TV PREVIEW: Mayday/Broadchurch/Bluestone 42

This article was originally published in The Scotsman on 2nd March 2013.

http://www.scotsman.com/lifestyle/tv-and-radio

MAYDAY

Sunday to Thursday, BBC1, 9pm

BROADCHURCH

Monday, STV, 9pm

BLUESTONE 42

Tuesday, BBC3, 10pm

Paul Whitelaw

Typical. You wait ages for a British drama blatantly influenced by series one of The Killing, and two come along at once. In a shattering week for fictional close-knit communities, independent production company Kudos stands back and watches as BBC1 and ITV pitch their thematically identical Whoddunnits up against each other. Who will win? YOU decide.

Putting aside the curious question of why Kudos produced two such similar dramas simultaneously, we first come to MAYDAY. Stripped throughout the week for maximum “event TV” impact, it's a broiling cauldron of grief and paranoia in which a picturesque English village fails to adequately keep it together following the abduction of its teenage May Queen (She's abducted on May Day. Hence the distress signal “Mayday”. Clever, no?).

Given the pagan trappings, it's inevitably doused in flecks of The Wicker Man. Written by the team responsible for Whitechapel, it also boasts a slightly heightened, skewed atmosphere, milking the underlying dread of the balmy British sunshine for all it's worth.

Like The League of Gentleman without the (intentional) laughs, it delves forensically into a rural community full of dysfunctional locals, including an unhappily married middle-aged couple, a teenage “weirdo” in love with the missing May Queen's emo sister, a cruel, smarmy git played by – who else? - Aidan Gillen (I swear he gets these parts based on his smirk alone), and a man with mental health issues who enjoys climbing trees.

Within hours of the girl's disappearance, the latter's blowhard brother inevitably gathers a vigilante posse – consisting of Phil Mitchell and Hairy Biker lookalikes - and it's not long before escalating torrents of suspicion are aroused behind twitching curtains and the surrounding woods. Why are the menfolk behaving so strangely? What's their connection to the missing girl? Why does the wine-guzzling misanthrope have a hugely symbolic model village in his attic? What's going on?!

Despite over-egged moments of contrived weirdness – dismembered doll parts and leering slow-motion feature heavily – Mayday is a sharply-written, atmospheric pot-boiler bolstered by high-calibre performers such as Sophie Okonedo, Peter Firth and, especially, Lesley Manville.

Despite its flaws, Mayday outdoes its close cousin, BROADCHURCH, in which David Tennant's taciturn beard and Olivia Colman's soggy orbs investigate the murder of a child in a sleepy Dorset community riven with suspicion.

Written by no-one's favourite Doctor Who scribe Chris Chibnall, it makes good use of its coastal location, with the camera sailing ostentatiously over precipitous cliffs, and vast blue skies gazing down at the despair below. Like The Killing, it focuses – albeit rather thinly – on a grieving family and the emotional involvement of the investigating officers. It also tries to say something meaningful about the importance of faith and trust in a Godless universe. If anyone can carry that off, it's Chris Chibnall.

New in town, Tennant's troubled character is strictly by the book, whereas Colman's local police officer is warm and empathetic to a fault. Why, it's almost as if they're a deliberate study in contrasts. The friendly locals, meanwhile, aren't as they seem, which is par for the course in dramas of this nature.

Stretched over eight episodes, Broadchurch does tend to dawdle at times, whereas Mayday assaults the same subject matter with more pace and precision. And with a cast which includes the likes of Pauline Quirke, Vicky McClure, Andrew Buchan, Arthur Darvill and David Bradley, it sometimes feels like a star-studded tourist video for its Dorset setting (tragic murder element notwithstanding, obviously).

Is the war in Afghanistan a suitable topic for comedy? Well, of course. Everything is a suitable topic for comedy, depending on how its handled. The problem with BLUESTONE 42 – a new sitcom about a British bomb disposal unit based in Helmand Provence – isn't that it's offensive, it's that in going out of its way to avoid causing offence it ends up as just another bland, obvious, middling sitcom. That is, unless you're deeply offended by the very idea of an apolitical comedy about an illegal war.

As if eager to get the troubling issue of death out of the way as quickly as possible, it kills off a character within the first five minutes. But he's very deliberately portrayed as a roaring idiot who the rest of the team don't really know or like, thus fudging the issue of whether we're supposed to acknowledge the horrors of war or not. Otherwise, Bluestone 42 is a determinedly light affair focusing on the team's efforts to amuse themselves while stationed at camp.

The amiable Gary: Tank Commander has been here before, of course, as has the estimable M*A*S*H. Suffice to say, Bluestone 42 isn't M*A*S*H. The lead character is a hapless, cocky Prince William/Ben Fogle clone who thinks nothing of exploiting his rank and supposed hero status to clumsily woo the attractive new female padre. A sweary Scotsman and a tough, straight-talking woman are also involved. It all adds up to very little.

But given that it fails to portray “Our Boys” as selfless saints, it will doubtless upset Daily Mail types across the land. So that's something, at least.

