Stay Close

Stay Close

Having previously enjoyed The Stranger, I thought I'd try this new Netflix thriller from the same team.

Big mistake. Huge.

Basically Stay Close went from risible to sheer bin juice quicker than you can say 'if this is the North West, why are there no northerners?' A big factor in this plumbing the depths came in the bizarro decision to have two ruthless assassins look and act like they has just stepped out of Glee. Those preppy little fuckwits literally jazz-handing and high-kicking their way between hits must have seemed quirky and edgy at Netflix HQ, but in the outside world - the one which knows you can't get to my hometown of St Helens from the Runcorn Bridge via Blackpool - it was laughable and dumb.

Still kudos to the cast who actually had to deliver this garbage with a straight face. By episode three I was vocally demanding why Jo Joyner's character wasn't named Sweep, because then her and James Nesbitt would have been called Sweep and Broome, wondering why Sarah Parrish's face doesn't move like a normal person's any more (non surgical face-lift), and only really paying full attention whenever the Dream sculpture (the big head for you none 'tellins people) hove into view. Given that it is just a few minutes drive away from me, I don't know why I bothered.

Oh and no, you can't go inside it.

Number 6 in my 52 Films by Women in 2022 challenge.

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