In Surprised Praise of… Being Human

It’s taken me four seasons of Being Human to grudgingly concede that I enjoy it.  I can’t quite put my finger on what it is about this particular season which has finally broken me, inducing me to come out of a corner and admit that, despite everything, Being Human is pretty damn good.

Let’s face it, it has so many elements I ought to hate.  It’s got vampires (boo) who have either embraced their bloodlust up to the point of deciding that they’re going to take over the world (why?!  Surely the paperwork would be immense?), or are busy being tormented by their very blood-spattered natures.  It’s got werewolves fighting their animal nature, and ghosts longing for a little participation and comfort in the bleakness of their non-existence.  It’s got an epic battle between Sorta-Good vs. Very-Very-Evil and as if this wasn’t enough, it’s got prophecies, and I loathe prophecies.

And it’s set in Wales.

And here, oddly enough, is where Being Human suddenly acquires it’s brilliance.  Because all of this – fairly fantasy-cliche stuff – is acted out not against a backdrop of epic rocks and raging skies, but in a small Welsh town where the highlight of the day appears to be getting a cuppa tea from the greasy spoon or a pint down the local boozer.  It’s the mundanity of epic conflict that I enjoy, in which a battle with bloodlust is combined with a battle over who’s going to do the washing up; it’s the triviality of day-to-day existence as characters try to juggle the need to save the world with a desire to have a stable income and fresh fruit on the table.  It’s the villains drinking coffee from old mugs, and the ‘heroes’ if this is the word we’re going to use, fighting their battles with a cry of ‘you have got to be kidding me’.  It is, in short – and I cringe even as I write this – the very human element of Being Human which is, let’s face it, it’s purpose and it’s undeniable strength.  And somehow, without really knowing why, I am hooked…