This article was originally published in The Dundee Courier on 31 December 2016.
DOCTOR WHO: Christmas Day, BBC One
THE WITNESS FOR THE
PROSECUTION:
Boxing Day/Tuesday, BBC One
TO WALK INVISIBLE: Thursday, BBC One
Superheroes
are such a ubiquitous cultural fixture these days, I wouldn’t have blamed you for
slumping face down in your leftovers when another one turned up in the DOCTOR WHO Christmas special.
Is
nothing safe from their super-strength stranglehold?
Apparently
not, and for once I’m glad. The Doctor’s encounter with a New York caped
crusader was actually rather charming.
An
affectionate tribute to Christopher Reeve’s Superman
films, it swapped the tiresomely dark seriousness of so many modern superhero
sagas for a nostalgic dip into a more innocent, optimistic age of comic book
action and romance.
Steven
Moffat is known - some would say notorious - for his intricate storytelling puzzles,
but this was a refreshingly straightforward tale, told with a lightness of
touch, in which a geeky young man eventually got his dream girl by abandoning
his masked alter ego to reveal – oh yes - the human hero within.
Corny
stuff, but winningly delivered by Moffat with his customary wit and skill. Post-modern
yet sincere.
It
sagged whenever the perfunctory alien invasion plot took over from the more
engaging central storyline, but on the whole it achieved its primary goal – to
provide 60 minutes of smart, satisfying, handsome entertainment for Doctor Who apostles and floating viewers
alike.
Oh,
and Matt Lucas, in the space of just two episodes, has proven himself a more
likeable foil for Capaldi than Clara ever was.
Whereas
many Agatha Christie adaptations are produced in quaintly ornamental style, the
team behind Christmas 2015’s justly-acclaimed And Then There Were None and this year’s THE WITNESS FOR THE PROSECUTION revel in the depths of her darkest
yarns.
These
beautifully crafted productions treat Christie seriously, yet never feel
strictly deferential. Like all good adaptations, they honour the source
material while exploring the subtext (in this case: homosexuality, post-war
grief, xenophobia and the abandonment of our brave boys, although not
necessarily in that order).
Set
in early-1920s London, this particular mystery is forbiddingly urban. Mired in
seediness, violence and a grimy nicotine fug – it’s a real pea souper, even
indoors – it boast a visual ambition and thematic richness beyond most of its
rivals.
Little
man du jour Toby Jones starred as a threadbare solicitor who believed, largely
for sentimental personal reasons, in the innocence of his client, a young man
accused of murdering his wealthy lover.
All
the principal characters, including Andrea Riseborough’s Austrian showgirl and
Monica Dolan’s vindictively jealous housekeeper, were lost in a cloud of lonely
ambiguity.
Despite
these solemn trappings, it zipped along in suitably compelling murder mystery
style. Exemplary stuff.
Alas,
the same can’t be said for TO WALK
INVISIBLE, a curiously sluggish drama about the struggles and tragedy of
the Bronte sisters from the otherwise brilliant Sally Wainwright of Happy Valley renown.
So
what went wrong? A writer/director of Wainwright’s calibre combined with such
potentially fascinating material should’ve sparked one of the festive season’s
TV highlights, but she somehow failed to get under the skin of this remarkable
family.
For
120 interminable minutes, she never made me care about these people, whereas I
was utterly invested in her Happy Valley
characters. Like the Brontes, her talent lies in examining reality through
fiction.
Wainwright
knows there’s a timeless story to be told here, about sexism, addiction,
sibling loyalty, the pressures of familial expectations and the catharsis of
creative expression, but for once her usually reliable instincts were thwarted
by dawdling over-indulgence and a lack of focus.
Even
the wuthering Yorkshire scenery looked disappointed.
