Before Happy Valley and Unforgotten, Nicola Walker and Sarah Lancashire shared the screen in a tender, deeply human series that fans are now rediscovering — and calling “a masterpiece in disguise.” Written by Happy Valley’s Sally Wainwright, the story follows two families brought together when childhood sweethearts — now in their 70s — reconnect through social media after decades apart. With heartbreak, humor, and hope in every episode, this overlooked gem is finally getting the love it deserves.

In an era dominated by high-octane thrillers and glossy prestige dramas, it’s easy to let quieter stories slip through the cracks. But every now and then, a hidden treasure resurfaces, reminding us why we fell in love with television in the first place. Enter Last Tango in Halifax — the 2012 BBC series that’s suddenly exploding on social media feeds, with fans breathlessly confessing, “How did I miss this?” Starring the incomparable Nicola Walker and Sarah Lancashire in roles that showcase their raw emotional depth long before they became synonymous with gritty cop procedurals, this show is the ultimate comfort watch disguised as a family saga. Penned by the sharp-witted Sally Wainwright — yes, the same mind behind Happy Valley‘s pulse-pounding intensity — Last Tango proves that Wainwright’s genius lies not just in suspense, but in the messy, beautiful chaos of everyday lives.

What makes this rediscovery so timely? Blame it on the algorithm gods or perhaps a collective craving for stories that feel achingly real amid global uncertainties. Streaming platforms have quietly elevated the series, and viewer forums are abuzz with threads like “Nicola Walker at her most heartbreaking” and “Sarah Lancashire steals every scene without even trying.” One devotee on a popular TV subreddit summed it up perfectly: “It’s like a warm hug from an old friend you forgot you had.” With its blend of wry British humor, gut-wrenching revelations, and unapologetic optimism, Last Tango in Halifax is winning over a new generation — and leaving longtime fans wondering how it ever faded from the spotlight.

At its heart, the series is a love letter to second chances, wrapped in the unvarnished authenticity of northern English life. The story kicks off with an improbable spark: Alan and Celia, childhood sweethearts from Halifax, lost touch after a youthful romance was derailed by class differences and family pressures. Decades later, in their twilight years, a casual Facebook prompt — “Remember your first crush?” — reunites them. What follows isn’t a fairy-tale whirlwind but a slow-burn reconnection fraught with the baggage of lives fully lived. Alan, played with stoic charm by Derek Jacobi, is a widowed bus driver who’s spent his golden years in quiet routine. Celia, brought to vivid life by Anne Reid, is a feisty retiree with a sharp tongue and a heart full of unspoken regrets. Their decision to meet up after 60 years apart sets off a chain reaction that entangles their grown daughters, Caroline and Caroline’s ex-partner Gillian, in ways no one could have predicted.

This is where Nicola Walker and Sarah Lancashire enter the fray, delivering performances that feel like intimate confessions rather than scripted lines. Walker, who would later captivate audiences as the dogged DCI Cassie Stuart in Unforgotten, here embodies Caroline — a high-achieving headmistress whose polished exterior crumbles under the weight of personal turmoil. Caroline’s life is a pressure cooker: a recent separation from her husband has left her questioning everything, from her career to her identity. Walker’s portrayal is a masterclass in restraint; her wide, expressive eyes convey volumes of suppressed pain, especially in scenes where Caroline navigates awkward family dinners or stolen moments of vulnerability. There’s a scene in the first season where she stands alone in her kitchen, phone in hand, debating whether to call her ex — it’s wordless, yet it lingers like a bruise, showcasing Walker’s innate ability to make the ordinary profound.

Opposite her, Sarah Lancashire as Gillian is a force of nature — earthy, resilient, and laced with that trademark Lancashire wit that would later define her as Sergeant Catherine Cawood in Happy Valley. Gillian runs a no-nonsense farm in the Yorkshire Dales, raising her teenage son while grappling with the scars of an abusive marriage. Lancashire infuses the role with a grounded ferocity; Gillian isn’t a victim but a survivor who laughs in the face of adversity, even as her world unravels. Her chemistry with Walker is electric — not romantic, but the kind of deep, platonic bond forged in shared secrets and midnight confessions. Together, they form the emotional core of the series, their sibling-like dynamic (despite not being blood-related through the parents’ reunion) providing the humor and heart that keeps viewers hooked.

