Mint Review (BBC)
Fairly often, someone tries to put a new spin on Romeo and Juliet. Charlotte Regan is the latest to throw her hat in the ring with Mint, which sees a crime boss’s daughter, Shannon (Emma Laird), fall for rival gang affiliate Arran (Benjamin Coyle-Larner). Yet this romance is only part of the story – Shannon’s father, Dylan (Sam Riley), wants to step back from the business, a decision that leaves his family adrift. As power shifts around and tension in their small Scottish town grows, Shannon’s meet-cute becomes something far more dangerous.
Coyle-Larner, in his first acting gig, is perfectly cast as the romantic lead. He plays the role with an effortless charm and unexpected depth, and the chemistry between him and Laird is, almost literally, electric. Laird is equally layered in her presentation of Shannon, whose harsh edges are tempered by a desire for romance and a sense of loneliness. Her interactions are limited by her overbearing father, and she spends most of her time either alone or with her family. From their first meeting, it’s hard not to root for them – the script’s quick establishing of their characters and backstories is efficient but not rushed, and a snappy use of flashbacks prevents clunky exposition.
Interactions between the three generations of women in the family are a joy, and the frank intimacy between Shannon and her mother, Cat (Laura Fraser), and grandmother, Ollie (Lindsay Duncan), is casual enough to feel genuine. As the series goes on and these relationships become more complex, each actress shines. Regan has mentioned her interest in the more everyday lives happening behind the action of crime thrillers, something that really comes across in these relationships. They may not be at the forefront of the criminal enterprise, but their worlds are run by it – and over the course of eight episodes, they realise just how little control they have over their situations.
Interestingly, the exact details of what criminal operations Dylan is running aren’t explained. We see his mother, Ollie, cleaning guns at her kitchen table (accompanied by the dulcet tones of an erotic audiobook). There are various references to drugs and a general threat of violence, but just how the family has made their money is unclear. Cat is always shut out of the room when ‘the boys’ are over to discuss work matters, and Dylan instructs her to support him without asking questions. This works to emphasise Shannon’s innocence in particular, the separation she has as the ‘princess’ of the family from what really fuels her lifestyle.
Visually, Mint is a real treat. There’s a healthy dose of magical realism that makes it feel fresh and offers a spin on both the romance and criminal-empire TV genres. In the opening moments of the first episode, Shannon begins to float. This moment sets the tone for the slightly off-kilter story to come, and leans into the dreamlike, fairy-tale aspects of the story – as do the opening credits, which paint a picture-book summary of this tale of fated lovers. Occasionally, it does veer towards style-over-substance, with slightly nightmarish drone shots of the (admittedly striking) Grangemouth oil refinery and frequent cuts within scenes somewhat distracting from the story. It’s an ambitious and distinctive approach, however, with an artistry that sets it apart from ubiquitous streamer-slop; even if every big swing doesn’t pay off, credit is due for trying.
In the first few episodes, the broad strokes of the series may be guessed at – but don’t be lulled into a false sense of security. Regan’s imaginative direction, strong narrative choices and penchant for out-there visuals keep the audience on their toes. Mint doesn’t quite reach zero-gravity status, but it’s certainly off the ground.
★★★
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