There is 54-year-old “glam-ma” Amanda from Swansea. Although in many ways it is a mixture of The Apprentice and Big Brother, The Traitors has managed to avoid the attention-seeking desperadoes, poseurs and chaos demons that habitually infest reality TV and given us the more terrifying spectacle of ordinary people coming undone instead. The participants in this evilly addictive venture are – in a masterstroke of casting – very, very normal. If the makers had had the balls, they would have called it Headfuck. But as it works on them, they must come together to do the tasks as a unified whole to maximise their profit. The knowledge that there are three traitors in their midst is like a poison creeping through the group. Not least because the rules are, in a sense, immaterial – all you really need to know is that the game has been ruthlessly designed to set individual against individual, exploit every inch of humanity’s capacity for suspicion, dissembling, paranoia, guilt, sociopathy and every other unpleasantness you can think of.
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