Martin Edwards's Blog, page 123
June 13, 2018
They Shoot Horses, Don't They? - 1969 film review
Horace McCoy's excellent Thirties novel, They Shoot Horses, Don't They? was turned into an equally good film in 1969 by Sydney Pollack. The book is short, and the film is long (perhaps too long), but in different ways they present a chilling story about a dance marathon of the kind that was popular in Depression era America.
We might be tempted to feel rather superior about the behaviour of the contestants, organisers, and audiences of these dreadful events, when people half-killed themselves dancing for hour after hour in the hope of winning cash prizes - until we realise that in many ways the marathons were simply forerunners of the modern reality TV show. They appeal to much the same instincts.
The excellent cast includes the likes of Bruce Dern, in an early role, Red Buttons, and Michael Sarrazin, but there are three stand-outs. Two are contestants - Jane Fonda and Susannah York - both of whom give superb performances. York was nominated for an Oscar, and must have been dismayed not to have won. Like Fonda, she was such a beautiful woman that perhaps her very considerable acting talents tended to be under-estimated. One person who did win an Oscar was Gig Young, who plays the deeply unpleasant M.C. Again, his is an outstanding performance. But Young's story was a very sad one: he was an alcoholic who, six years after this film was made, murdered his fifth and latest wife and then killed himself.
I first saw this film a long time ago. If anything, I liked it even more the second time around. It's a very powerful story, and despite the movie's length, I think it shows Pollack's great ability as a film director. And it's a reminder of what a compelling and interesting writer McCoy was. Few books give quite such a memorable insight into life during the Depression, and the same can be said of this very watchable film.
We might be tempted to feel rather superior about the behaviour of the contestants, organisers, and audiences of these dreadful events, when people half-killed themselves dancing for hour after hour in the hope of winning cash prizes - until we realise that in many ways the marathons were simply forerunners of the modern reality TV show. They appeal to much the same instincts.
The excellent cast includes the likes of Bruce Dern, in an early role, Red Buttons, and Michael Sarrazin, but there are three stand-outs. Two are contestants - Jane Fonda and Susannah York - both of whom give superb performances. York was nominated for an Oscar, and must have been dismayed not to have won. Like Fonda, she was such a beautiful woman that perhaps her very considerable acting talents tended to be under-estimated. One person who did win an Oscar was Gig Young, who plays the deeply unpleasant M.C. Again, his is an outstanding performance. But Young's story was a very sad one: he was an alcoholic who, six years after this film was made, murdered his fifth and latest wife and then killed himself.
I first saw this film a long time ago. If anything, I liked it even more the second time around. It's a very powerful story, and despite the movie's length, I think it shows Pollack's great ability as a film director. And it's a reminder of what a compelling and interesting writer McCoy was. Few books give quite such a memorable insight into life during the Depression, and the same can be said of this very watchable film.
The Challenge aka It Takes a Thief - 1960 film review
The Challenge is a British film, roughly in the film noir tradition, written and directed by the prolific John Gilling. The movie dates from 1960 and was known in the US as It Takes a Thief. Neither of the titles is particularly inspiring, and given that the lead role was allotted to Jayne Mansfield rather than Anthony Quayle, I sat down to watch it without very high hopes. I soon realised that I was actually watching a film which is surprisingly gripping, and at times rather dark and disturbing.
Quayle plays Jim Maxton, an essentially decent if rather dim widower with a young son. He is besotted with a glamorous blonde woman called Billy (Mansfield), and dreams they'll have a life together on a farm. But Billy is mixed up with a bunch of criminals, and persuades Jim to take part in a violent robbery. Things go awry, and just after Jim has hidden the loot in a remote rural location, he is picked up by the police following a tip-off. He is sent to prison, but keeps his mouth shut about his fellow villains and about where he's hidden the cash.
When he emerges from jail, the gang want their share of the money. The police are also keeping a close eye on things, as they are determined to arrest the criminals who evaded detection. Jim goes to live with his mother (Barbara Mullen) and six year old son, but things take a nasty turn when Buddy is kidnapped, and one of the gang members, a psychopath called Bud (Peter Reynolds) contemplates killing the boy.
