Black Doves is the show most worthy of your Netflix subscription – review - The Independent
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“Iconic” gets overused, but is there really any other way to describe the defining image of season one of Black Doves? As Helen Webb, a secret spy assassin living a double life as a politician’s wife (a so-called “black dove”), Keira Knightley stormed down a street firing a gun at some baddies while heavily pregnant. And it was amazing. Now, joy of joys, the Netflix thriller is back for a heavily anticipated second round, and it’s even more of a delicious binge watch than the first time.
We begin with “spy wife” Helen in marriage counselling with her soon-to-be Tory PM husband, Wallace Webb (Andrew Buchan). “We’ve been struggling to communicate,” Wallace says. “I think we both feel under pressure for different reasons,” Helen adds. You might say that. Next thing you know, Helen has slipped off during one of Wallace’s schmoozy dinners to crack a safe and shoot up a hotel room full of heavies, before returning to her seat not a hair out of place, giving new definition to “the mental load”. (It also might be an enjoyably cutting hint at how much showrunner Joe Barton thinks gets past the men running our country.)
But what is Black Doves actually about? It’s a good question. I watched the first series while heavily pregnant myself, and that may not completely justify why my memory of the plot is so hazy. Basically, we have spy besties Helen and Sam (Ben Whishaw), who are working for seemingly quite bad people, who are trying to take down some other, even more bad people. I think.
There is always a memory stick with some files on it that must be retrieved, usually a codename (“wildflower” this time) and lots and lots of shooting. My approach is to just let it wash over me, which is fine, because Black Doves is a hell of a lot of fun. It’s the best thing Knightley has done in years, and it’s such a pleasure to see her getting to be funny and badass, while Whishaw’s lowlife “trigger man” – who's actually a total sweetheart – has the endearingness of Paddington while juggling the in-tray of a Grand Theft Auto character.
The show’s inciting incident involves Helen’s handler Reed (Sarah Lancashire) – she of the icy blonde bob and impenetrable glare – going awol, leaving Helen exposed and unmoored. Meanwhile, Sam gets out of a sticky situation by agreeing to work for whispery emissary Patrick (Sam Riley), and is soon receiving fancy embossed envelopes on his car seat featuring photos of who he must pick off next. These aren’t the kind of jobs he can back out of, so it’s unfortunate that the targets are all former black doves. This is a major no-no in the spy world (apparently the last person who did this ended up with both arms in a shark tank). The pair each find themselves being controlled by shady figures in situations seemingly designed to exploit their relationship.
Black Doves is extremely bloody and very British. It has the quality of a grimy page-turning crime novel, written with the kind of dry, mischievous humour that throws the shock and menace of it into relief. The distinctiveness of it feels like a victory, when so much content on streaming platforms is shorn of local quirks in order to give it global appeal. “You couldn’t wait until full time?” one man, sitting in an armchair watching a match, asks a gun-wielding Sam. “Must dash, got a sociopath to talk to,” is how Helen departs one conversation with Sam; “Why are you dressed like you’re doing a Park Run?” Reed asks Helen in one of their under-the-radar conflabs.
The show’s violence may not be for everyone; in one particularly icky scene, a man gets a dart chucked in his head while propping up a pub bar in broad daylight. And yet, the heart of this show is really quite tender. It’s about the attritional effect that doing terrible things for other people can have on a person. “He’s clearly having a f***ing mental breakdown,” says crime boss Lenny Lines (Kathryn Hunter) after Sam has fulfilled a particularly challenging hit job. “Because he’s got soul,” says Patrick.
It’s also about love. Like when you’re told you should never name an animal if you want to eat them, it’s not a very good idea for those working in this world to become pals, so Sam and Helen’s closeness is also their greatest vulnerability. Knightley and Whishaw’s chemistry is vibrant and believable, their relationship the show's most compelling engine.
Like many great series, Black Doves is a blend of the fresh and the old-fashioned. Its balance of irreverent comedy and violence feels original, while the stakes are constantly high, danger always near. But its commitment to the viewer feels almost traditional, like old-school linear telly, with every episode ending on a giant cliffhanger. And after all, there’s no genre more time-honoured than a juicy spy thriller you can sink right into. New cast additions Riley and Ambika Mod take the show to new heights. So god bless Black Doves, the show currently most worthy of your Netflix subscription.