Scotsman TV Preview: SPIES OF WARSAW; BORGEN

This article was originally published in The Scotsman on 5th January 2013.

http://www.scotsman.com/lifestyle/tv-and-radio

SPIES OF WARSAW

Wednesday, BBC4, 9pm

BORGEN

Today, BBC4, 9pm

Paul Whitelaw

It's probably fair to say that, unless you're terminally befuddled, SPIES OF WARSAW isn't a title that implies a great deal of ambiguity. It's a drama about spies, set in Warsaw. Of course it is.

That this blunt, say-what-you-see title hovers over a work penned by legendary comedy partnership Dick Clement and Ian La Frenais is perhaps surprising. After all, Porridge never traded under the name of 'Prison Men'. Auf Wiedersehen, Pet wasn't called 'Geordie Builders in Germany' for good reason. The Likely Lads wouldn't be so fondly remembered if it was called 'Actors Speaking Comedy'. I could go on.

But Spies of Warsaw is an inherited title, taken from a novel by Alan Furst, who specialises in atmospheric, detailed evocations of Second World War espionage in Eastern Europe. Shown over two feature-length parts, this unyieldingly dramatic piece also doesn't contain a shred of the wit that Clement and La Frenais are renowned for, although you could argue that its sense of slightly heightened realism is a droll joke in itself. Because make no mistake, this is a spy drama that's seen lots of other spy dramas.

Set in the late 1930s, with Hitler's invasion of Poland hovering malignantly on the horizon, it contains all the elements you'd expect: furtive conversations at lavish embassy balls; pinch-faced Nazis brandishing barking wolfhounds; tense border-checks with barbed-wire trimmings; glamorous women smoking cigarettes seductively; solemn spies drinking reflective brandies; drunken Russian poet dissidents railing against the system; ominous knocks on the door at midnight; and impressively choreographed covert missions. At one point there's even a leather-gloved Gestapo officer stroking a cat (I kid you not).

But these familiar motifs actually add up to a fairly absorbing whole, with David Tennant on taciturn form as an impressively decorated war hero working as a military attaché/undercover spy. Whenever he isn't floating through polite diplomatic functions, he spends most of his time spying on Nazis – they're up to no good in the Black Forest - and trying to protect his various informants.

Something of a cold fish, he's nevertheless honourable and ethical, at one point refusing to murder a teenage Nazi assailant because war has yet to be officially declared. Yes, he's a damn good oeuf. But as a character he isn't especially fascinating, so although, as a tale of heroism and intrigue, Spies of Warsaw gradually exerts its grip, one never feels particularly engaged with Tennant's underlying heartbreak – his beloved wife dies of consumption before the action gets underway – nor his burgeoning romance with a beautiful, brittle Parisian lawyer.

You may also have to get used to the curious spectacle of a Scottish actor adopting an English accent to play a Frenchman, although perhaps we should be thankful that he didn't opt for the full Clouseau. Few things are more distracting than actors earnestly intoning dialogue of the “ah wuz pizzing on mah boocycle” variety.

A co-production with BBC America, it's clear that little expense has been spared here. The whole thing gleams with a richly textured, cinematic hue. And the soundtrack – swathed in mournful brass, woodwind and plucked piano strings – is an almost too fitting accompaniment to the prevailing mood of paranoia, contempt and fear.

Oh, and for no good reason – other than, I suppose, to show off his character's war wounds – Tennant removes his shirt quite frequently, which will doubtless curry favour with fans who enjoy his work in “that way”. And that, I think, is one of the most important pieces of information I've ever imparted in a preview. No need to thank me for it.

If you're mourning the loss of the recently departed Forbrydelsen (aka The Killing), then you may be comforted by the return of Danish political drama BORGEN, especially as the actor who played the troubled Prime Minister in the most recent series crops up as a grieving car salesman. Oh, there's literally seconds of fun to be had imagining he's playing the same character, after deciding to leave politics for a quiet life in the motor trade.

It begins with female PM Birgitte Nyborg – the sort of principled, liberal, uncorrupted and sympathetic politician who only really exists in fiction – visiting Danish troops in Afghanistan. Forced to flee following a Taliban attack, she returns home to a frosty reception from all sides when an unprecedented number of soldiers are killed in one day.

Meanwhile, her ambitious spin doctor Kasper is on the verge of moving in with his new partner, following the breakdown of his relationship with principled, liberal, uncorrupted and sympathetic journalist Katrine. The latter is used – quite effectively – as a device to explore media ethics with regards to dealing with the bereaved during times of tragedy, while Nyborg's conflict over whether to withdraw from Afghanistan is handled with the thoughtful nuance typical of this series.

Sure, some of the exposition is a tad heavy-handed – those explanatory news reports are awfully handy, are they not? - but this is so much more than merely a Danish version of The West Wing. It's mercifully lacking in suffocating piety and schmaltz, for a start. And don't worry if you missed series one, as it more or less starts afresh. Tak!