The second series of Claudia Winkleman’s backstabbing smash hit is just as masterly as the first – and well and truly secures its place in the canon of genius reality TV
“Can you give me three words to describe you?” Claudia Winkleman, ensconced in a Hollywood reimagining of a grand Highlands drawing room (roaring fire, tartan wallpaper, a pile of fat gold coins), is assessing the potential of a new intake of contestants on the second series of The Traitors. And Paul, a 36-year-old business manager in a blue chore jacket, isn’t taking any chances. “Competitive, cruel and … ” – his smirk finally buckles into a full-blown grin – “traitor!” Winkleman lets out a gasp of delight – as will you if you’re one of the millions who have already fallen for this superlative TV show, which has single-handedly given the increasingly cynical and tired reality genre a new lease of life.
The Traitors convenes 22 strangers in a deluxe, gothic revival castle in Scotland. Hours after they arrive, Winkleman secretly anoints three of them her “traitors” (if you’re wondering whether Paul’s shameless trumpeting of his bad character gets him the gig, well, I’m sorry but even this early development is too delicious to spoil). By day, the entire group perform feats of endurance and logic to contribute to the eventual cash prize; by night, the behooded traitors kill off one of the other competitors, known as “the faithful”. Meanwhile, the faithful attempt to expunge the traitors from their number. Every evening, during a roundtable discussion, the group uses their razor-sharp people-reading skills to pinpoint their prime suspect. Sorry, I mean they conduct a haphazard witch-hunt based on the scant evidence available (“So-and-so sniffed when I mentioned the letter T! He’s a traitor!” – that sort of thing). The accused then reveals their true status. If one or more traitors make it through to the last round, they will pocket the entire prize fund – leaving any faithful finalists with nothing.
