Remember
Me: Sunday, BBC One
Paul
Whitelaw
Ideal viewing
for these Godless winter evenings, Remember Me is a highly
promising three-part ghost story made all the more effective by the
casting of 'cuddly national treasure' Michael Palin in a central role. Given his
involvement, the timeslot and channel, its ghoulish intensity could
almost be described as subversive.
An underrated
and underused dramatic actor, he's wonderful as Tom, an enigmatic,
twinkly pensioner who's endured solitary exile in a gloomy terraced
house for decades. Tom is what would emerge if Alan Bennett's
typewriter ever became haunted.
Desperate to
escape his mysterious curse, he eventually fled to an elderly care
home, the presence of which makes Remember Me feel like an
even more horrifying version of Ricky Gervais' Derek. The lead
care-worker is even named Hannah, which I insist is no coincidence
(it probably is).
A teenager
living in a house where you can practically smell the damp – every
character seems trapped in their own dark, cluttered space – Hannah
became embroiled in Tom's mystery following the shocking death of his
social worker, who was hurled from his window by powerful forces
unknown.
Also on the
case is a sympathetic detective (the quietly impressive Mark Addy),
who's the sort of sad-sack cop who spends his evenings alone supping
melancholy pints in the local Dog and Gizzard.
Indebted to
classic British ghost stories such as M.R. James' Whistle and I'll
Come to You, My Lad, this atmospheric spook-show is a
tightly woven knot of unease. Writer Gwyneth Hughes understands that
horror tends to be more effective when rooted in a mundane, everyday
environment. While picturesque Yorkshire towns have been the setting
for countless Sunday night dramas over the years, here the effect is
anything but cosy. What with this and Happy Valley, I'd be
surprised if anyone ever visits there again.
Director Ashley
Pearce masterfully exploits the underlying terror of Yorkshire's
stunning rural landscape, where the drizzle pours incessantly from
vast, oppressive, spectral clouds. It's an immensely confident
production full of darkly beautiful imagery. That strange spectre of
a veiled, bedraggled woman rising from a desolate beach will linger
in the memory for quite some time.
Kudos too to
the sound department, who really earn their keep with a wonderfully
chilling soundtrack of bumps, groans, scuttles and drips. While jump
scares, i.e. sudden loud noises, are often used as a cheap device in
horror, here they worked in tandem with a carefully constructed
atmosphere of compelling dread.
The
claustrophobic scenes set in Tom's abandoned home were highly
effective. A particularly nice touch was the sparing use of
subliminal movement in his collection of antique photographs, the
subtlety of which was blown asunder by the orgiastic, heart-stopping
climax which managed to encompass every haunted house cliché –
creepy attics, rocking chairs, slamming doors etc. - without slipping
into outright parody.
Granted, even
these scenes had their flaws. Hannah's visit to Tom's sepulchral
abode was undermined by some textbook moments of dumb horror illogic.
While characters in supernatural yarns obviously don't know the
rules, some of her actions were downright daft. Who, while creeping
around at night in a creaky house crammed with spooky old artefacts,
would then decide to sit at a piano and play from some sheet music?
Even Bobby Crush would resist that temptation.
Naturally, her
impromptu performance of Scarborough Fair invited further
ghostly creaks from upstairs. So thank God she had her torch to
investigate them with. But it was too late. Her innocent recital of
the haunting folk standard dragged her further into Tom's nightmare
world.
“You brought
the song away in your heart,” he railed, “now you can never take
it back!” Someone should warn Simon & Garfunkel.
Fleeting
moments of silliness aside - moments which, in any case, are arguably
part and parcel of the genre - Remember Me is clearly the most
outstanding supernatural drama to grace our screens in years.
It's a
supremely unsettling experience, and I for one applaud the BBC for
their bold commitment to scaring the bejesus out of unsuspecting
licence payers.
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