SPOILER ALERT (although you could easily guess the ending anyway ...)
Midsomer Murders used to be good. But ever since rubber-faced clown Neil Dudgeon and his stupid dog took over from the legendary ex-Bergerac, John Nettles, the series has been on a slow but inexorable decline.
The formula grows ever more hackneyed, the plots grow ever more farcical, the characters ever more caricatured, the political correctness that blew up in ex-producer Brian True-May's face a few years ago ever more intrusive.
There is a guaranteed, cast iron method for determining who the killer is in Midsomer Murders these days. It is always, without fail, the least likely suspect. Always. That shifty looking character with the criminal record - it's never him; that cuckolded wife with a drink problem - its never her. It's always some seemingly sweet, kind, 'normal' character who appears in just enough of the action for you not to feel totally cheated when they're unmasked at the end.
This episode, although given some spark by the addition of the female Danish detectives from The Killing and Borgen, was depressingly true to the formula: ostensibly normal middle-aged woman turns out to be murderous psychopath with a chemistry professor's knowledge of poisons (there must be a shop selling bulk discounted poison in Badger's Drift or somewhere, it's so rife in Midsomer) - supernaturally fast-acting poisons at that. Miscast guest star - in this case Goodness Gracious Me's Sanjeev Bhaskar - overacts in ridiculous role as duplicitous chef, and is just saved from a horrible death by last minute intervention of the bobbies.
Let's just shine a spotlight on Sanjeev's near demise shall we? He almost meets his maker by being fed into the industrial oven of the factory where he and the female Dr Harold Shipman work, on a conveyor belt. We see him lying face down on the conveyor belt with his hands tied behind his back. From the expression on his face you'd think he's just about to undergo a back rub or something, so unafraid does he appear. (If you were about to be burned alive I suspect you'd be a sweating, gibbering, pants-wetting wreck. Not Sanjeev.) And then when Mrs Lecter hits the button to start the conveyor belt and send him to his fiery demise, he does - absolutely nothing. A three-month old baby could have done a better job of simply rolling off the conveyor belt and hence cheating the hangman, but Sanjeev simply lies there gurning. Pathetic. This sort of unbelievable nonsense eliminates what little trace of suspense lingers in the climax.
One bright spot in an otherwise moribund series is Gwilym Lee as DS Charlie Nelson. At least he brings credibility to his role. The rest of the cast come across like they're acting in a local am-dram production for the amusement of their families and mates.
Come back Bergerac, all is forgiven.
Midsomer Murders used to be good. But ever since rubber-faced clown Neil Dudgeon and his stupid dog took over from the legendary ex-Bergerac, John Nettles, the series has been on a slow but inexorable decline.
The formula grows ever more hackneyed, the plots grow ever more farcical, the characters ever more caricatured, the political correctness that blew up in ex-producer Brian True-May's face a few years ago ever more intrusive.
There is a guaranteed, cast iron method for determining who the killer is in Midsomer Murders these days. It is always, without fail, the least likely suspect. Always. That shifty looking character with the criminal record - it's never him; that cuckolded wife with a drink problem - its never her. It's always some seemingly sweet, kind, 'normal' character who appears in just enough of the action for you not to feel totally cheated when they're unmasked at the end.
This episode, although given some spark by the addition of the female Danish detectives from The Killing and Borgen, was depressingly true to the formula: ostensibly normal middle-aged woman turns out to be murderous psychopath with a chemistry professor's knowledge of poisons (there must be a shop selling bulk discounted poison in Badger's Drift or somewhere, it's so rife in Midsomer) - supernaturally fast-acting poisons at that. Miscast guest star - in this case Goodness Gracious Me's Sanjeev Bhaskar - overacts in ridiculous role as duplicitous chef, and is just saved from a horrible death by last minute intervention of the bobbies.
Let's just shine a spotlight on Sanjeev's near demise shall we? He almost meets his maker by being fed into the industrial oven of the factory where he and the female Dr Harold Shipman work, on a conveyor belt. We see him lying face down on the conveyor belt with his hands tied behind his back. From the expression on his face you'd think he's just about to undergo a back rub or something, so unafraid does he appear. (If you were about to be burned alive I suspect you'd be a sweating, gibbering, pants-wetting wreck. Not Sanjeev.) And then when Mrs Lecter hits the button to start the conveyor belt and send him to his fiery demise, he does - absolutely nothing. A three-month old baby could have done a better job of simply rolling off the conveyor belt and hence cheating the hangman, but Sanjeev simply lies there gurning. Pathetic. This sort of unbelievable nonsense eliminates what little trace of suspense lingers in the climax.
One bright spot in an otherwise moribund series is Gwilym Lee as DS Charlie Nelson. At least he brings credibility to his role. The rest of the cast come across like they're acting in a local am-dram production for the amusement of their families and mates.
Come back Bergerac, all is forgiven.