Quayle, a fine actor, makes us root for Jim, despite his stupidity, but for me the revelation was Jayne Mansfield. Her role is a tricky one to play, since Billy is torn between greed and a dislike of violence, and although Gilling wrote the action scenes very well, I don't think characterisation was his strength. Even so, I felt that she did a good job. Some reviews I've seen disagree, perhaps because Mansfield is widely regarded as a stereotypical "blonde bombshell", whose success owed much to assets other than her acting. On looking up her biography, however, a different picture emerges. It's apparent that she was a highly intelligent woman, gifted musically and quite a capable actress, whose looks and lifestyle probably did her no favours in the long run: she died in a car crash at the age of 34, after three marriages, countless affairs, and five children. Her performance as Billy suggests that she had genuine and significant acting talent, and it's sad that she found few roles that made the most of it
Quayle plays Jim Maxton, an essentially decent if rather dim widower with a young son. He is besotted with a glamorous blonde woman called Billy (Mansfield), and dreams they'll have a life together on a farm. But Billy is mixed up with a bunch of criminals, and persuades Jim to take part in a violent robbery. Things go awry, and just after Jim has hidden the loot in a remote rural location, he is picked up by the police following a tip-off. He is sent to prison, but keeps his mouth shut about his fellow villains and about where he's hidden the cash.
When he emerges from jail, the gang want their share of the money. The police are also keeping a close eye on things, as they are determined to arrest the criminals who evaded detection. Jim goes to live with his mother (Barbara Mullen) and six year old son, but things take a nasty turn when Buddy is kidnapped, and one of the gang members, a psychopath called Bud (Peter Reynolds) contemplates killing the boy.
Quayle, a fine actor, makes us root for Jim, despite his stupidity, but for me the revelation was Jayne Mansfield. Her role is a tricky one to play, since Billy is torn between greed and a dislike of violence, and although Gilling wrote the action scenes very well, I don't think characterisation was his strength. Even so, I felt that she did a good job. Some reviews I've seen disagree, perhaps because Mansfield is widely regarded as a stereotypical "blonde bombshell", whose success owed much to assets other than her acting. On looking up her biography, however, a different picture emerges. It's apparent that she was a highly intelligent woman, gifted musically and quite a capable actress, whose looks and lifestyle probably did her no favours in the long run: she died in a car crash at the age of 34, after three marriages, countless affairs, and five children. Her performance as Billy suggests that she had genuine and significant acting talent, and it's sad that she found few roles that made the most of it
June 11, 2018
Alibis in the Archives 2018
I'm back from Alibis in the Archives at Gladstone's Library, the second week-end event celebrating the British Crime Writing Archives which are held there. As archivist of the CWA and of the Detection Club, I set up the BCW Archives, and as a result found myself organising Alibis, in conjunction with the Library's wonderful team, brilliantly led by Louisa Yates.
The week-end was, like last year, a sell-out. The plan is for Alibis to take place again next year, from 22-24 June, and I encourage you to make a note of those dates in your diary!
This year's programme kicked off on Friday evening with "Bannocks and Blood", a murder mystery written by Ann Cleeves which was good fun. Then on Saturday morning, Simon Brett got everyone in the right mood with his extremely witty Golden Age murder mystery - in verse. Andrew Taylor talked about three real life cases in which he has a personal interest and then interviewed me about collecting crime fiction. To illustrate some of my themes during the conversation, I brought along various books, correspondence, and ephemera from my own collection, and there was a chance for members of the audience to have a look at these before Sarah Ward talked about crime in Derbyshire.
After lunch, Ruth Dudley Edwards talked about subversive crime writing, and Mike Jecks about historical mysteries. Then there was a special treat - Professor James Grieve, the leading Scottish forensic pathologist, discussing some famous cases. The day's formal programme ended with a crime writers' panel - see the photo, taken from The Puzzle Doctor's blog about the weekend.
Yesterday began with Jessica Mann talking about female crime writing, and I discussed the BCW Archives with Peter Lovesey and Sheila Mitchell (widow of H.R.F. Keating) before Peter Lovesey closed the show with a very witty account of the calamitous crime writing of James Corbett. By the end of it all, I was just a little tired, but also exhilarated as a result of the enthusiasm of the delegates (and indeed my fellow speakers) which really did make all the work and the planning worthwhile.
