Treachery loves company

When I first heard about The Celebrity Traitors (BBC One), I feared it might be a mistake. They already have famous(ish) people on the US and Australian versions of the murder mystery-themed gameshow but this is a first for the UK. A key part of the British series’ charm, and tone, seemed predicated on steering clear of celebrity culture and not knowing who the cast of characters were. It didn’t stop the mugging for the cameras, but at least it was left to amateurs.

Still, this is a strong lineup, including Tom Daley, Stephen Fry, Jonathan Ross, Paloma Faith, Cat Burns, Nick Mohammed, Clare Balding – and more. They’re here to pursue the £100k prize for charity, but they’re also fans of the Bafta-winning ratings hit (which had an audience of nearly 10 million for the third season’s finale). We’re all so accustomed to famous faces trudging on to the reality circuit because of tax bills and career doldrums, it’s almost moving to see them doing something just for the craic. Could The Celebrity Traitors herald a new dawn of prestige reality TV?

It’s not The Traitors until there’s the first glimpse of presenter Claudia Winkleman stalking the Scottish Highlands like the British pen pal of Wednesday Addams. “Nineteen celebrities have been invited to play the ultimate psychological game of deception,” she intones.

The celebrities arrive at the castle in a fleet of Land Rover Defenders; no piling on to train like an undignified school trip for them. They’re whisked to a site of graves with their names on, where they must claw through dirt to win protective shields. “I want to be as sensory as I can,” says singer Charlotte Church, “to get intimate with the earth.” Behind the scenes, actor Celia Imrie glints gleefully at the camera: “People think I’m nice, but I’m not.”

At the round table (spoiler alert), Winkleman touches the shoulders of her chosen Traitors: Ross, Burns and Alan Carr, the last of these instantly crumpling under the psychological pressure of the cloak: “I have a sweating problem and I can’t keep a secret!” The next task involves the celebrities setting fire to a Trojan horse, with Daley hoisting an Olympic-style torch. People start falling under suspicion: Balding for pulling the wrong lever, Church for nicely sacrificing her shield, others for… nothing at all.

Going on the one episode I’ve been given to preview (the show will air twice-weekly), The Celebrity Traitors seems as camp as the original, and it’s heartening to see Faithfuls arbitrarily picking on each other already. But with nine episodes in all, this celebrity version is a risk. The Traitors is complex: a whodunnit crossed with a parlour game, saturated with jeopardy and derailed by human nature. It’s also a contest in which being an unknown quantity is a big plus. Let’s see if these famous folk can pull it off.

Victoria Beckham (Netflix) is a docuseries that could be viewed as a companion piece to her husband David’s ratings record-breaking and award-winning 2023 docuseries Beckham, also for Netflix. Surprisingly for a work directed by Nadia Hallgren, who made Michelle Obama’s Becoming, it too often feels like a glossy three-part advert – for Victoria’s eponymous designer label, makeup line, perfume, marvellous family, gilded life… Make it stop!

Thus, we get a showcase of designer Posh, musing in her swanky atelier about hems and waistbands. Elsewhere, the former Spice Girl recalls relentless public criticism (the late art critic Brian Sewell called her “a common little bitch”) and her lifelong self-esteem issues. Certainly, for someone so famous, her hyper-vigilance around cameras is striking, as is her habit of talking. Very. Slowly – as if to say: “Try misquoting that!”

While the docuseries covers football’s Wag era, there’s nothing of her husband’s alleged 00s affair with Rebecca Loos – though it was barely alluded to in Beckham. Victoria is also strangely brusque about the Spice Girls era, as if recounting being part of the biggest girlbands in the world is a chore she must be gracious about for the little people. Various designers dutifully pitch up: Roland Mouret, Donatella Versace, Tom Ford – the last of these smouldering like a Bond villain with great cuticles. Fashion is the only subject that seems to draw emotion from Victoria: her voice breaking with distress about the label’s past financial struggles; her frozen panic as her Paris fashion show is lashed by rain.

Somebody should have explained to Posh that her fashion obsession isn’t necessarily shared by viewers. Not that the docuseries isn’t inadvertently riveting about the Beckhams as a couple. I’m not saying there isn’t love, but there’s also a pungent whiff of mutual competitiveness around them. At the start, he makes a lame joke and she says: “He thinks it’s going to be his moment in the documentary. It’s not about him. It’s about me.”

Towards the end, they take a bizarrely stiff walk around their grounds, complete with stilted, Pinteresque dialogue: “It’s amazing what you’ve built here.” “I built it for you guys.” What couple talks to each other like this? It’s as if they’ve never met. For all the glamour and money, and their his-and-hers docs, a strange Gatsbyesque melancholy swirls around the Beckhams. Fascinating.

Film Club (BBC Three) is a new six-part, Manchester-set dramedy starring Aimee Lou Wood (Sex Education, White Lotus), who also co-writes with co-star Ralph Davis. Wood plays Evie, who’s recovering from a mental health episode. She hosts a film club, mainly attended by her friend Noa (Juice’s Nabhaan Rizwan). They yearn for each other but suppress it by rattling movie dialogue at each other, until he gets a job offer in Bristol that threatens their bond.

In an all-female household, Suranne Jones plays Evie’s hyper-flustered mother, and Liv Hill is the sarcastic sister. Elsewhere, Adam Long (Happy Valley) is Evie’s boyfriend, while Owen Cooper, who recently became the youngest male Emmy winner for Adolescence, appears as a philosophy-spouting teenager. Film Club can be slow, and the mental health theme feels underexplored, but there’s dark sweetness and energy here. I’d be happy to see the sequel.

Frauds (ITV1)

In Suranne Jones’s second outing of the week (co-created with writer Anne-Marie O’Connor), she stars with Jodie Whittaker in a nicely spun crime caper about friends pulling off one last heist.

Dreaming Whilst Black (BBC Three)

The return of the classy, offbeat comedy about the ups and downs of Black British creatives. Adjani Salmon writes and stars.

Joe Wicks: Licensed to Kill (Channel 4)

Thought-provoking documentary in which fitness guru Joe Wicks takes a look at the dangers of ultra-processed foods, in particular protein bars, and challenges UK food laws.

Photography by Cody Burridge/BBC/PA; Gaumont/Ben Blackall; Netflix