Last year, we took a gamble and tried out the first season of Forbrydelsen, a Danish police procedural. It’s twenty eps long and some licence is taken with the genre but hey, y’know, it’s European and there’s quite a bit of slack I cut for product from that part of the world. It was a satisfying watch. There’s a second season lying in wait somewhere within the keep (it might have to wait until we’ve done Engrenages) – and then we heard it was being remade.
Yep: the almost inevitable American remake, The Killing, from one of the Cold Case writer-producers. We watched the pilot and second ep and were hooked. It was the same, but different. It had brains and paid the audience the compliment of being subtle.
Things began to slip away from the third ep onward, until the credits rolled on the season finale and The Goddess and I looked at each other in silence, unable to quite formulate our thoughts without lapsing into potty words and descriptions/threats of GBH.
Some internet trawling tells me that the perpetrator won’t be revealed until the end of the second season. Closure after twenty six freakin’ eps? Not even Murder One took that long. Suggesting Twin Peaks invites potty words and threats of physical harm.
The New York Times captures my thoughts exactimundo: “What we’ve been watching is actually a 26-hour-long episode of Law & Order, and we’re only halfway through it.”
Thank you, but no.