June 8, 2018
Forgotten Book - The Man Who Loved Lions
A number of crime writers have, over the years, made effective use of the sinister qualities of some animals. Stories set in a zoo are, however, pretty rare, Freeman Wills Crofts' Antidote to Venom excepted. Mind you, some years ago, I planned out a short story with just such a background, after undertaking a behind-the-scenes tour of Chester Zoo; that story never got written, due to lack of time, and one of these days I may return to it. These musings are prompted by my latest foray into the works of that interesting crime writer Ethel Lina White, and her penultimate novel.
The book in question is The Man Who Loved Lions, and it was published in 1943, the year before White's death. In the US it was known as The Man Who Was Not There, which although not a terrible title isn't quite as evocative; I'm puzzled as to why it was felt the change was desirable. Anyway, the set-up of the story is tantalising and full of promise.
Ann Sherborn has recently returned to Britain after years abroad. Seven years earlier, at the age of sixteen, she was a member of a group of seven youngish people who dubbed themselves "The Sullied Souls". The leader of the group, Richard, proposed that seven years later, they should hold a reunion at "Ganges", the home of his uncle (who would, he expected, be dead by then). Richard was always an unpleasant character, but Ann was in love with another member of the group, Stephen, so she heads for Ganges in the hope that he will show up there too.
It turns out that Richard's uncle is still very much alive. And he has created his own private zoo at Ganges: he is the man who loves lions. Richard is as odious as ever, and while one or two other people present at Ganges are also unappealing - but Stephen, alas, is not there.
The presence of wild animals in the grounds contributes to several atmospheric scenes. Yet I found this book rather frustrating. The notion of the private zoo has huge potential, as did the reunion concept, but I didn't think that the storyline as a whole lived up to its initial promise. In particular, the bickering between some of the characters was rather tedious. All in all, after a good start, the novel fails to deliver. I have to rate it as a disappointment.
The book in question is The Man Who Loved Lions, and it was published in 1943, the year before White's death. In the US it was known as The Man Who Was Not There, which although not a terrible title isn't quite as evocative; I'm puzzled as to why it was felt the change was desirable. Anyway, the set-up of the story is tantalising and full of promise.
Ann Sherborn has recently returned to Britain after years abroad. Seven years earlier, at the age of sixteen, she was a member of a group of seven youngish people who dubbed themselves "The Sullied Souls". The leader of the group, Richard, proposed that seven years later, they should hold a reunion at "Ganges", the home of his uncle (who would, he expected, be dead by then). Richard was always an unpleasant character, but Ann was in love with another member of the group, Stephen, so she heads for Ganges in the hope that he will show up there too.
It turns out that Richard's uncle is still very much alive. And he has created his own private zoo at Ganges: he is the man who loves lions. Richard is as odious as ever, and while one or two other people present at Ganges are also unappealing - but Stephen, alas, is not there.
The presence of wild animals in the grounds contributes to several atmospheric scenes. Yet I found this book rather frustrating. The notion of the private zoo has huge potential, as did the reunion concept, but I didn't think that the storyline as a whole lived up to its initial promise. In particular, the bickering between some of the characters was rather tedious. All in all, after a good start, the novel fails to deliver. I have to rate it as a disappointment.
June 6, 2018
Nobody Runs Forever - 1968 film review
Nobody Runs Forever, also known as The High Commissioner, is based on a novel with the latter title, written by the Australian Jon Cleary. I've never read anything by Cleary, but when I was growing up, paperback editions of his novels were popular, and I bracketed him, rightly or wrongly, with the likes of Desmond Bagley, Alistair MacLean,and Geoffrey Jenkins.
The book introduced Scobie Malone, an Australian cop who became a long-running series character. In the film, he's played by Rod Taylor, who was probably at the height of his fame in the late 60s. Scobie is summoned to Sydney to go on a special mission to London - to bring back the Australian High Commissioner, who is suspected of having murdered his first wife. The order comes, incidentally, from Russell Napier, the veteran cop from the Scotland Yard TV series, whom I hadn't realised was indeed Australian.
