Warning: there is a spoiler for the very first episode of “Celebrity Traitors UK” Season 2 included in this post. But I saw it on the internet about 1000x before I even downloaded a VPN to watch, so if you care, your algorithm has probably already shown you.
It’s absurd, the amount of “creative problem solving” I’ve had to do to watch a show that will appear on Peacock in a few months but is airing in multiple countries around the world right now and thus spoiling me weekly. The end result is me finally getting a VPN and lying to the BBC to tell them that I do, in fact, have a TV licence.
Actually, now as I’m typing this, I’m concerned: what if someone from the BBC tracks me down based entirely on this Substack admission and cuts off my access?
I’m hoping at this point that you’re familiar with “Traitors” since it’s been omnipresent in culture the past few years thanks to the show’s incredible concept and the hosts’ fabulous wardrobes (yes, Alan Cumming is wonderful, but I literally bought a cape last year because of Claudia Winkleman… still haven’t pulled the trigger on bangs).
Essentially “Traitors” is the game Mafia (or Werewolf, Coup, Secret Hitler, among other variants) but filmed for TV. In the UK, the show is such a phenomenon that they got actual A-list award-winning actors and comedians wanting to participate in its celebrity seasons (no shade to the “Real Housewives” but none of them could sit next to Stephen Fry or Michael Sheen).
The whole thing about “Traitors” is that it takes people from whatever their regular job is and makes them all think they could be detectives, when most of them can’t. The Traitors all meet in the turret at night to plot their next murder. If you were an actual detective, you’d stake out said turret. But on this show, you can’t because the producers have already sequestered you to your airport motel room.
We all think we can read people better than we can. Some of us think that we’re great at finding clues and running our own investigations. I know for sure that I am.
I think about being a detective all the time, largely because at any given moment I am reading two to four books and at least one of them is always a mystery. As a result, I’ve been training for decades: I started with Encyclopedia Brown and Harriet the Spy, then moved on to all things Agatha Christie. For the last decade I’ve been focused more on random detectives in various villages around Europe who combine investigative skills with a strong sense of place and a corresponding vice (coffee, wine, women?).
Because I’m great at pattern recognition, I can predict what will happen right away. Did the Chief Inspector get taken hostage in a season finale and narrowly escape? Well, I can tell you that a narrative for the next season will be her PTSD plus drinking problem plus reckoning with whether she wants to stay in the force. Does the show want us to think some drunk fool of a husband is the murderer? It’s probably his frustrated and capable wife pinning it on him and hoping to kill two birds (literally).
I’m always right, but does that make me a detective?
I do stop reading the detectives who are actively bad at detecting. I’m looking primarily at you, Bruno, Chief of Police, who lives in the Périgord and regularly takes a break from his actual job to eat pâté. Now, I love pâté and I’m also interested in taking breaks from my job, but you know what? My job isn’t hunting down murderers, so maybe Bruno could grab a jambon beurre and keep it moving.
The thing about being an amateur detective is you’re always on alert. Some of this has proven a godsend with kids who can be loose with the truth. For example, someone once shared that he broke a glass while making his bed. Even if I didn’t have all the experience I’ve listed above, I have AP Physics, a general understanding of logic, and, you know, eyes. Perhaps said child was making the bed with so much enthusiasm that it caused a glass to break or, alternatively, perhaps that same child was so unfamiliar with the concept of bed-making that he broke a glass. A third possibility is that that kid was being clumsy and thought if he combined his mistake with something he was supposed to do, he wouldn’t get in trouble, n’est-ce pas?
I am ready to go in my neighborhood at any time, sussing out who is normal and who is not. That’s easily done, because the not-normal people are incredibly vocal, either on WhatsApp or by actually yelling “get off my lawn” at my actual child when she was walking the dogs. I’m keeping a mental log of all the unsavory behavior I’ve observed so if they ever snap, I’ve got evidence to share that I’m sure the Bucks County equivalent of Gamache will appreciate.
Just like middle school, a lot of amateur detecting comes down to who you like or, at least, trust. I didn’t like that one neighbor before she yelled at my kid, and now I have evidence for her being a terrible person. The broken glass kid is both clumsy and rarely makes his bed, so I have no reason to believe him.
In this season’s “Celebrity Traitors UK,” something unprecedented happens in the first episode: one of the Traitors just tells everyone he’s a Traitor. And then doesn’t backtrack. When people are voting at the roundtable, they usually say things like “I just figured you’d be a great Traitor” or “I’m not really sure so I’m just going to go with the group, I’m really sorry if you’re not a Traitor.” This time while voting, one person says, “All I had to go on was you telling us you were a Traitor.”
That is always the best evidence: the actual admission of guilt. Whether you’re a Traitor, or a troubled husband who never meant to kill his mistress and hoped he could cover it up so his wife would never find out, or just someone who checked “yes” when prompted “do you have a TV licence?”
