When The Sun describes Sally Wainwright’s new BBC series, Riot Women, as a “woke man-hating drama polluting TV,” you know you’re onto a good thing.
The creator of Happy Valley has never been one to write women who sit quietly, and Riot Women is no exception. Set in Hebden Bridge, it follows women bruised by life, bored of being ignored, and done with keeping it together who form a punk band. What begins as a charity project to raise money for refugees spirals into something far louder: a full-blown rebellion against invisibility, the patriarchy, and the slow fade of middle age.
Permission to Be Angry
Wainwright has created something few women on television get after forty: permission to be angry. This isn’t a gentle story about “finding yourself.” It’s about refusing to disappear. It’s messy, loud, and raw.
The menopause becomes both a literal and metaphorical backdrop. Wainwright uses it not as shorthand for decline but as a spark for reinvention. These women aren’t fading; they’re finding new frequencies to scream on.
Rosalie Craig and Joanna Scanlan: A Force of Nature
One of Riot Women’s greatest strengths is how two of its stars, Rosalie Craig (Kitty) and Joanna Scanlan (Beth), command every moment they’re on screen. The scenes between them absolutely fizzle with energy. You find yourself clamouring for their storylines to pick back up, because the highlights of the series are when these two collide. Craig’s Kitty is volatile and magnetic, while Scanlan’s Beth carries a quiet, aching intensity that draws you in. Together, they create the kind of tension that feels both combustible and deeply human, the rare chemistry that turns good television into something unforgettable.
The Power of Staying in the Room
What I absolutely love about Wainwright’s writing is her confidence to let scenes breathe. Not every exchange needs to land like a monologue or feel meticulously choreographed. She allows dialogue to unfold at its own rhythm, trusting that truth and emotion will surface when they’re ready. It’s not reliant on drama, short fuses, or explosive exits. Lesser writers might have characters storm out to create tension or clip a conversation short for pace. Wainwright refuses that shortcut. She forces her characters to stay in the room and engage, as they would in real life. When someone says something unthinkable, the scene doesn’t cut away; the other person gets a right of reply. You see the hesitation, the processing, the flicker of understanding; the slow, human unravelling that reveals who these women really are. It’s raw, uncomfortable, and utterly compelling.
Why Calling It “Woke” Misses the Point
What’s so frustrating about dismissive reviews calling Riot Women “woke” is how far off the mark they are. There’s nothing preachy about what Wainwright’s created — if anything, it’s the most grounded portrayal of womanhood I’ve seen on television in years. Across just six episodes, the show touches on motherhood, middle-life purpose, workplace sexism, misogyny, sexual assault, friendship, divorce, and both traditional and non-traditional family dynamics. In most dramas, maybe one or two of these threads would be handed to a side character, a token subplot to tick a box. But here, these stories are the show. They’re woven into every conversation, every look, every small act of defiance or survival.
What makes it work is that it never feels like homework. It doesn’t tell the audience off or chase brownie points for representation. It simply feels real. It’s messy, relatable, and painfully believable. For once, a series gives full voice to women over forty without apology or qualification. Usually, you’re lucky to see one such character per show. Here, Wainwright builds the entire band around them.
Where Riot Women Could Go Next
If I have one small critique of Riot Women, it’s that at times it feels like there’s almost too much heart and story to fit into six episodes. Wainwright goes all guns blazing with this from-the-chest drama, and as a result, a few characters and plotlines feel slightly rushed, particularly in the final two episodes, where the gaps between events start to widen. Two male characters, both escalating as the closest things to villains in the series, have their storylines resolved off screen, robbing the protagonists of payoff. What I wanted was more of those intimate, in-the-moment scenes that Wainwright does so well. Those quiet, awkward, human exchanges that let the audience breathe with the characters.
That’s not really a fault of the show and what we got; it’s more the limitation of television and the luxury of time. When you’re working with such a stacked cast and this much emotional range, something inevitably gets compressed. Riot Women doesn’t feel like its story is finished. If anything, it’s just getting started. A second season would be very welcome, but I’d love to see it wrap itself a little tighter around its core characters next time, rather than stretching to give every subplot its moment.
Why It Hit Home (Even for a Leeds Bloke)
As a 31-year-old, newly married bloke from Leeds, who got far too excited recognising half the filming locations, I don’t have much in common with the women of Riot Women. But that’s exactly the point.
If you’re a woman, you’ll see yourself in this show. You’ll nod, rage, and maybe even cry at how real it feels. And if you’re a man, don’t be put off by the noise, you’re not the enemy here. There’s just a lot of truth, sadness, and fun packed into six brilliant hours of TV.
So yeah. I loved it. And in the spirit of Riot Women… **** The Sun
