I became a TV critic in 1998, at heart if not in practice. The occasion was the world premiere of Merlin, a two-part NBC miniseries starring Sam Neill and Isabella Rossellini. The catalyst was a thrown axe that defied the laws of physics, zipping forward as if on legs rather than tipping end over end. I was raised on Full House and professional wrestling and had basically no standards at all, but even I understood that there was no point in watching further. Some mistakes are so damning, so indicative of incompetence, that they demolish an entire project.

Viewers of Outlander: Blood of My Blood will search in vain for such an error. On Starz’s latest offering, every wall is realistically grimed, and every plaid is laid just so. In fact, the program is so handsomely made that its genre excesses nearly vanish, hiding behind peat fires or in the folds of a kilt. Closer inspection reveals a plot that is often ridiculous, but what is a plot to rocks and mountains? The vistas, the accents, and, oh!, the extraordinary costumes. It is very good to be back in Scotland.