IN MOVIES, THEY SAY THERE ARE three roles for women: girlfriend, district attorney and Driving Miss Daisy. In TV, it's girlfriend, pub landlady and Miss Marple, in some form or other. The real thing is back this week, in the last run of Agatha Christ
ie adaptations with Geraldine McEwan before Julia McKenzie takes over, fresh from Cranford, in which the entire cast comprised Miss Marples.
These recent Marple mysteries have played fast and loose with the plots, with McEwan's beady-eyed biddy finding herself with a sudden adulterous past and apparently unperturbed by randomly changed storylines, Nazis, various now-gay characters, a Mini-Marple in the form of Martine McCutcheon and even Louis Armstrong.
But this latest, "Towards Zero", is relatively untouched, with a much more traditional Christie plot and the usual array of familiar faces in every role: Tom Baker, Greg Wise, Saffron Burrows, Julian Sands, Alan Davies, Greg Rusedski, Jeanette Krankie, Clint Eastwood, Basil Brush, etc, etc. Not a passing postman or a teashop waitress appears but they are six-year veterans of the RSC, which does at least avoid the older adaptations' flaw that the famous actor who seemed to playing some obscure bit part was immediately obvious as the murderer.
And just as in Cranford, Eileen Atkins' delightfully acerbic Camilla, bedridden lady of the manor, steals the show. "Marple and the gigolo, now there's a thought," she observes – oh, don't give the production crew any ideas, or I fear Julia McKenzie may inherit a story in which she gets a toyboy, no doubt played by David Tennant.
The gigolo here is the currently ubiquitous Paul Nicholls, who in the last month has been seen as a moody doctor in Harley Street (oh, my disappointment when that didn't turn out to be a pun about a Dr H Street) and beheading someone in the equally daft Bonekickers, which also provides the plucky Julie Graham for this cast. They're all involved in a big old tangled web of people in love with the wrong people and incredibly convoluted schemes which can only make sense if the murderer conveniently turns out to be insane.
Say what you like about these productions, they are slick: the opening five minutes sets up the whole story perfectly, introducing most of the characters, the backstory and even having time for a nostalgic dance and some vowel-relishing, eye-popping dialogue from Tom Baker. I can think of quite a few meandering dramas that are taken a whole lot more seriously but could pick up some pacing lessons from Marple.
More Miss Marples in The WI Guide To Brothels, which features two doughty stalwarts of the Hampshire branch called Jean and Shirley – I hear Jean makes a super pot of tea and Shirley's Victoria sponge is a triumph. And there I'm stereotyping them as much as does this programme, which has gentle fun with the idea of these respectable older ladies visiting sex shops, brothels and prostitutes' co-ops.
Confronted with a very explicit video in a sex club, poor Jean flushes: "Oh, I'm quite embarrassed … I could say it's my cardigan, but I'm afraid it's not."
But underneath the fluffy image, like Miss M, they are perfectly sensible and seriously concerned about the murders of vulnerable street prostitutes in their area, investigating the question of whether legalisation, as practiced abroad, is a better solution. There's a bit of a clash between their sober, dogged attempts to understand the problem and the exploits back in Britain of reporter Nicky Taylor, who sets up various stunts to illustrate the issue, including posing in the window of a mocked-up red light shop in a Hampshire high street.
Some members of the WI are rather unhappy with the final lark, a travelling "ideal brothel" bearing their organisation's logo, clearly created for amusement value, and you can see their point.
But it's hard not to laugh when one gives Taylor a tour of a traditional leafy area and remarks: "Allegedly there is a brothel here, in this particular village. And on the left hand side, Alan Titchmarsh lives. He does quite a lot within the village." Possibly some naughty editing there, as obviously TV's Mr Nice (and holder of the 1998 Bad Sex in Fiction Award) has no connection to the establishment.
Dot Branning, formerly Cotton, is a bit of a Miss Marple too, if you think about it. June Brown is by far the best actor in EastEnders – and no, that's not like being the best at writing Bad Sex, since most are just hampered by lousy material. It's been unfortunate that lately Cotton's been marginalised while her on-screen partner Jim was recovering from a stroke, as actor John Bardon was in real life. Earlier this year, she was compensated with a rather stunning solo episode in which she movingly recounted her loveless life; this Friday's return of a recovered Bardon/Jim should provide more scope for drama.
The full article contains 846 words and appears in The Scotsman newspaper.
