When I first heard about the BBC’s new crime drama, Mint, I was immediately intrigued. Not because it’s just another gangster show—we’ve seen plenty of those—but because it dares to blend genres in a way that feels both fresh and risky. Personally, I think the idea of merging a gritty crime narrative with a Romeo and Juliet-style romance is either going to be a masterpiece or a mess. What makes this particularly fascinating is how it attempts to humanize the often one-dimensional world of mob dramas by centering on emotional relationships rather than just violence and power struggles.
The series follows Shannon, the daughter of a Scottish crime family, who falls for Arran, a member of a rival clan. On the surface, it’s a classic star-crossed lovers tale, but what many people don’t realize is how this setup allows the show to explore deeper themes of loyalty, identity, and the weight of familial expectations. If you take a step back and think about it, this isn’t just a love story—it’s a commentary on how personal desires collide with societal and familial obligations. That’s what elevates it beyond your typical crime drama.
One thing that immediately stands out is the decision to focus on the emotional worlds of Shannon’s family rather than the usual power plays and heists. In my opinion, this is a bold move. Most crime shows rely on action and intrigue to keep viewers hooked, but Mint seems more interested in the psychological toll of living in a criminal underworld. A detail that I find especially interesting is the character of Dylan, Shannon’s father, who steps down as the family’s leader for mysterious reasons. What this really suggests is that the show is less about who’s in charge and more about why anyone would want to be.
The casting also deserves a shoutout. Emma Laird as Shannon and Ben Coyle-Larner (aka Loyle Carner) as Arran bring a raw authenticity to their roles. From my perspective, Coyle-Larner’s performance is particularly noteworthy—he manages to make Arran both charming and deeply conflicted, which adds layers to the romance. What this really highlights is how the show avoids reducing its characters to stereotypes, even in a genre that often thrives on them.
Critics have praised Mint for its visual style, with The Guardian calling it “the most outrageously beautiful TV show since Twin Peaks.” While I agree that the cinematography is stunning, I think the real beauty lies in its storytelling. What makes this particularly fascinating is how it balances its aesthetic appeal with a narrative that feels both intimate and epic. It’s not just a show you watch—it’s one you feel.
If there’s one critique I have, it’s that the show occasionally leans too heavily into its romantic elements, risking losing the edge that makes crime dramas so compelling. But perhaps that’s the point. Mint challenges us to reconsider what a crime drama can be. In my opinion, it’s not just about breaking the rules of the genre—it’s about redefining them.
As I reflect on Mint, I’m struck by how it manages to be both familiar and unexpected. It takes tropes we’ve seen before—rival families, forbidden love, power struggles—and weaves them into something that feels genuinely new. What this really suggests is that even in a crowded genre, there’s still room for innovation. Personally, I think Mint is a must-watch, not just for fans of crime dramas, but for anyone who appreciates storytelling that dares to be different.
This raises a deeper question: Can a show about crime and romance truly capture the complexities of human emotion? From my perspective, Mint comes pretty close. It’s not perfect, but it’s ambitious, and in a world of formulaic TV, that’s worth celebrating.
