Tag: p

Personal Vendetta

  By

★★
“Heart in the right place, but…”

Bonnie Blackwell (Lesseos) is a battered wife, whose husband, Zach (Bottoms), eventually goes too far, putting her in hospital. He gets a spell in prison, and she decides to take control of her life and become a police officer. However, the scars of her abuse run deep, and she finds herself initially “freezing” when faced with potential threats, due to the PTSD resulting from her abusive relationship.  Encouraged by colleague Bill Starr (Douglas), she eventually manages to work her way past that, just in time for Zach to be released from jail without her knowledge. She discovers that he had been running a human trafficking operation, bringing in Vietnamese mail-order brides, and sets out to take him down.

After this, Lesseos would not star in another film for 15 years, until Double Duty. It’s easy to see why. Much like the rest of her filmography, I wanted to like this, but there were simply too many flaws for it to pass muster, even as a low-budget entity. There isn’t even that much action, to the point that I was teetering on the edge of not including it at all, until the final 15 minutes just about reached the minimum required level. Until then, it’s considerably more a drama, of the eye-rollingly boring TV movie type to boot. You can sense that it’s trying to be an empowering story of a woman’s climb out from under her traumatic experiences. Yet what I actually wanted, was Mimi kicking ass, not heart-warming soapiness unfolding over a shrill and cheap-sounding synth score.

Particularly in the first half, it’s therefore tough going, with Lieb’s directorial style not exactly helping – he apparently never met an opportunity for a montage sequence he didn’t like. Despite the copious efforts to convince us otherwise, there’s absolutely no romantic chemistry between Bonnie and partner John Beaudet (Wilson). Again, it’s an angle without which the film could quite easily have survived, since it adds nothing to proceedings. And don’t even get me started on the ridiculous story-line about Zach not just being a top-level white slaver, but having managed to conceal this activity completely from his wife for the entire duration of their time together.

As in the rest of her movies, Mimi is not the biggest problem here. There were moments where she looked like a middle-aged version of Zoe Bell, and she’s clearly putting in the work on the action side, even if the more emotional acting beats pose some problems. Occasionally the movie even looked like it might be going in an interesting direction. Not that it ever did, but the idea of her potentially teaming up with Vietnamese street gangs to go up against Zach was at least momentarily intriguing. This is the kind of movie which does not need or deserve anything close to your full attention, and if it’s going to be viewed at all, be sure to have something else handy, with which to occupy yourself.

Dir: Stephen Lieb
Star: Mimi Lesseos, Timothy Bottoms, Mark Wilson, Bill Douglas

Paradise Z

  By

★★½
“Slow, slow, quick-quick, slow”

This is all a bit confusing, not least because of the three different titles under which this is known. It also doesn’t help that it is one-third of an intended trilogy. This is the first part. I had previously seen the third, The Driver starring Mark Dacascos, a while ago (not GWG, but reviewed on my other site), and the second… hasn’t yet been made. Not quite the way I’d have gone about it. To be honest, you are probably better off having watched The Driver, since that explains a lot of stuff that this doesn’t. Which may well explain the eviscerating reviews on the IMDb. Though maybe it is the director: for a long time ago, he also made Ballistic: Ecks vs. Sever, which remains one of the worst-ever reviewed movies on Rotten Tomatoes.

There are really only two characters here: Sylvia (Gorum) and Rose (Tantayanon). They are the sole occupants of what seems to be a villa complex in Thailand, where they spend their days lying about and making yarn pictures. If you’ve seen The Driver, in which Sylvia and Rose appear at the end, you’ll know there’s a zombie apocalypse in progress, with these walking dead being particularly attracted to sound. Hence (because the film never explains it), S+R’s use of headphones, as well as a noise-cancelling toilet. Inevitably, it can’t last, and their idyll – “Another day in paradise,” as one of them sardonically comments – is eventually interrupted by a horde of fast-moving and extremely aggressive invaders.

