Rocket Man

There’s something quietly refreshing about Rocket Man, written by Alison Hume and opening, quite fittingly, with Rocket Man by Elton John. It sets the tone for a series that feels a bit like a throwback—in the best possible way. No reliance on shock tactics here, just a genuinely warm, character-driven story that trusts its audience to care.

At the centre is George Stevenson, played with real heart by Robson Green, a widower muddling through life as a single dad to his young son Tom (John Rhys-Halliwell) and teenage daughter Angela (Lucy Evans). Once an electrical engineer, he’s now stuck working in a confectionery factory after the closure of the local Carriage Works, which has clearly taken the wind out of the whole community. His dream—to send his late wife’s ashes into space—is both wonderfully romantic and faintly bonkers, and it becomes the thread that pulls everyone together.

The fictional Welsh town of Tonglas (filmed along the sweeping coastline of Druridge Bay, Northumberland) feels lived-in and authentic, full of people who’ve been knocked about a bit by life. George’s orbit includes the well-meaning but slightly hapless Shiner (Kai Owen), the unexpectedly supportive millionaire Eric (David Yelland), and his closest friend Barney (Charles Dale), whose struggles with his wife Diane (Alison Newman) over their inability to have children bring some of the more poignant moments.

What’s striking is how the rocket itself almost becomes secondary. It’s really about people—how they cope, how they connect, and how they rediscover a bit of pride and purpose when everything’s felt stagnant for too long. The humour lands nicely, often through Angela’s teenage growing pains or Tom’s single-minded obsession with the project (to the increasing concern of his teacher), but it never undercuts the more emotional beats. Those quieter moments—especially around grief and dashed hopes—are handled with a light touch that stops things from tipping into melodrama.

There’s a gentle rhythm to the series, as each episode reveals more about the town and its residents, their hidden talents and their shared resilience. The idea that something as unlikely as building a rocket could reignite a community spirit might sound a bit fanciful, but the show sells it through sheer sincerity. Even the practical hurdles—like sourcing liquid oxygen in South Wales or dealing with inevitable misfires—add to the charm rather than strain credibility.

Performances across the board are strong, with Green striking just the right balance between determination and vulnerability. The supporting cast bring colour and depth, and the dialogue manages to be both witty and grounded. You can see the care in the production too; it looks polished without feeling flashy.

In the end, Rocket Man is funny, touching and a little bit sentimental, but it earns that sentiment. It’s a story about love and loss, about ordinary people facing uncertain futures, and about the stubborn, hopeful idea that even the most far-fetched dreams might just bring people closer together.