A three-part television thriller from ITV which fails to satisfy on so many levels. There are no appealing characters with whom to identify. Heck, there are no plausible characters for that matter. Cliché and exaggeration abound. The props department has bulk-ordered Brylcreem and cigarettes for everyone in the 1960’s scenes. They have even given Phil Whitchurch a pair of crutches to hobble around on (What, no parrot?) as his character conflicts with the subordinate detective at the centre of the murder investigation.
Juliet Stevenson’s present-day character is making a documentary about the case. She too has an unsympathetic manager (of course) and is a harrassed single mum with a truculent teenage daughter. Her boss is particularly mis-cast, looking like a suave boardroom type or head of a glamorous secret government spying operation. But top marks for cool suaveness have to go to Greg Wise playing the toff suspect who punctuates withering retorts to police questions with dramatic cigarette-lighting.
The camera work is clumsy in parts. Backlit wisps of cigarette smoke serves to create atmosphere wherever possible. Outside shots where one character walks towards another one closer to the camera are focussed on the wrong actor. Scenes in cars are filmed so it’s obvious they are using a low-loader, or the tax disc on the windscreen is just a little obtrusive.
These artifacts wouldn’t matter if the whole thing hung together and made a compelling drama. Sadly, it doesn’t and the whole thing is an expensively-produced waste of time.
