Line of Duty is an old-school drama filling a gaping hole left by Covid

Jed Mercurio’s police thriller is almost achingly old-school. It’s been steadily building an audience through its previous five series. Although you can binge watch on digital platforms it’s best appreciated in real-time while you negotiate the plot’s bewildering twists and turns at exactly the same time as everyone else, when you can almost hear the gasps coming from every house on the street.

Then you can phone your friends right after its finished, pretty much certain they’ve been watching too. An hour later you’re probably nowhere near finished discussing the references to past episodes and series, predicting how that night’s cliffhanger will be resolved and arguing over the identity of the programme’s biggest villain.

Line of Duty has entered popular culture to the extent that it is now virtually impossible to get through a single day without hearing one of anti-corruption squad boss Ted Hastings’ catchphrases – chose any one from “the letter of the law”, “Mother of God”, “bent coppers”, “fella” and more. It’s enough to drive you to drink.

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Indeed it has already done just that, literally, in games which see participants reach for the bottle every time a catchphrase is heard in the programme, or any other Line of Duty cliché is on screen – a secret meeting in a graffiti strewn tunnel, a Steve Arnott waistcoat, any one of the baffling array of police acronyms thrown about with abandon.

This is not how television was supposed to be in 2021. Audiences were supposed to be spread more thinly over any number of different platforms, watching dumbed down programmes for viewers with the attention spans of gnats.

We were supposed to watch programmes when we wanted to watch them, rather than when TV programmers decreed we should watch them.

But as usual human nature proves to be impervious to the dictats of social commentators. It turns out that watching television is best when it’s a shared, communal activity.

Of course some of those predictions came true. We DO watch a whole bunch of programmes on digital channels. And the sheer range of those channels do frustrate critics looking to define mainstream trends.

But far from dumbing us down the rich range of modern popular culture has created eager audiences for profound psychodramas, high class soap operas and jaw-dropping trash TV.

So subtle, deep and idiosyncratic series such as Netflix’ superb The Queens Gambit can flourish alongside reality TV fluff such as the Real Housewives franchise. Long-form and slow-moving storytelling proves compulsive in series such as Breaking Bad and MadMen. Slowburn comedies such as Schitt’s Creek break all the rules, initially alienating characters end up being adored by massive audiences and earning shelves stacked with awards.

Having said all that, it’s not exactly surprising that great television finds viewers, no matter what platform is hosting it and how you can access it.

But there’s something special about the huge success of Line of Duty, particularly as we prepare to emerge from the restrictions of the Covid pandemic, look back on the experience and weigh up the lessons it has taught us.

Line of Duty has become so popular because of the old-school nature of its programming rather than in spite of it.

If there is one thing lockdown has taught is that humans do not thrive in isolation. For months we have been unable to enjoy contact with our loved ones.

Last March we all jumped on the HouseParty bandwagon, looking forward to virtual family meetings over the internet. To say those get-togethers did not live up to expectations is an understatement.

We have learned that when you add more than three people to any online meeting chaos ensures. Either everyone talks at the same time or everyone shuts up and silence descends. People forget they have muted their mikes and communication becomes impossible. Now we meet up online because it’s better than not meeting up but it’s not exactly satisfying.

And what do we talk about when we do eventually work out how to get your microphone working again. I mean, what do you say when you’re asked what you’ve been up to? “Oh I’ve been at the supermarket (again) and bought three dinners”. “Remember that great takeaway I told you about last week. Well, I used it again and ordered EXACTLY THE SAME”. “You know how I was complaining about never finding the time to paint the bathroom although I have literally NOTHING else to do? Well, I still haven’t found the time”.

This is not fascinating conversation but honestly, after a year, you’ve long given up hope of fascination and are prepared to settle for chat that simply keeps you awake.

So yes, a great television programme that you don’t need four separate subscriptions to watch every series and you can start and finish watching at exactly the same time as all your mates who live in the same country is a godsend.

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It’s even more satisfying if it has cliffhanger endings that keep you talking all week because let’s face it …yes, life really IS that empty.

We’re not actually in the office but Line of Duty has shown us we can still have watercooler moments.

We can slob about in the same joggers and T-shirt for days (weeks? Or is that just me?) but at 9pm on Sunday you have to be wide awake and bushy tailed and on the alert for buried treasure.

After all, this is a programme which hid a vital clue about incest in a tiny, out of focus post-it note stuck on a computer. And forced you to almost stand on your head to work out what a small portion of a photograph showed.

And there WILL be questions after the show. Line of Duty draws us together in so many WTF moments that it deserves a medal for community service. It reminds us that no matter how fast the world is changing, sharing heart-stopping moments is part of the joy of life. Of what it is to share the human experience. What it means to connect.

And talking of connecting, Line of Duty means I know exactly what I’m going to say when I meet friends face-to-face for the first time in forever on Monday. “I told you Kate wouldn’t die”.