In London, Scobie is persuaded by the High Commissioner - Christopher Plummer, at his most charismatic - that he needs a few days' grace before returning home, in order to conduct delicate (if rather vague) negotiations about world peace. Plummer's character proves to be a target for assassination, and Scobie finds himself confronted by a host of sinister and mysterious characters ranging from Dahlia Lavi, Burt Kwouk, Clive Revill, Lee Montague, and Derren Nesbitt.
Overall, this is a competent rather than memorable thriller. The script-writer, Wilfred Greatorex, was a familiar name on the credits of TV shows at the time, and the ingredients are good, but I have never been a huge fan of Rod Taylor, who was, let's face it, no Sean Connery. Personally I'd have liked the storyline to focus more on Plummer's character. I found him more complex and more interesting than Scobie.
The book introduced Scobie Malone, an Australian cop who became a long-running series character. In the film, he's played by Rod Taylor, who was probably at the height of his fame in the late 60s. Scobie is summoned to Sydney to go on a special mission to London - to bring back the Australian High Commissioner, who is suspected of having murdered his first wife. The order comes, incidentally, from Russell Napier, the veteran cop from the Scotland Yard TV series, whom I hadn't realised was indeed Australian.
In London, Scobie is persuaded by the High Commissioner - Christopher Plummer, at his most charismatic - that he needs a few days' grace before returning home, in order to conduct delicate (if rather vague) negotiations about world peace. Plummer's character proves to be a target for assassination, and Scobie finds himself confronted by a host of sinister and mysterious characters ranging from Dahlia Lavi, Burt Kwouk, Clive Revill, Lee Montague, and Derren Nesbitt.
Overall, this is a competent rather than memorable thriller. The script-writer, Wilfred Greatorex, was a familiar name on the credits of TV shows at the time, and the ingredients are good, but I have never been a huge fan of Rod Taylor, who was, let's face it, no Sean Connery. Personally I'd have liked the storyline to focus more on Plummer's character. I found him more complex and more interesting than Scobie.
June 4, 2018
Historical Noir by Barry Forshaw
Barry Forshaw's latest book, Historical Noir, published by Pocket Essentials, is a pleasingly concise, chronological survey of historical crime fiction which ranges from Lindsey Davis, chronicler of Ancient Rome, to authors whose chosen time period is rather more recent, such as James Runcie, Laura Lippman, and William Shaw. I should declare that there's an entry about myself, so I won't pretend to be wholly unbiased, but that said, I can assure you that I'd have enjoyed, and would have learned from, this book even if my work been completely overlooked. If you like history blended with mystery, you'll find here innumerable tips about what to read next, as well as pithy discussion of a sub-genre that is much more diverse than is often acknowledged.
One of the great merits of Barry Forshaw's writing is its readability; another is his lively enthusiasm for the genre. If you want lengthy academic disquisitions about crime writing, there are plenty of those around nowadays (though most will set you back a lot of money), but the "noir" series of genre studies that Barry has produced in recent years is packed with information and insight at a bargain price.
Some of those insights stem from Barry's past experience as a judge of the CWA Historical Dagger; others come from the authors themselves. There are many interviews with crime writers, again including myself, so the book contains a valuable range of viewpoints on this fascinating sub-genre. A word about the title, by the way: the introduction explains that "noir" is used here simply as a synonym for crime; it is, in effect, a brand for the series, and does not imply that the books discussed are invariably dark and disturbing - far from it.
It's customary, when reviewing a book such as this, to pick up on alleged omissions, and to challenge some of the author's judgements. Customary, and sometimes an excuse for the reviewer to show how well-read he or she is. On this occasion, I won't be tempted down that path. I'll simply say that I appreciate Barry's observation that Dancing for the Hangman is "a book to make readers wish that the versatile Edwards might tackle the historical crime genre more often." I'm pleased to say that those readers won't have much longer to wait for my next foray into the past - more news about this soon!
