Mr Loverman review: Line of Duty and Death in Paradise stars lead BBC adaptation

Evaristo's Loverman and its eight-part TV adaptation hone in on a very specific strand of the LGBTQ+ experience, in which homophobia is prevalent, naturally, but this is a story that celebrates the decades-spanning love between Barrington Jedidiah Walker (Lennie James) and Morris De La Roux (Ariyon Bakare), who both married women and had children with them, but have only really had eyes for one another from the moment they met as teenagers in Antigua.

When we're introduced to them in the first episode, we learn that Barry, as he's known to his mates, is still married to his wife Carmel (Sharon D Clarke) 50 years on, but their union has aged like milk.

She suspects that he's a serial cheat on account of his staying out long past bed time and stumbling home smelling of liquor. But while her husband has strayed, the reason has always been right under her nose, and can now often be found slurping coffee and reading the paper at her kitchen table, next to her husband.

Via the medium of flashback, we get a through-the-ages snapshot of Barry and Morris's secret relationship. From the soft, hazy beach scenes back on the island in their teens, where wrestling and play became a means with which to explore one another's bodies, to stolen moments in their middle and later years in Hackney, east London, Mr Loverman does a commendable job of capturing their relationship during those three distinct stages of their lives – although makeup does have its limits when it comes to ageing up.

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But we spend most of our time in the present, where Barry, at the grand old age of 74, has now finally decided that enough is enough. He's done living a lie, news which receives a muted response from Morris, whose relationship with his now ex-wife fell apart a long time ago.

He's heard it all before, and is obviously wary about getting his hopes up, and viewers also shouldn't get their hopes up for a swift resolution to a different kind of will-they-won't-they. This is about a man who is working up the courage to take a sledgehammer to his existing life at a time when people typically settle deeper into what they already know.

Mr Loverman takes its sweet time, but that's no bad or unexpected thing. Anyone who finds it too slow has misunderstood the assignment.

As an actor who has built a career on committed displays in the likes of Save Me, The Walking Dead and Line of Duty, James is clearly in his element here, delivering an impressive performance, and one that rings true – which Barry's seemingly endless array of retro suits undoubtedly lent a hand.

James has also spoken about Barry being a gift of a role on account of all of his contradictions and flaws, which he found fascinating to explore and play with. But while there's no doubt he worked hard to embody the eponymous loverman, flexing all of the required muscles, he makes it look easy, such is the extent of his talents.

Clarke is also at the top of her game as Barry's long-suffering wife, who has only ever wanted her husband's love, but has ultimately been left feeling unloved and unwanted.

While Barry dreams of a life with Morris, she is in mourning for the life Barry promised her, or one she could have shared with a better-suited other.

Carmel's loneliness led her to have a brief affair with a colleague from Hackney Council, which could have blossomed into something longer-term, and she also had offers from other men in her youth. But her love for Barry always reeled her back in, which makes it all the more painful, and Clarke wears every ounce of that pain, her devastation and fury radiating through the screen.

But don't expect a sob fest, even though there are plenty of heartbreaking moments and reckonings throughout the series.

Tonally, the writing chooses to walk that tricky line between drama and comedy, particularly via Barry's spiky narration, which stops the narrative being dragged down to desperately sad depths from which there's no return. Some may find it discombobulating, and that it undercuts the more serious scenes. I'm sure screenwriter Nathaniel Price (Noughts + Crosses, The Outlaws) would argue that it simply mirrors real life.

Even if you can't relate to the specificity of what Carmel is going through, feeling unwanted or lonely in a relationship is an all too familiar feeling for so many. Even if Barry's situation is alien to you, the question of if you're really living as your most authentic self, or if it's ever really too late to change your life, is something so many of us will ask ourselves throughout the course of our own lives.

Mr Loverman centres a particular Black experience, and one not explored nearly enough in mainstream forums, but its themes – identity, love, family, relationships – are all universal, and make yet another case to commissioners that there is really no such thing as a "Black story".

The world portrayed on screen is intimate, specific and focused, but it's ultimately about the human capacity to love and to betray; how easily we can all rise and fall. It's a story about living with regrets and wanting something better, something more for yourself, which we can all relate to.

But it does also spotlight the uncomfortable, long-standing issue of homophobia within Caribbean communications, which is by no means unique to the likes of Antigua, but same-sex activity was only made legal there and in Barbuda in 2022, and in Trinidad and Tobago in 2018.

In Jamaica, it's still illegal.

Religion and the question of what it means to be a Black man in this world, something Barry's 17-year-old grandson Daniel (Tahj Miles) wrestles with, collide to create a toxic mix that plays into Barry's hesitation, along with the fear of losing his daughters, particularly his youngest, Maxine (Tamara Lawrance), with whom he is closest.

As Carmel's friends from church are all too quick to warn, hell and damnation await for any man who strays from God's so-called path of righteousness.

But Mr Loverman is also a love letter to the Caribbean, and specifically Antigua, both here in the UK and back in warmer climes, with the team bringing an Antiguan consultant on board to ensure that authenticity reigned.

It's a lovely series to look at, vibrant and detailed – although part of me thinks that it might have been better suited to the stage. The dialogue and performances are heightened, with certain characters speaking their emotions out loud when alone during difficult moments, as you'd expect from a stage performer who doesn't have the benefit of close-up. And the narration also feeds into that.

It also felt like Daniel's arc needed further fleshing out – or he could have done with his own show entirely, while the trials and tribulations of Maxine and her older sister Donna (Sharlene Whyte) – trying to get a fashion line off the ground, dipping back into the dating world – weren't especially interesting, and felt like a distraction from Barry and Morris.

But it's both refreshing and vital that a different kind of love story, one that focuses on Black queer love within Britain's older Caribbean community, is being examined, not to mention that the Black characters we meet aren't downtrodden or running guns and dealing drugs – Barry made his money in property – both of which have often been the only types of stories that commissioners and studios have been interested in.

As Mr Bates vs The Post Office showed us, TV isn't just about entertainment; it can change lives for the better. Mr Loverman certainly does the former, and there's every chance it'll do the latter.

All episodes of Mr Loverman will be available to stream on BBC iPlayer from 6am on Monday 14th October. The first two episodes will air on BBC One at 9pm that evening, with the remaining episodes airing weekly.

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