And oh, the writing. Sally Wainwright doesn’t just tell a story; she dissects the human soul with surgical precision, all while sprinkling in dialogue that’s equal parts poetic and profane. Take the pilot episode: Celia’s first video call with Alan is a riot of awkward flirtation, with Reid delivering lines like, “I’ve got a face like a wrinkly old prune, but my legs are still cracking,” with such deadpan glee that you’ll snort your tea. Yet Wainwright never shies away from the shadows. As the families converge for a road trip to Scotland — a plot point that spirals into comedic disaster — buried traumas bubble to the surface. Flashbacks reveal the painful reasons behind Alan and Celia’s separation: societal snobbery, unspoken fears, and the quiet tragedy of dreams deferred. It’s these layers that elevate Last Tango beyond cozy drama; it’s a poignant exploration of how time erodes but doesn’t erase our deepest wounds.

Humor, though, is the secret sauce that keeps it all from tipping into melodrama. Wainwright’s script crackles with observational comedy drawn from real life — think bickering over caravan mishaps or the absurdity of septuagenarians discovering emojis. One standout episode features the group stranded at a rundown B&B, leading to a tipsy game of charades that devolves into revelations about lost loves and lingering resentments. Lancashire’s Gillian, ever the pragmatist, quips, “If life’s a tango, mine’s more like a conga line gone wrong,” drawing laughs even as tears threaten. It’s this balance — laughter as armor against sorrow — that makes the show so rewatchable. In a world quick to label stories as “feel-good” or “depressing,” Last Tango dances nimbly between the two, proving that true catharsis comes from embracing both.

The supporting cast deserves equal praise for fleshing out this tapestry of tangled lives. Derek Jacobi’s Alan is a revelation — far from the Shakespearean gravitas he’s known for, he brings a gentle, twinkly-eyed warmth to a man rediscovering joy late in life. Anne Reid matches him beat for beat as Celia, her character’s blend of vanity and vulnerability making her endlessly endearing. Then there’s the younger generation: Dean Andrews as Gillian’s steadfast friend Robbie, and Nicola Millbank as the precocious Cherry, who injects youthful energy into the proceedings. Even minor characters, like the meddling aunties at family gatherings, feel fully realized, their gossip sessions serving as both comic relief and narrative propulsion.

Over four seasons (with a fifth in the works as of late 2025), the series evolves from a simple reunion tale into a sprawling chronicle of reinvention. We witness Caroline tentatively exploring new love — a subplot that unfolds with aching tenderness — while Gillian confronts the ghosts of her past in ways that test her unshakeable spirit. Themes of aging, sexuality, class, and forgiveness weave through each episode, handled with the kind of nuance that invites endless discussion. Is it a show about love in later life, or a meditation on the families we choose? Yes — and so much more. Fans rave about its representation: Caroline’s same-sex relationship is portrayed not as a plot twist but as a natural evolution, handled with the same matter-of-fact grace Wainwright affords all her characters.

Why, then, did Last Tango in Halifax languish in obscurity for so long? Airing amid the BBC’s glut of period pieces and reality TV, it struggled for international traction initially. American audiences, in particular, discovered it later via PBS, but even then, it was overshadowed by flashier imports like Downton Abbey. Fast-forward to today, and the tide has turned. Post-pandemic, viewers are flocking to stories of resilience and reconnection — themes that hit harder in an age of isolation. Social media amplifies the buzz: TikTok edits of Walker’s tearful monologues rack up millions of views, while Lancashire’s line deliveries become meme fodder. “It’s the anti-binge-watch,” one viewer tweeted. “You savor it, like a good Yorkshire pudding.”

For newcomers, diving in feels like uncovering a family secret — intimate, imperfect, and utterly alive. Nicola Walker herself has spoken (in rare interviews) about how the role of Caroline allowed her to tap into a “quiet fury” she carries from her own life, a sentiment echoed in the character’s arc. Lancashire, meanwhile, has called Gillian “the sister I never had,” crediting the show with deepening her appreciation for ensemble work. Together, they remind us that great acting isn’t about grand gestures but the subtle tremors of truth.

In the end, Last Tango in Halifax isn’t just a rediscovered gem; it’s a testament to the enduring power of stories that honor the ordinary extraordinary. As Alan and Celia navigate their belated romance — complete with caravan holidays and cheeky innuendos — they teach us that it’s never too late to rewrite your ending. With heartbreak that stings, humor that heals, and hope that lingers, this series has quietly claimed its place among TV’s quiet masterpieces. If you haven’t watched yet, pause your next thriller marathon. Brew a cuppa, settle in, and let these characters waltz into your heart. You won’t believe you slept on it — but you’ll be so glad you woke up.