Midsomer Mundanity

This Wednesday, for the first time ever, I found I had no desire at all to watch Midsomer Murders. I elected instead to record it, feeling that I was perhaps obliged to watch it at some later date so as not to reveal any inconsistency in my character. Previously, I had moaned whenever I found out that I was missing it or that it had been replaced by football coverage. Having stripped the college DVD library of all (7) episodes that it contained, I stacked them proudly by my pint in the bar and primly defended my choice of entertainment by asserting that I was “practising being middle-aged”, and was, in fact, ahead of the game. But now I am suddenly finding it very difficult to care. This is to do neither with the change in protagonist (John Nettle's affable DCI Tom Barnaby has been replaced by Neil Dudgeon's equally well-acted DCI John Barnaby) nor with the racism row that erupted over casting choices earlier this year. Quite simply, in its 14^th year, the series has gone on too long and, for want of a facelift, the strain is showing. The easy charm and mild intrigue of earlier series has faded to give way to a sameness. The acting is inoffensive but utterly bland, often through no fault of the actors, but rather due to an inability to create a dialogue, direction or style which can keep up with the increasingly exotic, or rather, mad plot lines. The writers have by now mined the very depths not just of traditional motives but also of folk traditions, local myth and pagan potential perhaps in keeping with the endearingly mad spirit of Glastonbury but hardly representative of the West Country as a whole. This need not in itself be a bad thing, but the programme frequently lacks the slightly more tongue-in-cheek style more evident in earlier series which proves necessary to let the audience buy into such themes comfortably.

Relief was often offered before in the form of wry or I-know-it's-bad-but-it's-still-funny comments made by DCI Tom Barnaby or, for example, in Troy's behaviour around Cully Barnaby (inexplicably reminding me of Bambi) but is sadly lacking later on. Last week's episode (The Night of the Stag) started off well enough – body in a vat of cider – but quickly deteriorated into a farce of misogynistic tribal attitudes and the frankly ridiculous sight of male characters traipsing around the countryside dressed as deer to take advantage of their neighbours' women. This story was executed awkwardly either because all involved succumbed to the need to take it seriously or because they shied away from allowing the psychological and emotional motives to manifest themselves fully. Echoes of the Dead (S14E3) suffered precisely from the second of the above issues; a religious man decides to murder people whom he considers to have acted immorally, but the inability of both the actor and the director to do justice to the complexity of this motivation whilst believing in it utterly left the episode somewhat limp. By eschewing both humour and horror (as well as embracing a sadly dull display of direction) it failed to create any sense of freshness or engagement, which is so vital when a show has been running this long, and has to overcome transitional difficulties which arise in the change of protagonist.

We have never been led to expect a big reveal à la Christie/Conan Doyle or the forensic exploration of CSI or the grittiness of the superb Scott & Bailey which stood out magnificently this year from other detective dramas by creating its own path. But we have been led to expect if not great cerebral stimulation something more than 'inoffensive'. But never fear, I have a plan: When Simon Pegg Met Midsomer. You may say that Hot Fuzz has already got that covered, but the possibilities are endless ...