At first, I thought I had run out of hatred. An unsettling sensation. Fortunately, order was soon restored. It turns out that the opening episode of Owning Manhattan – the latest product in Netflix’s attempt to saturate the market for real-estate shows – is an uncharacteristically gentle lead-in to what becomes a characteristic maelstrom of backbiting, warring egos, frightening fashion choices, daily Oscar-ceremony levels of grooming and gobsmacking commissions up for grabs.
After the most recent iteration – the essentially dismal Buying London, set in essentially dismal London and unable to field the level of monstrosity required in property and human terms that the Americans manage so effortlessly – this is at least a return to suitably excessive form. Fans of Selling Sunset who are not yet sated should find something to help them here.
