The British film industry, that plucky underdog perpetually propping up its monocle with one hand while clutching a dwindling Arts Council grant with the other, has apparently 'dominated' Netflix charts. Cue the triumphant brass band and a stiff upper lip quivering with emotion. But let us not be fooled by this parlour trick of statistics. What we are witnessing is not a cultural renaissance but a carefully curated algorithm of comfort food for the masses.
At the centre of this triumphant march is Millie Bobby Brown, a young woman who has somehow become a global icon while playing a character who solves mysteries in a corset. Alongside her, Louis Partridge, looking like he was bred in a vat of Earl Grey and adolescent angst. Together, they are the face of a franchise that is essentially Sherlock Holmes for people who found the original too complex and lacking in Instagram filters.
But wait, there's more. This is not just a triumph of British acting talent. No, no. This is a victory for the entire British film industry, which has been propped up by the BBC, Lottery funding, and the occasional tax break for filming in abandoned warehouses. The industry that gave us 'The Full Monty' and 'Four Weddings and a Funeral' now gives us a teenage girl solving crimes in Victorian London. Progress, my dear Watson, progress.
Lest we forget, the alleged 'domination' of Netflix charts is a nebulous concept. Netflix, that great black monolith of streaming, rarely releases concrete figures beyond vague press releases designed to make us feel part of a collective viewing experience. So when we hear 'Enola Holmes 2' has dominated, we must ask: dominated what? The charts of least offensive content? The charts of background noise for people scrolling through their phones?
And yet, here we are, celebrating the British film industry as if it has marched into the streaming wars wielding a cutlass and a cuppa. The reality is far more prosaic. The British film industry, much like the British weather, is perpetually damp, underfunded, and reliant on a handful of sunny days to remind us of its potential.
In the end, perhaps we should be grateful. Grateful that we have something other than another season of 'The Crown' to dissect. Grateful that Millie Bobby Brown can solve mysteries without breaking a sweat or the fourth wall. And grateful that Louis Partridge exists to remind us that there is still a market for young men who look like they've just stepped out of a Brontë novel.
So raise a glass of lukewarm Pimm's, and celebrate the British film industry for doing what it does best: fooling the world into thinking we still matter. Cheers.
