utter rapture that I felt—after being drawn gasping over the white hot coals of season 2—being superseded by the incredible and magnificently executed Machiavellian plot twists and deep rooted psychosis invading every sensory organ I possess…which was season 3. I could not imagine it because I am merely mortal, I am merely a vessel for which the genius and horror came to rest briefly. Came to stain the core of my soul with the blood of brothers, lovers…the gore that is splattered when family combines with honor which combines with vengeance and the ignoble politics of class warfare.
I cannot tell you anything about the show—no plot points, no hints, no details—because once started I know I would not be able to stop and the retelling, like any myth or religion, will grow to twice the size as when it started. I can only tell you that, in the days before…you need to eat well, to drink water, to make sure your loved ones are well and safe and hidden away.
Peaky Blinders. given the slightest opportunity, will grab you and it will not let you go, it’s teeth grinding into bone as with bulldog force it refuses to release you back onto this mild wonderland that is life outside of Birmingham, England in the year of our lord, nineteen hundred and twenty two.