Ugly, mechanical, soulless: Apple TV+’s Hijack reviewed

Idris Elba would have made a perfect James Bond. Not the James Bond that we knew and loved when he was played by wry, capable Sean Connery or playful, tongue-in-cheek Roger Moore. But he definitely ought to have been a shoo-in for the horror show that the Bond franchise has become: dour, humourless, pumped up, ponderous, portentous, joyless…

In his latest vehicle, Elba plays high-level negotiator Sam Nelson, an ordinary man yet possessed of a very particular set of skills. These include being able to walk coolly and slowly through an airport to final boarding at exactly the pace – no more, no less – you need to reach the departure gate at the precise millisecond before it closes; and the ability to detect, through subtle clues, that the flight he has boarded may be about to be hijacked.

And he’s right. It is. There’s another clue in the series title Hijack, which must be a novel concept to most of its target audience because when was the last time you can remember getting on a plane and worrying about such a thing happening? It’s about as remote from our experience as, say, trying to decide whether to travel ‘smoking’ and risk being kippered by the person next to you or go ‘non-smoking’ and endure the whole flight without a gasper.

Two episodes in, it’s hard to discern the motivation of the hijackers. They’re an unlikely bunch. Sure, one of them looks and sounds like a stereotypical Islamist. But mostly they appear to have wandered in from a Sky crime caper: a sadistic, hot-headed young Welshwoman, a hard-as-nails, death-stare English tough guy; an old school Costa del Crime Cockney. What they have in common is that they are much more aggressive and unpleasant than they need to be, in keeping with the general tone of the drama: if you want ugly, mechanical, soulless, then this is the show for you. The scene in episode two, for example, where someone gets ruthlessly executed for no practical reason just makes you go: ‘Why? In what possible way was that necessary?’

Hardly any of the characters are plausible or likeable. We are asked to believe that – spoiler alert – in order to protect the blonde stewardess with whom he is having an affair, the plane’s captain is ready to beat seven shades out of his female co-pilot. Even more grotesquely ludicrous is the characterisation of a passenger wearing a dog collar. Almost immediately he lets slip that he doesn’t believe in the Bible – fair enough, maybe, if he’s C of E – and then later we see him attempting to bribe the cabin crew with a £20 note to try to get an upgrade. Can you imagine anyone from another religion being depicted behaving like that?

A couple of things it does get right: passengers who play video games on their phones with the volume on full and no headphones; passengers who think it’s fine for their kids to behave like animals in a zoo because, hey, you try controlling kids on a long flight. But this is probably counterproductive, because it makes you much less invested in the survival of anyone on board. ‘No, don’t save them, Idris, with your cool, quick-thinking and chameleon skills at engaging with people from all walks of life. Just let them all die!’

Black Mirror is back and is starting to look – if indeed it ever wasn’t – a bit too pleased with itself. The opening episode is titled ‘Joan Is Awful’. But a more apt one might have been ‘Isn’t It Just Amazing That We Got Salma Hayek To Guest Star In Our Little Ol’ Series? Like, The Salma Hayek. How Cool Is That?’

Well, not that cool, I’d say. Certainly not cool enough to justify cringe-making moments like the one where Salma Hayek has to get past the tight security to the most secure part of an office building and manages it just because ‘she’s Salma Hayek’. And wasn’t all this celebrity meta stuff done more wittily and intelligently – and subtly – nearly 25 years ago in Being John Malkovich?

Perhaps the reason I’ve been so snotty about this week’s fare is that, for pleasure, I’ve been catching up with the second season of debauched, drug-infused The White Lotus. It’s so gorgeous to look at (sundry bijoux locations in Sicily), so superbly acted (Tom Hollander, as a louche gay English expatriate, may be the best thing I’ve watched all year) and so shrewdly, cattily scripted by Mike White that watching anything else afterwards is a bit like getting used to dining at Scott’s of Mayfair and then being forced to slum it in McDonald’s.