When Sally Wainwright creates a drama, the nation listens — and this time, she’s traded police precincts for punk guitars, replacing badges and suspects with battle cries and sisterhood. Her latest BBC series is a storm of emotion, rebellion, and truth — a female-led masterpiece that critics are already calling “the most daring thing Wainwright’s ever written.”

From the opening moments, viewers are pulled into a visceral, heart-wrenching scene: Joanna Scanlan’s Beth sits in her kitchen, the quiet hum of the fridge underscoring her breaking point. Her grief is palpable, her silence heavy — until she picks up a microphone. What follows is not just a story about music, but about survival, rage, and rediscovery.

Beth soon finds herself joined by four other women — strangers turned allies — each carrying their own ghosts. Together, they form a punk band that becomes both a rebellion and a refuge. Through every lyric, scream, and trembling note, they reclaim their voices in a world that’s tried to drown them out.

Wainwright, known for crafting deeply human portraits in Happy Valley and Gentleman Jack, once again proves her mastery of storytelling. But this time, she’s gone louder, darker, and rawer than ever before. There’s blood under these fingernails, truth in every line of dialogue, and a defiant energy that pulses through every frame.

The cinematography mirrors the chaos — sharp cuts, grainy textures, and flickering lights that echo the emotional turbulence of its characters. Yet amid the noise, there are quiet, devastating moments that remind you of Wainwright’s true genius: her ability to show women not as archetypes, but as survivors, dreamers, and fighters.

Critics have praised the series for its emotional honesty and unapologetic tone. “It’s Happy Valley with a microphone,” one review raved. “A howl against injustice, wrapped in distortion and heart.”

For fans of Wainwright’s past work, this isn’t just a follow-up — it’s a rebirth. It’s the kind of drama that doesn’t just ask to be watched, but felt.

And when the final credits roll, you’re left not just with ringing ears, but with a quiet, powerful truth: sometimes, the only way to heal is to make noise.