“Can you give me three words to describe you?” Claudia Winkleman, ensconced in a Hollywood reimagining of a grand Highlands drawing room (roaring fire, tartan wallpaper, a pile of fat gold coins), is assessing the potential of a new intake of contestants on the second series of The Traitors. And Paul, a 36-year-old business manager in a blue chore jacket, isn’t taking any chances. “Competitive, cruel and … ” – his smirk finally buckles into a full-blown grin – “traitor!” Winkleman lets out a gasp of delight – as will you if you’re one of the millions who have already fallen for this superlative TV show, which has single-handedly given the increasingly cynical and tired reality genre a new lease of life.
The Traitors convenes 22 strangers in a deluxe, gothic revival castle in Scotland. Hours after they arrive, Winkleman secretly anoints three of them her “traitors” (if you’re wondering whether Paul’s shameless trumpeting of his bad character gets him the gig, well, I’m sorry but even this early development is too delicious to spoil). By day, the entire group perform feats of endurance and logic to contribute to the eventual cash prize; by night, the behooded traitors kill off one of the other competitors, known as “the faithful”. Meanwhile, the faithful attempt to expunge the traitors from their number. Every evening, during a roundtable discussion, the group uses their razor-sharp people-reading skills to pinpoint their prime suspect. Sorry, I mean they conduct a haphazard witch-hunt based on the scant evidence available (“So-and-so sniffed when I mentioned the letter T! He’s a traitor!” – that sort of thing). The accused then reveals their true status. If one or more traitors make it through to the last round, they will pocket the entire prize fund – leaving any faithful finalists with nothing.
The first series of The Traitors was a word-of-mouth smash, and it benefited from the low expectations of a brand new show: the contestants seemed to be genuinely absorbed in the game, rather than treating it as an extended audition for lucrative brand deals. Maintaining the same feel will be key to series two’s success: the producers need charisma (last time the nice-but-shamelessly-treacherous Wilf proved TV dynamite) but also a cast that isn’t one-note. So far, it looks very promising – we have a nice mix of ages, personalities and backgrounds – yet only time will tell how well this cohort gels.
Oddly enough, this was not the format’s initial recipe. In the original 2021 Dutch series, De Verraders, the contestants were all celebrities or media figures. The first UK version included a smattering of showbiz-adjacent candidates – standup Hannah Byczkowski, actor Maddy Smedley – but this time round there is nobody from that world. (The US version has gone in the opposite direction, casting only established reality stars and, er, John Bercow.)
The decision to go with a purely civilian cast is an excellent one. While so many shows seem designed to sustain the dull reality star turned minor celebrity circuit – which sees the same professional pouters ricochet between different TV shows – our Traitors resembles a far less queasy version of the fascinating sociological experiments of early 00s reality TV, especially Big Brother (which, as scholars will note, the Dutch invented too). The goal is not screeching drama, but to gamify behaviours we engage in every day: cultivating loyalty, creating common enemies, deflecting suspicion or judgment. The setting may be broad-strokes ridiculous, but the content is subtle. Beadily watching the traitors interact – searching for tiny slip-ups in their idle chit-chat – is a thrilling task for viewers who know, and for game-players who don’t.
For all its emphasis on betrayal, lies and manipulation, The Traitors is still a far less cynical iteration of the nauseating reality content we are routinely fed today (essentially: Nigel Farage gagging to eat camel udder pizza to gain 25% more airtime on I’m a Celebrity). But that’s not to say it’s any less wildly entertaining than the most ethically dubious of shows. During their first midnight meeting, the three traitors are asked to choose a final accomplice from the faithful, but the audience are not told their identity. The subsequent suspense is so well engineered that when the episode ends just as the fourth traitor is about to lift their hood, I let out an involuntary yelp of frustration. Let’s add it to the catalogue of small, strange sounds – from Winkleman’s gasp to the hiss of thousands of gleeful hands rubbing together – that heralds a new entry in the canon of truly great reality TV.
• The Traitors is on BBC One and iPlayer
