This week I’ve seen Disney’s latest bingeable series, The Stolen Girl, variously described as a “posh-house drama”, “the equivalent of an airport novel” and “enjoyably preposterous” – so what’s not to like?
One episode in, I’m lapping up the lavishly immaculate interiors and clipped tones of rich people who call everyone “darling”. And I always enjoy the hilariously shonky portrayal of journalists and the way dramatists think they speak to each other. Local hack Selma to her (extremely mild and unbothered) boss: “I’m sorry I missed the deadline! I was focused on the background story, it’s important.” Boss, rolling his eyes: “Can’t you put an alert on your phone or something?” Selma: “Next time I will, I promise!”
The fact that no newsroom boss has ever spoken like that to a reporter who missed a deadline is neither here nor there. This twisty-turny thriller grabs you by the lapels and doesn’t let go. Private-jet stewardess Elisa and criminal lawyer Fred are horrified to find their daughter Lucia has vanished, after a hastily arranged playdate-turned-sleepover with a new schoolfriend turns out to be a meticulously planned abduction.
