This vivid six-part adaptation of Brendan Cowell’s novel of the same name portrays a retired rugby league player whose life has become a haze of bad decisions and escalating health crises. Some, but not all, of his woes are self-inflicted. The bleary-eyed Peter Lum (AKA The Plum) – played by Cowell himself, also the creator and co-screenwriter – obviously has a drinking problem, at one point downing 17 beers on a quiet night at home. But he’s also been diagnosed with a brain disorder, a consequence of concussion and head injuries incurred from his days on the field. The series front-loads this element more than the book, giving it a clearer thematic focus.
Related: ‘I slept with it at night’: Brendan Cowell on the skateboard he lost and the beauty of boxing gloves
The show wraps Plum’s personal and medical journeys together and, like the book, does a good job getting inside its protagonist’s head. It’s one thing to watch actors play unwell people, and another for a production to show an unwell character from the inside. This process often involves the sort of visual language deployed in horror and psychological thrillers. Before Plum collapses in front of a crowd, for instance, we see blurry, fisheye shots capturing his perspective, making it clear he’s non compos mentis. Other scenes cap off dialogue exchanges by revealing that a hallucinating Plum has been talking to nobody.
Such techniques can feel heavy-handed but they’re well judged here. Plum’s journey is closely shared with three characters in particular: his partner, Charmayne (María Dupláa), his ex-wife, Renee (Asher Keddie, recently terrific in Fake), and their 16-year-old son, Gavin (Vincent Miller).
Plum initially wants Gavin to follow in his footsteps, but his views change as his circumstances evolve – or devolve. Threaded through the series are elegantly staged, fragmented flashbacks of Plum and his estranged father, whose presence floats around the narrative’s peripheries.
Meeting Plum during such a volatile time complicates things. It’s impossible to know what behaviour is quintessentially “his” and what results from his worsening condition. We know his circumstances are dire: “If you don’t change the way you live, it’s dementia or death,” Renee snaps, knowing Plum will probably just go and crack open another beer. There are potentially brighter horizons in his newfound interest in poetry, which is a key part of the novel and introduced three episodes in, along with Bridget (Crystal Nguyen), a wheelchair-using poet who’s lovable in a sassy and slightly prickly way.
It’s less convincing when the show depicts the ghosts of great poets, which I won’t spoil by elaborating further. It may have been more effective to introduce these elements after establishing Plum’s passion for writing, as Woody Allen did in his wonderful film Midnight in Paris in which Owen Wilson’s moon-eyed lead hangs out with the likes of F Scott Fitzgerald, Gertrude Stein and Ernest Hemingway. Perhaps Plum’s ghost scenes fare better over the course of the runtime; this review encompasses only the first four episodes available.
The cast are uniformly impressive, especially Cowell, whose approach to acting and writing feel completely in sync. Both his performance and the script carefully avoid lecturing and overdramatising. There’s lots of light and shade in this portrayal and in the series more generally, which is affecting in down-to-earth and broadly accessible ways.
Plum’s muted palette evokes a misty quality, making a point that Plum’s life is no longer in full colour. He’s past his prime; he’s struggling; the lights are dimming. At the same time redemption and rebirth are possible – a message conveyed without cheese. This show brought to my mind a popular quote, commonly attributed to George Eliot: “It is never too late to be what you might have been.”
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