The Pursuit of Love, episode 3 review: farewell Linda, you shall not be missed

"Linda was experiencing an overwhelming physical sensation like nothing she’d known before," said Fanny (Emily Beecham) in the third and, mercifully, final part of The Pursuit of Love (BBC One). Having watched three hours of Emily Mortimer’s skittish, self-indulgent adaptation, I know how Linda feels. It’s not every day I have the overwhelming physical urge to reach inside my TV screen and throttle someone. But Lily James’s Linda Radlett was so irritating that I longed for one of those German bombs to land just a little to the left.

Having drenched herself in Bullingdon with posh right-winger Tony Kroesig and roughed it in Spain with posh left-winger Christian Talbot, Linda’s manic pixie posh girl triptych was completed in Paris, with Fabrice de Sauveterre (Assaad Bouab), who was French so therefore couldn’t be posh (but still a duke, so posh-French). Fabrice found her sobbing at Gare de Nord before bullying and cajoling her into staying in Paris with him, as all healthy relationships start.

Ah oui, Linda Radlett en Paris, which meant we were treated to a la vie en rose montage of Linda looking très chic as she floated about the arrondissements buying hats and flowers and baguettes (probably), dressed like an expensive clown, ignoring gendarmes offering gas masks. There are people who tell me these moments are wonderful, because the costumes are so sumptuous and it’s shot so beautifully and the soundtrack is just perfect. But one should always be suspicious when a scene in a TV drama looks like an expensive Vogue photo shoot. Because, likely, it will have all the depth of an expensive Vogue photo shoot.

In fact, as Fanny retrieved Linda from Paris (why? Leave her there!) and we plodded on through the events of their lives, back and forth, back and forth, I began to think of film critic Mark Kermode’s comments on Ice Age: The Meltdown, a naff animated children’s film. Kermode described the film as being indicative of the death of narrative cinema, as anything resembling plot was tossed aside in favour of lumbering from one set-piece to the next. In The Pursuit of Love I saw the death of narrative television (I blame Killing Eve), in which plot and character development matter not when the backdrop is so lovely. Linda was in Paris with Fabrice. Linda was in London without Fabrice. Linda and Fanny weren’t talking. War is coming. Linda and Fanny were talking again. War is here. Linda was in London with Fabrice. Linda was in London without Fabrice. Fanny goes to Alconleigh. Linda goes to Alconleigh. Everyone is pregnant.

I have to confess that I have not read Nancy Mitford’s novel, so I cannot comment on whether this is a good adaptation or a bad adaptation. But it is bad telly. It would have helped if we could understand what everyone sees in Linda, beyond the fact that she is beautiful. They’re besotted with her, from Fanny to Lord Merlin (Andrew Scott) to the drippy husband who’s always hanging about. Even her disapproving parents adore her really, despite the fact Linda herself was the most callous parent possible.

“You are the most incredibly alive person I have ever met,” says Fanny and, yes, it’s perfectly possible to be infuriating, inconsistent, selfish, cruel and childish, while also being magnetic, thrilling, captivating and the most wonderful person to be around. James only succeeded in convincing on half of these. When she spoke of her love for Fabrice, or whoever, it sounded like a 15-year-old pining for their summer holiday crush. I’m amazed she didn’t slam doors and tell everyone they didn’t understand what it was like. No, hang on, I think she did do that.

Far better was Mortimer herself, as the Bolter, Fanny’s errant mother and the Ghost of Lindas Yet to Come, conveying a well of sadness, where James suggested a puddle of pouting. I’d far rather have followed her Euro adventures. Scott, the scene-stealer, also gave an exemplary lesson in how to play an essentially unlikeable character who you can’t help but be drawn to. Beecham was lumbered with womansplaining the feminist undertones (the war was freeing for women; marriage was not; perhaps unhappy trainwrecks such as Linda and the Bolter live better lives than dutiful wives and mothers). It was never clear whether Fanny loved her dull husband or hated him, but they ended by having sex in an airing cupboard, so that probably means they’re OK.

The German bombs didn’t kill Linda, childbirth did, bringing a surprisingly sombre and restrained ending to a good-natured folly.

What did you think of the final episode of the Pursuit of Love? Share your own review in the comments section below.