June 1, 2018
Forgotten Book - The Affair at Little Wokeham
Rather more than a decade ago, I was sent a catalogue of books by a collector who was seeking to dispose of some of his treasures. A good many rare titles by Freeman Wills Crofts were available, some of them signed; although at that time I had very mixed feelings about Crofts' work, I was tempted and I fell. Taking a deep breath, I splashed out on five books. If I wondered whether I'd regret it, these days my only regret was that I didn't snap up some of the other titles that were on sale. With rare books, one has to be opportunistic, since the chances are that one will never get a second chance.
Today, I appreciate Crofts much more than I did, even though there's no denying his limitations as a writer. What's more, because he wrote a good deal, sometimes his standards slipped. But The Affair at Little Wokeham, first published in 1943, is a pleasing inverted mystery, set in the pre-war era. It's an inverted mystery, but rather different from Crofts' three previous ventures into this sub-genre. Each chapter is told from the viewpoint of one of five main characters - four of them are embroiled in the case, the fifth is Inspector Joseph French. It's a device that works well.
At the time this book was written, Crofts had long been resident in Guildford, and Little Wokeham is a village in the area he was familiar with. We are first introduced to Anthony Mallaby, a likeable if naive doctor who settles there, and falls in love with a young woman called Christina Winnington. She is the niece of one of those unappealing elderly rich folk who so regularly crop up as victims in murder mysteries. And soon we watch Guy Plant plan the murder of old Clarence Winnington.
As so often with Crofts, the story turns upon a cleverly constructed alibi. Guy's cunning plan does, however, entail involving someone else in his plot, a high-risk strategy to say the least. When the crime is committed, French is initially at a loss, but the reader can be sure that he will pursue the murderer to the bitter end, and so he does. I really enjoyed this story, although it didn't appeal to me as much as Antidote to Venom, which I regard as Crofts' finest inverted mystery, given the unusual setting in a zoo, ingenious murder method, and rather likeable protagonist. Guy is a nasty piece of work, and we don't empathise with him as much as is, I think, desirable in a story like this. Instead, our main sympathies are directed towards Mallaby, who finds that one terrible mistake puts his own life in jeopardy. Definitely worth reading.
Today, I appreciate Crofts much more than I did, even though there's no denying his limitations as a writer. What's more, because he wrote a good deal, sometimes his standards slipped. But The Affair at Little Wokeham, first published in 1943, is a pleasing inverted mystery, set in the pre-war era. It's an inverted mystery, but rather different from Crofts' three previous ventures into this sub-genre. Each chapter is told from the viewpoint of one of five main characters - four of them are embroiled in the case, the fifth is Inspector Joseph French. It's a device that works well.
At the time this book was written, Crofts had long been resident in Guildford, and Little Wokeham is a village in the area he was familiar with. We are first introduced to Anthony Mallaby, a likeable if naive doctor who settles there, and falls in love with a young woman called Christina Winnington. She is the niece of one of those unappealing elderly rich folk who so regularly crop up as victims in murder mysteries. And soon we watch Guy Plant plan the murder of old Clarence Winnington.
As so often with Crofts, the story turns upon a cleverly constructed alibi. Guy's cunning plan does, however, entail involving someone else in his plot, a high-risk strategy to say the least. When the crime is committed, French is initially at a loss, but the reader can be sure that he will pursue the murderer to the bitter end, and so he does. I really enjoyed this story, although it didn't appeal to me as much as Antidote to Venom, which I regard as Crofts' finest inverted mystery, given the unusual setting in a zoo, ingenious murder method, and rather likeable protagonist. Guy is a nasty piece of work, and we don't empathise with him as much as is, I think, desirable in a story like this. Instead, our main sympathies are directed towards Mallaby, who finds that one terrible mistake puts his own life in jeopardy. Definitely worth reading.
May 30, 2018
Fragment of Fear - 1970 film DVD review
I've become increasingly interested in the work of John Bingham, and as a result I sought out the DVD made of his 1965 novel, A Fragment of Fear. I've not read the book as yet (though I hope to do so before long) but I was tempted by reviews of the DVD of the film version made five years after the book's appearance. The film sounded very appealing, not least because of a terrific cast, led by David Hemmings, who was at his peak at around that time. Hemmings was, like the late Hywel Bennett, an immensely charismatic actor whose career faded somewhat, and who died too young.
