I love watching British crime TV shows. I wouldn't claim any level beyond the superficial, but yes, there will always be one on my mind. I lately have been steadily working through Midsomer Murders - it accompanies me as I clean my house, as I eat lunch alone (I work from home), and as I chop vegetables for dinner.
For those who don't know the show, it follows Barnaby, the chief inspector, as he investigates murders in the county of Midsomer in England. In the great tradition of Agatha Christie, he uncovers the dark secrets hidden beneath the unassuming countryside where pub owners mix with wealthy landowners.
There are a couple of factors that endure the show to me. The accent is always a factor - my grandfather was a British immigrant to Canada and had an ever so slight accent by the time I got to know him and he had a brilliant teasing sense of humour. He never could convince me that he had six fingers, but he sure did try. I find the accent to be a lovely mixture of soothing tones and playfulness, something the show does not fail to live up to.
The second factor involves the casting. I'm tired of seeing highly polished individuals who not only have employed personal trainers full-time, but also must be wearing a thick layer of carefully applied makeup. The actors in this show look as if you could actually find people like them on the countryside. This nod to authenticity is oddly daring for me coming from the North American continent, where plastic is beautiful.
The final factor is the landscape - I remember being stranded in England after a bird had an unfortunate and flaming accident with an airplane engine at Heathrow. My small family and I were shipped out to a countryside hotel near Windsor Castle. I fell in love with the scale, the bunnies and the greenery. We are missing such fresh smells in downtown Toronto. The landscapes evoke such pleasant sensations as does the architecture: small stone buildings and delicate wooden trim in charming gardens.
As anyone who studies or watches horror and crime narratives, the most innocuous settings and characters inevitably hide the most heinous deviations. If the show does feel a tad formulaic after a time, it's because it is. The formula and the lack of diversity may be the show's major faults. It does ignore a whole swath of the British population (at least to the point where I am currently in the series). This lack of diversity gives the show a dated sense, as if it did really belong to Agatha Christies' time. These faults are all made up for in my mind at least, by its final redeeming point. If I can't fall asleep, Barnaby's understated questions sooth my own inner interrogations.
