It’s tremendously liberating. Fortitude goes into its back half with the focus now switched to Who Killed Billy Pettigrew (first nominee, Eric the unhappy husband of Hildur the Governor), and I am released from the obligation of having to care a damn about it. No more blogs for this dull, ridiculously slow and incoherent piece of sludge, in which Sofie Grabol is being wasted, Stanley Tucci is underacting almost to the point of inertia and not the slightest regard is being paid to the sensibilities of intelligent people who are being asked to both watch and take this seriously.
And I am not going to change my mind despite the desperate and rather pathetic effort to throw everybody a loop at the end as the rotund Shirley goes ever so slightly doollally and muders her mother, Doctor Margaret by disembowelling her with a table-fork and opening out her stomach just to have somewhere to vomit without it going all over the floor.
That one’s just stupid. Sayonara.