“In nine hundred years of time and space, I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t important.”
“Did you watch Broadchurch last week?” asked the Pragmatist last night, adding, “It’s got David Tennant in it.”
Right. Thank you, Pragmatist, for assuming that I am automatically going to watch everything featuring David Tennant simply because it does feature David Tennant.
Plus, I did have slightly better things to do last week than watch Broadchurch. Such as, you know, my degree.
Well, anyway, I did watch Broadchurch this week because my parents were watching it, and it’s just as well I did because if I hadn’t you would be reading about a documentary entitled Planet Ant that’s being shown on BBC4 as I write. And that would not be fun.
As it turns out, not having seen the first episode is not as much of a problem as you might think. The mystery is going to be spread out over eight hours, The Killing-style, so it’s fairly slow-moving, concentrating a lot more on the characters themselves than on the plot machinations required to solve the mystery. Think Wallander but less Scandinavian.
12-year-old Danny has been murdered in the small town of Broadchurch, deep in the heart of Dorset. A high-flying Scottish Detective Inspector (Tennant, obviously) is teamed with a local detective to track down the murderer. Tensions ensue. People get upset. Arthur Darvill arrives on the scene as a vicar and now it really is beginning to feel like a Doctor Who reunion. (Darvill played the wonderful Rory Williams in the last series of Doctor Who.)
The whole small-town vibe necessarily invokes comparisons with ITV’s drama The Town which in my opinion was more interesting: Andrew Scott did an excellent job of not being Moriarty, whereas David Tennant is always essentially the Doctor for me. But perhaps I’m just a teensy bit obsessed. Broadchurch is certainly different enough from run-of-the-mill murder mysteries like Death in Paradise or Midsomer Murders that I’d happily watch it next week.