The screenplay was written by Paul Dehn, who like Bingham was a former spy (he was also a poet and critic, and his other scripts included Goldfinger and Murder on the Orient Express). The film opens in Italy, with Hemmings chatting to his aunt (played by Flora Robson). He's a reformed drug addict who has recently published a successful book. His aunt is found dead in mysterious circumstances, and a strange message left with a wreath which refers to "the Stepping Stones" intrigues our hero. He falls for an attractive woman (Gayle Hunnicutt), and takes her with him to England, where they plan to get married. But his determination to find out what happened to his aunt soon becomes obsessive.
The suspense builds with some splendidly mysterious plot twists, worthy of Francis Durbridge at his best. Hemmings becomes trapped in a Kafkaesque nightmare, as strange, menacing things happen to him which seem inexplicable. When he tries to explain himself to the police, they suggest he is going mad. Then Whitehall (in the person of Arthur Lowe, of all people) gets involved. What on earth is going on?
The ending of the film is perhaps controversial. Suffice to say that things aren't wrapped up in the classic Durbridge style. Really, this is a film which has to be seen as a product of its time - yes, it's enigmatic, but so was Blow Up, a Hemmings film which made a great impression when I saw it in my teens. But even though I like stories with clever and comprehensive solutions, I'm also a big fan of Franz Kafka's The Trial. And there's a touch of Joseph K. about Hemmings' luckless character.
The screenplay was written by Paul Dehn, who like Bingham was a former spy (he was also a poet and critic, and his other scripts included Goldfinger and Murder on the Orient Express). The film opens in Italy, with Hemmings chatting to his aunt (played by Flora Robson). He's a reformed drug addict who has recently published a successful book. His aunt is found dead in mysterious circumstances, and a strange message left with a wreath which refers to "the Stepping Stones" intrigues our hero. He falls for an attractive woman (Gayle Hunnicutt), and takes her with him to England, where they plan to get married. But his determination to find out what happened to his aunt soon becomes obsessive.
The suspense builds with some splendidly mysterious plot twists, worthy of Francis Durbridge at his best. Hemmings becomes trapped in a Kafkaesque nightmare, as strange, menacing things happen to him which seem inexplicable. When he tries to explain himself to the police, they suggest he is going mad. Then Whitehall (in the person of Arthur Lowe, of all people) gets involved. What on earth is going on?
The ending of the film is perhaps controversial. Suffice to say that things aren't wrapped up in the classic Durbridge style. Really, this is a film which has to be seen as a product of its time - yes, it's enigmatic, but so was Blow Up, a Hemmings film which made a great impression when I saw it in my teens. But even though I like stories with clever and comprehensive solutions, I'm also a big fan of Franz Kafka's The Trial. And there's a touch of Joseph K. about Hemmings' luckless character.
May 28, 2018
Back from the Baltic
When I had the good fortune to be invited to take part in Tallinn's HeadRead Literary Festival, I was thrilled to accept. Tallinn's a city brimming with atmosphere and sights, and the festival programme was packed with stellar names from around the world. And having just returned (though by an unexpectedly circuitous route) I must say that the event more than lived up to expectations. For its success, great credit goes to Krista Kaer, and her excellent team of organisers. They even managed somehow to arrange gorgeous weather from start to finish!
I've visited Tallinn once before, as a stop on a Baltic cruise. One of the merits of cruising is that you can sample a destination and decide if you'd like to go back one day. Tallinn's always been high on my list of places meriting a return visit, and luckily the programme included several trips which allowed me to see more of Estonia, a real treat, as well as an evening reception in the remarkable historic setting of Tallinn's town hall, and another reception at the British Ambassador's residence.
The itinerary included a walking tour and a rare chance to see the stunning altar piece in the church of St Nikolai (now a gallery) fully opened up by the curator. A bus trip to the coast included a visit to an art museum, and lunch at a delightful place called Kasmu. My event was a conversation with Sophie Hannah, hosted by fellow crime novelist, Jason Goodwin. I last met Jason in a bar in Baltimore ten years ago; he was very good company then, and again in Tallinn. What I hadn't known before was that his dad is Richard Goodwin, co-producer of the Albert Finney version of Murder on the Orient Express and other Christie films.
