It’s murder in the bleak midwinter
FOUR successful detective mysteries returned to television last week to light up the January gloom – Midsomer Murders, Grantchester, Death In Paradise and Father Brown.as is my duty, I watched all four and here’s my reckoning: vicars and priests make very lucky detectives, Death In Paradise is aimed at children with enquiring minds and Kelly Brook, guesting in Midsomer Murders, plays a corpse with effortless flair.
We appear to love this type of television, especially in January. Is it all about restoring the order of our lives, or is it about provoking brain cells after Christmas in the hope that they’re still functioning? Least challenging to mine was Father Brown (BBC One, Monday). Half way through an episode about a compelling choir competition and a battered old bus which should have failed its MOT, I needed an ECG to find signs of life. But at 2.30pm, perhaps that’s the idea after all.
It wasn’t entirely devoid of action.the bus was sabotaged, the soloist slipped over in the loo, a lady of the manor misplaced a stiletto and the entire troupe rode in a police van at a fast speed. It was a 1950s Planes,trains And Automobiles. Incidentally, the van didn’t need to “blue light” as is the fashion.the roads were empty as all other vintage vehicles had been requisitioned by Granchester, the
Church of England’s answer to the Catholic Father Brown with a new star vicar in Tom Brittney.
Prime-time Grantchester (ITV, Friday) is far more risqué than the cassocked Father Brown. In the opening episode of the fifth series, curate Leonard – one of only two gays in the village (of which we’re aware) – was given a “stiff handshake” by his friend after they returned from exotic Morocco. Sorry, Bognor.
They’ll find out, Leonard, and then what will happen? Afternoon tea might be cancelled. Again, it’s 1950-something in England, just after we were told by politicians we’d never had it so good. It does look like fun.
In the story, a lady student – what were they doing at college then? – was hit over the head with a champagne bottle and died. Sounds like a good night at your local.as it was the poor dear found herself too close to a picturesque lake and was dragged in rather unceremoniously.
Geordie (Robson Green) is the voice of Grantchester everyman chuntering on
STEPHENSON’S ROCKET
WHAT’S to be done with “entertainment” shows on
Saturday nights? Three “new” shows, and two misses – The Voice (ITV) and The Greatest Dancer (BBC1). My favourite part of The Voice is the coaches’ singalong which kicks off each series. My interest then plummets into an abyss as I question why anybody watches a show which has singularly failed to produce a “voice” that has become a star. We have so many talent shows which continue to fail in their brief. In a real business, they’d be sacked. Where’s The Greatest Dancer?
Precisely. about the future of mankind. “What is the world coming to?” he said, shaking his head. The episode ended on a “cliffhanger” with the arrival of his mother-in-law. We’re braced for more excitement.
Death In Paradise (BBC One, Thursday) was a rum do about a distillery. It was utterly devoid of tension. More people are on the edge of their seats during Antiques Roadshow. Presiding detective Ardal O’hanlon is making way for Ralf Little from The Royle Family. Jim Royle would have been a better bet, shouting from his armchair at the murdering residents of Saint Marie. And finally dear Midsomer Murders (ITV, Monday) which proved to be the daddy of them all. Model,tv presenter and sometime actress Kelly Brook, who has considerable front, may well have been the ultimate cameo in this episode, barely uttering a syllable on her way to picking up a sizeable fee. Her bride was “squeezed to death”, which must have been concerning for anybody standing nearby. Keep up the great work, Midsomer.
The Masked Singer (ITV, Sunday) was utterly daft as a “celebrity” was dressed in a discarded outfit from the Notting Hill Carnival. Former home secretary Alan Johnson agreed to sing Walk Like An Egyptian.was this a cry for help, or a thinly veiled pitch at the Labour leadership?the latter I hope.we could do with a laugh.
The audience appeared to have the measure of the show, shouting “Take if off!”what an intelligent bunch.
Finally, to our old friend Call The Midwife (BBC One, Sunday), which is back for another series.we’ve lost count of how many, but no one cares.the episode opened withwinston Churchill dying another fictional death and for the very annoying Doctor Patrick Turner to give us an unrequested history lesson. Feel free to throw anything at the television.
The midwives were shockingly naughty, posing for racy photographs in their nylons or similar. Caretaker Fred Buckle (Cliff Parisi) could barely contain himself between bouts of grief for his first wife.
We were kept on our toes with an outbreak of diphtheria which looked very nasty.they were falling like a proverbial, and I held up hope for the good doctor, who keeps a promising nightclub suntan. It all focused on the “baby in the bin”, the result of an affair between a priest and his housekeeper.the cad was sternly dealt with by Mother Very Superior Miriam Margoyles who put him on the naughty step. All’s well that ends well.