This article was originally published in The Dundee Courier on 16th April 2016.
Scott & Bailey: Wednesday, STV
BBC: The Secret Files:
Thursday, BBC Four
Thanks
to the magnificent Happy Valley,
writer/director Sally Wainwright is now rightfully recognised as one of
Britain’s finest TV dramatists. As if to emphasise that point – and she’s
earned the right – she returned last week with another series of her previous
creation, Scott & Bailey,
starring Lesley Sharp and Suranne as a pair of humane coppers.
Granted,
she didn’t actually write this new mini-series – that honour went to Lee
Warburton – but Scott & Bailey is
distinctively hers; a female-fronted, northern cop show mired in plausible
reality and unforced character detail.
From
a distance it resembles a bog-standard police procedural – plods investigating
nasty cases in dour weather – but on closer inspection it reveals itself as one
of the genre’s leading lights.
Unlike
most TV cops, the protagonists aren’t dysfunctional or quirky. They’re likeable,
compassionate professionals with a dry sense of humour (some of Scott’s quips
draw scripted attention to themselves, but I’ll magnanimously let that pass)
and a warm, understated chemistry.
It
also focuses on the interesting nuts and bolts of dogged police work, an aspect
informed by the advisory involvement of former Detective Inspector Diane
Taylor.
Bubbling
under the surface of this latest case, in which they struggled to apprehend a
serial killer who posts footage of his crimes on the darkest corners of the
internet, was the story of two close friends who haven’t seen each other for a
year. As always, the everyday trials of their private lives were as important
as the case itself. This time we discovered that Bailey is pregnant. Meanwhile,
Scott’s teenage daughter became embroiled in an underage sex investigation
because of illicit selfies sent by her boyfriend.
It
managed to explore these real-life issues without feeling too contrived or
overcooked, so it’s a shame that the otherwise semi-naturalistic tone is
completely at odds with an overbearing, needlessly dramatic incidental score.
It’s not a documentary, it needs to meet the demands of an episodic hour of
dynamic crime drama, but there’s no need to slather it in the soundtrack from a
Yakuza-based B-movie.
That
frustrating misgiving aside, this was a solid return from one of TV’s very best
cop shows. Also, hats off to Warbuton for including jokey allusions to the
original Pink Panther films and Hanna-Barbera’s animated Godzilla series from
the 1970s. Yes, really.
Seeing
as it must cost peanuts to produce, it’s hardly surprising that BBC Four opted
to roll out a sequel to last year’s eye-opening traipse through the BBC’s vast
archive of internal letters and memos between agents, executives and artists.
Once
again presented by Penelope Keith, who I like to imagine living down there
surrounded by cabinets and memorabilia, BBC:
The Secret Files included some fascinating correspondence between the BBC’s
notoriously dour founding father, Lord Reith, and his rival, Winston Churchill,
plus an amused look at how the fusty old BBC dealt with the rise of rock and
roll. This segment was worth it for the unique pleasure of hearing Keith say
“1960s counterculture” in her cut-glass tones.
It
also revealed that Morecambe & Wise’s producer initially felt that Eric
would be better off without Ern, and that the redoubtable Barbara Wodehouse
basically talked her way into a BBC contract following years of no-nonsense
correspondence.
But
my favourite moment was the revelation that a jazz song titled Where Is My Sunday Potato was once deemed
“politically unsuitable” and banned. One can only wonder about its incendiary
contents.
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