Two detective dramas from different eras – The Chelsea Detective & Bergerac
Last Friday I watched my recording of The Chelsea Detective. (I prefer to record as I find the advertising breaks – especially this time of year – so tedious and can fast-forward through the ads.)
A good detective drama requires location and an eccentric sleuth (Hercule Poirot being the best example).
In The Chelsea Detective the action takes place in Chelsea with plenty of shots of the River Thames from the Prince Albert bridge.
Similarly Grace is filmed in Brighton.
In The Chelsea Detective that excellent actor Adrian Scarborough plays head of the Chelsea Police murder squad Max Arnold, a mild-mannered man who takes in more than he reveals.
His back story is a broken relationship with Astrid. In the Christmas episode that I recorded a retired pop star (Chloe) is found dead in the bath. Suspicions point to her ex-manager, who would have been richer had not Chloe donated the profits of her Christmas song to charity, a Tory MP with whom she might have had an affaire, a ruthless tabloid reporter Sylvia Wix and a homeless stray.
Max works out the real killer from an inconsistency in evidence and it all ends happily as Astrid and Max’s mum ensure he is not alone over the so-called festive period.
Looking for something else to watch in the early evening I then hit upon by chance an episode of Bergerac.
The only thing it had in common with The Chelsea Detective was a strong sense of location – this time Jersey.
Bergerac’s misogynistic attitude to women and an all-white cast makes it rather dated (or should I say “of its time”?).
One of the strengths of the series is the relationship between the shrewd Charlie Hungerford (Terence Alexander), a millionaire from the North, and Bergerac.
It is in fact Charlie Hungerford who works out who is behind a spate of burglaries.
Some wonderful TV criminal dramas emanated from the 1970s.
In America there was Columbo, in which Peyer Falk – as Lieutenant Columbo – wears down the ego of the perpetrator of a seemingly perfect crime, often waiting at the door of the irritated suspect with his trademark “One more thing, which may be nothing…”. Columbo’s eccentricities were his dog that loved ice cream, his scruffy Mac and a wife that you never saw.
Bergerac may be dated but is none the worse for that.