Kelsey Pargeter
ITV’s latest drama Code of Silence (2025) had all the ingredients to be something extraordinary. Rose Ayling-Ellis stars as Alison Wood, a deaf canteen worker unexpectedly drawn into a high-stakes police investigation by DS Ashleigh Francis (Charlotte Ritchie) because of her lip-reading skills.
With inclusive casting and a powerful central performance, this show had real potential to break boundaries for deaf representation on British television. But can a show with a strong message survive on good intentions alone?
A New Premise
The show sets itself apart with a genuinely refreshing concept: a deaf woman at the centre of a crime thriller. It’s a welcome shift in a genre often dominated by recycled character archetypes and plot lines. The series positions Alison not as a liability but as an asset – turning what some might view as a “disadvantage” into a superpower.
“In a system that often overlooks people like her, Alison knows how to use silence as strategy, not surrender.”
The unique production cleverly uses muffled audio, blurred visuals and subtitles, which gives viewers a taste of what it’s like to navigate the world through Alison’s perspective. It’s immersive, empathetic and one of the show’s best creative choices.
But where the production soars, the writing stumbles. Representation matters, but Code of Silence seemingly smooths over real-world obstacles making the plot far to idyllic and, frankly, implausible.
Plausibility
A canteen worker plucked from washing dishes to assist on a sensitive police investigation with no training, clearance or procedural oversight is a sweet idea, but completely unrealistic.
“When you’re breaking new ground with representation, grounding your story in reality becomes even more important. Otherwise, it risks turning empowerment into fantasy.”
The workplace that Alison steps into represents how easy it should be to integrate into a new team, and how her skills should be celebrated by the workplace, but she was let down by not having adequate training – thus putting herself and others in immense danger.
Performance
Rose Ayling-Ellis carries the show with a grounded, emotive performance that feels lived-in and honest. Alison is smart, empathetic and sharp – a joy to watch. But the characters around her are never truly brought to life.
The love triangle subplot has potential, especially her chemistry with Liam (Kieron Moore) – the beguiling bad boy – but even that feels rushed. The relationship works because it’s not entirely built around her disability, but around mutual understanding. The case makes her feel heard and he makes her feel seen, but like much of the show, it’s handled with broad strokes rather than emotional depth.
Realism
Then there’s the shooting – a completely unnecessary scene that seemed designed solely to shock. The character who is injured barely had time to become emotionally relevant, making the twist fall flat.
The show wants high drama, but it doesn’t earn it. Instead, it relies on soap-style twists and convenient resolutions to problems that deserved more nuance.
When you’re breaking new ground with representation, grounding your story in reality becomes even more important. Otherwise, it risks turning empowerment into fantasy.
The Finale
By the final episode, Code of Silence has fully committed to wish-fulfillment. Liam goes to court, accepts his punishment, learns sign language and he and Alison reconcile. Meanwhile, the antagonistic boss who undermined her the entire time suddenly contradicts himself, handing her a leaflet for a lip-reading forensics course and a financial settlement expressing how pleased he is with her. It’s too neat, and it undermines what could have been a really powerful message.
The show is a bold and important step for deaf representation on screen – and for that alone, it deserves attention. This well-meaning show is still worth a watch.
“The series positions Alison not as a liability but as an asset – turning what some might view as a “disadvantage” into a superpower. “
For all its flaws, Code of Silence offers a lot to reflect on, especially in how Alison controls when and how she’s heard. Her choice to withhold information at key moments isn’t just plot, it’s power. By deciding when to speak and when to stay silent, she flips the script on the world around her. In a system that often overlooks people like her, Alison knows how to use silence as strategy, not surrender. She doesn’t just live within the ‘code of silence’ – she owns it.
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Featured image courtesy of renateko on Pixabay. No changes were made to this image. Image license found here.
