The Pitt does the thing almost no medical show dares: it refuses to let you leave the building. One episode, one hour of a single ER shift, and by the third instalment you are checking your own pulse between scenes.

What makes it work is not the trauma of the week — it is the accumulation. Cases stack, tempers fray, coffee goes cold, and the staff keep absorbing hit after hit because there is no one else to do it. The camera stays low and close, the lighting stays ugly and fluorescent, and the show never once tells you how to feel about what just happened on table four.

Noah Wyle is extraordinary here, playing a man held together by routine and stubbornness, but the ensemble is the real draw. The residents are messy and specific, the nurses actually run the place, and everyone is allowed to be competent and awful in the same breath. It is the rare workplace drama where the work itself is the drama.

The moment their shift finally ends and the exhaustion hits you too — that is television doing its job. Clear your night.