There was plenty of time to socialise with fellow writers, most of whose work is far removed from crime fiction; so I had breakfast with a delightful Norwegian poet, lunched with an American journalist, dined with a Danish crime writer, and went out for a drink with a group including Jason, storyteller Janis MacKay and Helen Rappaport, as well as chatting with such luminaries as brain surgeon and author Henry Marsh, Scottish novelist James Robertson, and Michel Faber. When Jason arranged an impromptu tram trip to the baroque Kadriorg Palace, I had the pleasure of a chat with Louisa Young, whose forthcoming memoir You Left Early sounds as though it is both poignant and brilliant.
I'm so grateful to Krista and her colleagues for inviting me to Tallinn. My return to Britain yesterday took a bizarre turn when a series of mishaps on the part of Finnair led to my spending several Kafkaesque hours in Helsinki airport before being told that I had to fly to Munich in order to get home. It took a very long time, and I arrived back in the small hours, exhausted. But never mind. Even on that bizarre journey I had the consolation of having the time to read from start to finish a quite superb novel, Newton Thornburg's Cutter and Bone. And I'm so glad to have brought home so many memories of a fantastic festival.
May 23, 2018
Innocent - ITV drama review
I've just caught up with Innocent, last week's ITV crime show, a four-parter written by Chris Lang and Matthew Arlidge. I thought it was very watchable, and though it wasn't in any way ground-breaking, that's not a criticism, There are times when TV shows that try too hard to be original simply descend into absurdity. Innocent had its flaws, but overall it was good entertainment.
The basic premise is that David Collins (played very well by Lee Ingleby, an actor of considerable range) has just been released from prison, eight years after being charged with the murder of his wife Tara. His one supporter has been his older brother Phil, but he's lost his two children to his brittle sister-in-law (Hermione Norris, excellent as usual) and her husband. Now, for David, it's payback time. And soon his in-laws come under suspicion themselves.
The police re-investigate the crime, and soon the senior officer discovers that her partner, who conducted the original inquiry, was responsible for a miscarriage of justice. There were some aspects of the police side of the case which didn't seem totally credible to me, and similarly I was baffled by the suspension of the doctor who was one of the suspects - he seemed to be the top man in the practice, but was treated as a junior employee; my inner employment lawyer wasn't convinced. But these are the compromises with reality that writers often feel they have to make.
The location shots were absolutely marvellous - it turns out that Malahide, a lovely spot, stood in for the supposed setting in Sussex. The surprise twist was, to me, entirely foreseeable as early as episode two, but that didn't really matter too much, because the story was nicely paced, well acted, and didn't culminate in one of those tedious cliffhangers which are meant to pave the way for a second series. I don't expect Innocent to return, but it was good while it lasted.
The basic premise is that David Collins (played very well by Lee Ingleby, an actor of considerable range) has just been released from prison, eight years after being charged with the murder of his wife Tara. His one supporter has been his older brother Phil, but he's lost his two children to his brittle sister-in-law (Hermione Norris, excellent as usual) and her husband. Now, for David, it's payback time. And soon his in-laws come under suspicion themselves.
The police re-investigate the crime, and soon the senior officer discovers that her partner, who conducted the original inquiry, was responsible for a miscarriage of justice. There were some aspects of the police side of the case which didn't seem totally credible to me, and similarly I was baffled by the suspension of the doctor who was one of the suspects - he seemed to be the top man in the practice, but was treated as a junior employee; my inner employment lawyer wasn't convinced. But these are the compromises with reality that writers often feel they have to make.
The location shots were absolutely marvellous - it turns out that Malahide, a lovely spot, stood in for the supposed setting in Sussex. The surprise twist was, to me, entirely foreseeable as early as episode two, but that didn't really matter too much, because the story was nicely paced, well acted, and didn't culminate in one of those tedious cliffhangers which are meant to pave the way for a second series. I don't expect Innocent to return, but it was good while it lasted.
