Spooks--Death of a Series (13 May 2002--23 October 2011)

Every once in a while, a TV series grabs me by the throat. Mostly, I give in rather than resist. But I expect a lot in return. Fans of the show know that the BBC's Spooks can boast of some of the finest writing, acting, and directing on TV. For ten seasons, the story followed the professional and private lives of a group of MI5 operatives, with one man, Harry Pearce, the head of counter-terrorism, at its core. The show enjoyed a healthy following at home and abroad.

For seven years, the series got better with each season. Season eight remained strong, even while veering slightly off course to concentrate on CIA involvement in the UK. (The show was re-branded as MI-5 for American audiences, who seem to prefer things a bit more literal and a lot more obvious. I give you the disastrous Little Britain USA and the American Queer As Folk, if you need further proof.)

I was glad when series eight ended, though, hoping one lesser year would not turn into two, and praying the American flirtation would soon be over. In fact, far worse lay just ahead. One of the series' trademarks is the sudden and unexpected endings that befall some of its more popular characters. This, we are to believe, is what actually happens to spies. While it was maddening to see them go, the leavings were usually spectacular in dramatic terms.

The challenge, of course, was to fill those roles in a way that the previous agents would not be missed too much. For eight years, they hit the bulls-eye every time. Tom became Adam became Lucas; Zoe became Fiona became Ros. And you held your breath, because it just got better. With Peter Firth as Harry Pearce, the one holdout year after year, the series had casting magic.

Then disaster struck. Someone at Kudos, the show's producers, must have decided the show needed sprucing up. They hired a writing duo whose process is best described as schizophrenic. Asked to describe the process, the writers revealed their preference for a tag-team approach. Each takes turns writing five pages before passing the script along to the other. Even more revealing, at least to me, was their idolization of Joss Whedon, the new king of Hollywood blockbusters. From subtle and layered, the show suddenly became little more than an action cartoon.

The new writers seemed to think it great fun to take liberties with the characters in ways that appalled and dismayed anyone who had enjoyed the careful building of each agent's psychological profile and background. The adage seemed to be, when in need of tension turn one of your best characters into a villain. Preferably one who has not been set up in any way to show such traits previously. The inept desecration and dispatching of Lucas North's character as a terrorist infiltrator in season nine was not the first nail in the show's coffin, but it would prove its most unpopular with many.

In the show's final two seasons, cheap tricks and shock tactics abound: improbable plot turnarounds, an over-reliance on technology, and action spat out at machine-gun speed. Tellingly, characters are relegated to stating the obvious to one another to keep the story rolling: "Hey, Tariq, better answer that phone. It might be the bad guy calling." Because we might not be able to figure it out, otherwise, right?

Where previously plot resolutions came from character, suddenly they were the result of "new" technology that sounds sketchy at best and unbelievable at worst. Realistic threats are ditched in favour of dime store hobgoblins, like fake bio-toxins and imaginary ethno-genetic bombs. Even the erstwhile Peter Firth, as director Harry Pearce, the only actor to make it through all ten seasons, looks unconvinced by much of what he has to say.

Never before has such a great series gone so thoroughly and regrettably down in flames. It would be akin to putting the sequel to A Streetcar Named Desire in the hands of Sacha Baron Cohen. Who would do such a thing?

Kudos and BBC, you have a lot to answer for.

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Jeffrey Round is a writer of contemporary fiction, equally at home in different genres. His first two books, A Cage of Bones and The P-town Murders, were listed on AfterElton's Top 100 Gay Books. His most recent Dundurn title is Lake On The Mountain, a literary-thriller and first in the Dan Sharp Mystery series. He is author of the Bradford Fairfax comic mystery series, whose style he describes as "a cross between Oscar Wilde and Agatha Christie." He is also a film/stage director, television producer, and songwriter. Jeffrey’s Blog, A Writer's Half-Life, has been syndicated online. Visit his website: www.jeffreyround.com.

Sherlock vs. Downton Abbey

While everyone else has been engrossed in Downton Abbey, a new version of Upstairs, Downstairs, I've been absorbed with the 21^st century reinvention of Sherlock Holmes as Sherlock, easily one of the most fun, well-written series in a decade.

I watched season one of Downton Abbey because of Maggie Smith, always a joy, and cast here as the formidable Dowager Countess trying to ensure that her granddaughter marry a "suitable" husband. I loved Smith and enjoyed the series, but not enough to return.

My reluctance comes from a suspicion of soap operas, that strange hybrid that is neither drama nor opera. I want things to build, explode and resolve in one episode, rather than have to return week after week to discover what Annie, Fanny and Manny were up to since I last saw them. If I want long, drawn-out sagas, I simply ask my friends what's been going on in their love lives and drink tea while pretending to listen.

Sherlock was created by writer/producer Steven Moffat, and writer/actor Mark Gatiss, who plays Sherlock's troublesome brother, Mycroft. The pair worked together on the revised Doctor Who series. (Nothing like the old one. If you haven't seen the recent version with Matt Smith--a comic genius--don’t write it off.)

The BBC has long been known for pairing actors, especially in comedic roles. Think ofJennifer Saunders and Joanna Lumley in Absolutely Fabulous, Aidan Gillen and Craig Kelly in Queer As Folk (before it got turned into a soap opera-with-an-agenda in the US version), David Walliams and Matt Lucas in Little Britain. And now here are Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman as Sherlock and his sidekick John Watson. The pairing doesn't get much better, either as actors or characters.

While reinventing nearly everything wholesale, it's to the producers' credit that they've remained charmingly true to Conan Doyle's books, beginning with A Study In Pink, a sly retelling of Holmes's first case, A Study In Scarlet. The result is a delirious rewriting of the original stories, as when The Hound of the Baskervilles comes back as The Hounds of Baskerville, an experiment in genetic modification and then some.

For serious fun, this is as good as it gets. Here is Holmes in A Scandal in Belgravia, going off to Buckingham Palace draped in a bed sheet, as angry and imperious as a queen at being forced to do something he doesn't want to do. Elsewhere, he informs two young girls asking him to investigate their grandfather's disappearance that, contrary to what their parents may have said, "People don’t go to Heaven; they’re put in a special box and burned," while John Watson looks on, appalled by his friend's social ineptness.

Of course, it's the twenty-first century, so no one believes two men living together are not gay. And who is to say they’re not? The oddball pairing of Holmes with Watson in the 19^th century may simply have been a case of arrested sexual development. Here, the gay subtext, which is more often ubertext, gets some of the best play in the series, as the two are constantly mistaken for a couple. In fact they are a couple, whatever may or may not go on after the lights go out. In any case, the love between the two men is palpable, if unspoken, from show one.

(Initially, A Study in Pink was shot as a one-off rather than a series pilot, but was later re-made. While it's been decried in some quarters as being low budget, it's still quite good. In fact, the original ending is far more moving than in the remake, with Watson standing pensively in the shadows after having rescued his new friend, Sherlock.)

As with the Hardys, Frank and Joe, and my Fairfax series, featuring Brad and his blue-haired amour Zachary, the series really is about the pairing of the two men. The crime and the criminals come second. But make no mistake, these crimes and their solutions are dead clever. They have to be, for that is the essence of Sherlock Holmes.

Still, it's the interplay of Holmes, all reason, and Watson, the long-suffering that makes everything work. The pairing propels us along with them, envious and yearning to share in their adventures for real, while wishing we had friends as true as these. That’s the secret of Sherlock.

Jeffrey Round is a Toronto writer and filmmaker. His most recent book is the mystery-thriller Lake On The Mountain, from Dundurn Books. Visit: www.jeffreyround.com.