The gloriously knowing adaptation of Jilly Cooper’s novel gets a tremendous second season. Its fabulous escapism is beyond earthly praise
Rupert Campbell-Black is a bounder, a braggart, a scoundrel who won’t play by the rules, by Jove. “The man is a loose cannon,” hisses show-jumping coach Malise Gordon (Rupert Everett), as Rupert (Alex Hassell) directs his own cannon at the latest in a seemingly endless conga-line of pantingly grateful locals. By “his own cannon” I mean, of course, his penis. Or rather his “willy”, for there is no aspect of the anatomy – or, indeed, life – that Rivals will not reduce to a cartoon while pointing and sniggering like a schoolgirl. And quite right, too. Who wants boring old reality when you could be engaging in an explosive bout of nude tennis with the MP for Chalford and Bisley (“Tit fault!”)? Anyway, back to Rupert, who, as the aforementioned minister for sport and “most handsome man in England”, is the throbbing nub of this unapologetically preposterous adaptation of the late Jilly Cooper’s 80s bonkbuster.
Rupert has a head for business and a body for wearing jodhpurs while shouting “ARE YOU READY FOR ME TO COME DOWN YOUR CHIMNEY?” during sex. Men admire his ruthlessness; horses are magnetised by his reckless approach to leisurewear.
