Was there ever a sadder sight than one Max Branning holding a wine glass aloft to an empty room of angrily-departed family? I'm starting to feel like Max is maybe two steps away from listening to Boulevard of Broken Dreams by Green Day in a non-ironic way, propping up a lonely bar in Dalston, drinking an Old Fashioned and making eyes at the aging hooker across the room, and finally disappearing one dark night with nobody noticing or caring.
What can we do with a problem like Max Branning?
What can we do with a problem like Max Branning?






