Here he comes, seen against the light from below, an Adonis furiously front-crawling through the waves. Naked. Well, not quite, but the shorts are skin-coloured. The imagination isn’t quite given the evening off. He emerges through the surf, glistening, heaving, magnificent. Poseidon? No trident. Daniel Craig, then? No, but could this be a come-and-get-me call? Not to you– calm down – to the 007 franchise.
It is Aidan Turner as Ross Poldark, of course. Let the objectification/sexism debates begin. Actually, they already have, the usual ones, #MenToo. Anyway, now that it is up against Love Island, how could Poldark compete as the nine o’clock Sunday evening family entertainment if Aidan kept his top on. It is the battle of the abs. And a reminder to me – I’ll be heading down that way for the annual summer hol, and I’m not quite #BeachBodyReady. Drastic action is needed if I’m to emerge heroically from the ocean like Ross.
Anyway, Demelza (Eleanor Tomlinson) is on the beach, too, her magnificent chestnut mane dancing in the sea breeze. And, not ready to pass the towel to her dripping husband, she is standing with – staring into the eyes of – another man. Hugh Armitage, remember, the pretty, wounded war hero and writer of dreary, whiny love poetry – “Lips to my lips unfold/Tale of our love is told/Hallowed by sea and sand/Beauty was in my hand …” Actually, it was composed by Poldark creator Winston Graham, it seems. Really, Demelza? You fell for that?
So, now there is the tricky love-triangle situation, plus Demelza’s suspicions that Ross has been getting rejiggy with Elizabeth (Heida Reed). It pretty much is Love Island, no? Pecs v poetry, fab abs v the gift of the gab. This has (a few more) clothes, bigger clothes, somewhere-down-there-south-westish accents, stirring strings and a sea that doesn’t go all the way around. Love Peninsular, perhaps.
Ah, Demelza and Hugh aren’t really there, it’s just Ross’s mind playing tricks. Hugh and his threat haven’t gone away, though. Ross is going to need to up his game if he is to hang on to her.
Here is the real Demelza, coming down the dunes with kids. “We saw you swim away,” she says. “No, I’m still here,” he replies, smiling. “And I.” Back on, just. Thank God. I couldn’t bear it if they weren’t together. Poldark is very good at bringing out the romantic teenager in you.
It’s not just Love Peninsular, of course. This barnstorming fourth-series opener brims with passion and incident, politics and social history, some of which may even reflect the reality of the late-18th century. It is 1796 and Pitt the Younger has dissolved parliament and called an election. Hugh will stand if he lasts that long.
In these times of financial uncertainty, grain is being shipped to Portugal while the locals starve. A group of angry, hungry miners march on Truro quay. There is a fight; a man is killed. The dastardly George Warleggan (Jack Farthing) has three of them – Jago Martin, plus Demelza’s brothers, Drake and Sam Carne – prosecuted for murder, swiftly and unfairly tried and sentenced to hang. This is your time, Ross, for a speech at the scaffold to get them a reprieve. “One moment!” he cries, as the nooses are adjusted. And he delivers – it is brilliant, passionate and persuasive. Good work, Ross (and Aidan) – reprieve time, surely. For Drake and Sam, yes. Yes! But for Jago … No, the box he is standing on is kicked away, he falls and swings. “Noooooooo!” wails his father. “Noooooooo,” echoes around the nation’s living rooms. Is that Sunday night family entertainment? Nooooooo! You don’t get that in Love Island – a well-hung gag would be inappropriate here. It is a powerful, poignant, devastating scene. Poldark is more than heaving chests and violins (way too much of them, btw). And perhaps some good will come of it – it will finally spur Ross into getting into politics. He will come galloping and front-crawling to the rescue of the people in times of injustice, political and financial uncertainty.
Incidentally, where – in these current times of uncertainty and injustice, 222 years on – is our Ross Poldark. Hang on, here he comes, against the light from below, emerging from the sea, dripping wet and semi-naked? An adonis, another one, Andrew Adonis ... No, it’s just not working. It might be sexist, the objectification of men, but telly still needs its totty.
