For some godawful reason, Republic of Doyle has been renewed for next season. This year’s episodes were atrocious – and I am not referring here to the still-unimproved scrollup captioning and half-assed homemade audio description these cheapskates use. IMCHD in Toronto is credited with the bogus captioning job, which in and of itself makes Republic of Doyle noncompliant with CRTC regulations. Fancy a complaint, b’y?
Right: That word. It’s in nearly every episode. In one of them, I heard it five times in the first 45 minutes, at which point I deleted the episode. Of course Republic of Doyle imbues St. John’s with even more mystique than it already has. But St. John’s doesn’t need goosing up! The truth is already delightful enough. The show gilds the lily so many ways – with hackneyed dialect, with ill-edited and echo-laden dialogue, with an unrealistic panoply of black ladies guest-starring in every second episode – that it became as fun to watch as Rookie Blue.
Like the show itself, Allan Hawco began to believe his own press. Plus he seemingly forgot how to act. Try your own drinking game: Every time he’s half-naked, drink a full glass, and every time you see him holding his hands up at sternum level (whether in cuffs or not) gesticulating like a first-year drama student, do a shot.
Des was always the most adorable character on the show. He has now become the only watchable character. (Simon Pegg could play Des in the movie; as Benji in Mission: Impossible, he almost does already.) I used to adore this show. I would dearly love to ask John Callahan “What the hell?” Even Rose’s hair is a mess.
There remains the matter of the permanent injuries that stuntman Christy Ring alleges he suffered on set. I find it odd that TV writers and bloggers are shying away from what is, at first blush, an outright scandal.