There has always been something charmingly underdoggy about the televisionBaftas. It’s the biggest night for the British TV industry, but it almost feels like an afterthought. The awards are dwarfed in glamour and scale not only by the Emmys but by the other Baftas; the film Baftas, the Baftas that famous people actually go to. Yet as comparatively small-fry as they are, the TV Baftas still have their reputation. They might be an increasingly old-fashioned awards show that celebrates several genres that won’t exist a decade from now, but if the right winners keep winning, that’s all that matters.
The big question, then, is whether or not the right winners won. The answer is a resounding ‘sort of’. Ever idiosyncratic, the Baftas this year scattergunned their trophies all over the place, sometimes going with the consensus and other times wandering off and – let’s not beat around the bush – giving a best comedy actor award to Danny Dyer. But we’ll get to that.On the positive side, the ceremony seemed to understand exactly what was good about Baby Reindeer. Netflix’s horrifying miniseries instantly caused a firestorm of discourse upon release, with discussions about the subject matter (not to mention the witch-hunt to locate its real-life inspirations) quickly drowning out everything that deserved to stand out about it. Foremost, it deserved to be defined by Jessica Gunning’s star-making performance as a stalker. Gunning’s spectacular turn was like watching someone whirl a rolodex of extreme emotions at speed. She worried you, horrified you, angered you and made you feel sorry for her with equal weight, and Bafta rewarded her for this. Her best supporting actress award might have been the most greatly deserved of the night.
Equally, though, the awards didn’t go over the top about the show. It was also up for best limited drama, but lost out to ITV’s Mr Bates vs the Post Office. Again, it’s hard to fault this choice; as a series it was able to give more oxygen to the Post Office scandal than a million newspaper headlines, and has caused tangible change in the world. It was a perfect demonstration of what drama can do as a force of good. Again, you won’t hear a word heard against its victory. Similarly, Joe Lycett rightly won best entertainment performance for the wildly brilliant Late Night Lycett, and Shōgun won best international series. Of course it did. It was Shōgun, for crying out loud. What were they going to do, ignore theobvious masterpiece?
It’s even hard to fault the result of best actor, this year’s most closely-fought category. Every single nominee had a solid argument to win. Gary Oldman is the slobby beating heart of Slow Horses, David Tennant the Shakespearean baddie of Rivals. I could have been persuaded to give the trophy to Martin Freeman, whose work on The Responder remains the best of his career. But Lennie James won for Mr Loverman, in a role that deservedly cemented him as one of the best actors we have, and that feels right. After all, to watch any of the others was to revel in a magnificent performance. But, like Jessica Gunning, to watch James in Mr Loverman was to get excited about seeing what else he could do. Very few things are as exciting as that.
But I did say sort of. Did Blue Lights deserve to win best drama over meatier fare like Wolf Hall: The Mirror and the Light? Probably not. And Ruth Jones winning best female comedy performance over the likes of Sophie Willan, Nicola Coughlan and (especially) Kate O’Flynn did feel a little like the voters had been blinded by familiarity.
And then there’s Danny Dyer winning best male performance in a comedy for Mr Bigstuff. Most of the time, it’s fair to say that Dyer deserves every award he’s nominated for. The range of television that he has elevated with his presence is almost beyond compare. He brought heart to the seaside sauciness of Rivals. He was the most lovable rogue of all the lovable rogues EastEnders has ever invented. His episode of Who Do You Think You Are? remains the only episode of Who Do You Think You Are? that people should actually watch.
But Mr Bigstuff was Danny Dyer by numbers. He didn’t bring anything more than his broadest strokes to the show and, given that he was up against some genuinely transformative performances, from the likes of Extraordinary’s Bilal Hasna and G’Wed’s Dylan Thomas-Smith, we might have to put his victory down to a rare case of Bafta getting too starry-eyed for its own good. On the whole, though, the good outweighed the weird. Bafta lives to fight another day.