Break Clause, a new Channel 4 dramedy, tells the story of sweethearts Ben (Samuel Bottomley) and Lil (Lara Ricote), Leeds University graduates who decide to move to London. On the eve of moving, an incident leads to a terrible confession in the hallway of their new flat. Ben and Lil break up – in the presence of their estate agent, who tells them the paperwork is irrevocable. They will have to live together for six months until the contract break clause.
Living with an ex: a familiar scenario
The show mines territory other sitcoms ignore: the biting economic pressure of being young in a housing crisis. There’s no suspension of disbelief here, no twentysomethings living in loft apartments the size of a business lounge. The couple live in south London, in an ex-council flat with grotty underpasses. Ben has a meet-cringe with a neighbour who spots him bin-diving for food. He’s copying videos posted by foraging influencers. “I think they mean the bins outside M&S, not the big ones under flats,” she replies.
Income inequality and dating under each other’s noses
Lil is an architect, Ben is a writer. It’s hard for any household to survive income inequality, by which I mean only one of them has one. Lil gets a job, at a firm, on a promotion track, while Ben volunteers to be injected with viruses for £800. He attempts to steal a YA novel idea from a teenager he tutors.
Then there’s dating, which takes place under each other’s noses. Ben and Lil are trying to be friends. What choice do they have, forced cheek by jowl? They could illegally sublet, but it probably wouldn’t give them both the means to live elsewhere. Perhaps their relationship isn’t over, the series teases. But should it be?
A winning performance from Lara Ricote
Break Clause’s will-they-won’t-they can feel thin, and John Thomson is underused as Ben’s father. But it’s funny, there’s verve to the dialogue and direction, plus a winning performance from Mexican-American comedian Ricote, an effervescent mix of Megan Stalter and Jenny Slate. She lands the best gags – such as when Lil, seized by the romance of a moment, will jump into a game of double dutch with teenagers, or lean her head on a stranger’s shoulder as they sit on a bench by the Thames. Repulsed and confused, they all give her a dirty look. “Bad call on my part,” Lil acknowledges.
Mostly, it’s refreshing to watch a show that isn’t wholly convinced love conquers all. In this economy? Twentysomething couples who live together now do so primarily to split rent. Most comedies exist in a fantasy realm, where all housing is affordable. But escapism isn’t everything. Maybe rental regulation is the romance this generation needs.
