Four months on from the spectacular conclusion to the fifth and (maybe, maybe not) final season of his acclaimed TV drama, the creator of “Top Boy” reflects on that show’s sometimes tortured inception, and what he’s learnt in three decades as a writer for movies and TV
IN OCTOBER 2011 I WAS AT STANSTED AIRPORT with my wife — the journalist and editor Georgina Henry — and our I two children for an early flight to Berlin, where we had rented a flat for the half-term holidays. Georgina ducked inside a WHSmith’s and bought an armload of newspapers. This was before the internet had transformed our consumption of news, and the week before the first season of Top Boy was due to air on Channel 4. I was excited, about Berlin and the show.
We boarded and settled into our seats. Georgina started to go through her reading with the speed and ruthlessness of a seasoned newspaper professional, turning the pages swiftly, her practised eye scanning for items of interest and moving on quickly if she couldn’t find anything. Then she said, “Have a look at this,” lifting that morning’s Times to show me a double-page spread on Top Boy by Andrew Billen, then the paper’s TV critic.
Writers learn from the school of hard knocks not to get our hopes up. Before launch, you might think what you’ve produced is different and special and amazing. Everyone involved in the production might think the same. You have a good script, a great director, brilliant cast. Of course it’s amazing.
But then comes the acid test. The thing comes out. There can be maverick reviews and unfair crits, but, as a rule, movies, novels, plays and TV eventually find the right level. Most are not bad. But most are mediocre. It’s painful — I’ve been there — given all the hard work and the creative and intellectual commitment involved, but it’s true. Most cultural output will be quickly forgotten.
But the buzz about Top Boy was positive and growing. Word was getting around. This show was different. Reading Billen’s piece on the plane to Berlin, I allowed myself to be hopeful. Maybe I’d written a hit, although it all seemed so unlikely. It was a decade before Black Lives Matter and #MeToo. Getting a show with a 90 per cent Black cast and no big stars to screen had been a struggle. But here it was, undeniably building momentum in the lead-up to transmission. I couldn’t have been happier.
Back in 2011, I had a Blackberry. It was pink and the object of much amusement to my friends. The salesperson had suggested I wouldn’t want a pink phone. It was at a discount so I took it. And I really liked it. Landing in Berlin, I turned on my pink Blackberry. It immediately flooded with messages. Obviously friends and coll
