Break Point, Netflix, season 2, review: tedious sequel takes its eye off the (tennis) ball
Quiet please. Second service. Tennis documentary Break Point (Netflix) is back but can it maintain the sparkling form of its debut run? Sadly not. A tendency towards self-indulgence and a futile fixation on American players results in a serious case of second-season syndrome. Rather than pull out an ace, this sequel ripples the net while the crowd sighs in frustration.
From the makers of the hit series Formula 1: Drive to Survive, Break Point follows a similar blueprint. Via intimate access and glossy production values, it elevates the pro-tennis tour into gladiatorial high drama. It’s handsomely put together but in storytelling terms, the six-parter takes its eye off the fuzzy yellow ball.
Problems start when the streamer makes itself the story with an opening episode about “the Netflix curse”. Stars who participated in the first series, goes the premise, all get struck down by injury or suffer shock exits at the Australian Open. The trouble is, many of the cutaways to tweets about this so-called curse were posted by Netflix itself. Most players don’t seem to have heard of it. One goes on to win the tournament anyway.
The pace sags badly mid-series with a turgid episode about brattish Danish youngster Holger Rune, whose formidable mother Aneke proves far more charismatic. This is followed by another about the battle to be US men’s number one. Doubtless interesting to American audiences, but considering they barely trouble the world’s top 10 and no US male has won a Grand Slam for 20 years, eminently skippable for the rest of us.
The parochial bias reaches its nadir with a bloated finale about home hopes at the US Open. Whatever producers paid pundit Jim Courier, it’s not enough. His interviews do much of the narrative heavy lifting. An instalment about perennial also-rans Jessica Pegula and Maria Sakkari descends into whining about rain at Wimbledon. You might as well complain that the strawberries are too fruity and the Pimm’s too wet. Where’s Cliff Richard when you need him?
Things pick up when the focus shifts across the Atlantic and finds more authentic human drama. The two standout episodes follow strapping Europeans, simply because they have stronger stories. We follow Belarusian powerhouse Aryna Sabalenka as she bids to end her semi-final hoodoo and win a Grand Slam in memory of her late father. Equally absorbing is German beanpole Alexander Zverev’s long journey back from a horrific ankle injury. You’ll find yourself cheering on both these hugely likeable characters. The dirty tricks of Zverev’s nemesis Daniil Medvedev provide a panto villain to hiss and boo.
The production style, once thrilling, is now all too familiar from this entire genre. Interviews take place on a stark black background. Slow motion is widely deployed, editing is slick, sound design is immersive. Globe-trotting cameras follow players into their homes, hotel suites, private jets and blacked-out SUVs. There is copious swearing (Sabalenka, particularly, has a bracing way with an F-bomb) and racquet-smashing.
After last week’s fairy tale at Alexandra Palace, canny sport documentarians are already lining up a darts equivalent (Sky Documentaries swiftly announced one last week). Teenage prodigy Luke Littler scoffing kebabs and dominating the oche? Now there’s a series I’d watch the heck out of. In the meantime, baselines rather than bullseyes will have to suffice.
Break Point season two is on Netflix from Wednesday 10 January