Part of the reason I suspect it was critically eviscerated was that it’s fifty minutes or more before any zombies show up on screen, which is not what you’d expect from the trailer. It, quite deliberately, takes its time getting there, and depicts the boredom of our heroine’s daily life. Quite easy to mistake a portrayal of tedium as tedious itself, especially given the near-total lack of dialogue here. Even I, who was probably better prepared and informed than most, found this element severely overplayed. 10-15 minutes would have been fine, and done an equally good job of establishing the necessary atmosphere, rather than occupying the bulk of the film’s running time, as it does.

Eventually, and quite abruptly, it does kick into life, and there is an adequate amount of mayhem as the ladies realize their location has become untenable. It’s mostly close-combat, and in another interesting twist, the zombies are afraid of water (perhaps suggesting the disease here is akin to rabies?), something which can be used to humanity’s advantage. That said, it’s still not what I’d consider an acceptable payoff for the long lead-up, in which the sole point of note is probably some significant lesbian canoodling between Rose and Sylvia. This likely doesn’t count as enough, and as a standalone movie, falls short of satisfying. It might have worked as an episode of a long-running TV series, and is certainly different from your typical zombie film. Different, however, is not necessarily the same as good.

Dir: Wych Kaosayananda
Star: Milena Gorum, Alice Tantayanon, Brian Migliore
a.k.a. Two of Us or Dead Earth

A Private War

  By

★★★
“You’re never going to get to where you’re going if you acknowledge fear.”

The profession of journalist is not exactly well-regarded by many people these days. So it’s nice occasionally to be reminded that they can still potentially be action heroes, risking their own lives in pursuit of the truth. In this case, it’s Marie Colvin (Pike), a foreign correspondent for London’s Sunday Times newspaper, who lost an eye while covering the civil strife in Sri Lanka, leading to a piratical eye-patch for the rest of her career. Most people would treat that as a sign from the universe to look into a change of profession. But Colvin was made of sterner stuff, despite a hellacious case of post-traumatic stress disorder, with which she largely coped by drinking heavily. So she and photographer sidekick Paul Conroy (Dornan) continue to venture into the world’s hot-spots, whether it’s Iraq, Libya or Syria. There, they expose the terrible human cost that the conflicts have on the local population, without apparent concern for their own safety.

It’s not a spoiler to say this doesn’t end well, for Colvin was indeed killed in Homs, Syria in a January 2012 explosion. And that’s kinda the thing which both drives the narrative and irritates the heck out of me. The film opens and closes with the quote from its subject at the top. However, to counter-quote her with Arthur Conan Doyle, “It is stupidity rather than courage to refuse to recognize danger when it is close upon you.” As depicted here, it seems as if the journalist almost had a death-wish, spitting in the face of danger long past what was prudent or even had much purpose. There’s little or no acknowledgement by Colvin that a dead writer won’t be able to achieve much. If you don’t get out safely to tell the stories you have gathered, what’s the point? You can argue, to some extent, it’s this and her other flaws which render its heroine human.

On the other hand, I found it extraordinarily hard to relate to Marie, with her choices and subsequent actions being so entirely alien to me. She insists on getting right to the core of suffering, even if this means asking its subjects brutal questions. Is this laudable journalism? Or a close cousin to the reporters who shove microphones at victims of tragedy and ask, “How do you feel?” Director Heinemann was responsible for the very good documentary Cartel Land, but seems to struggle a bit when he has to generate the narrative, rather than just recording it. We get only fragments that hint at Colvin’s character, such as a habit of wearing expensive bras, because she declares, “If anyone’s gonna pull my corpse from a trench, I want them to be impressed.” While there’s no denying the bravery of her chosen profession, or her qualifications for this site (albeit in the unorthodox wing!), and former Bond-girl Pike is excellent, I wasn’t left with any deeper appreciation of the why, rather than the how, of her life.

Dir: Matthew Heineman
Star: Rosamund Pike, Jamie Dornan, Tom Hollander, Stanley Tucci

Paradise Hills

  By

★★★½
“A small-scale beauty.”

And there I was, thinking Maleficent: Mistress of Evil would be the prettiest picture I saw in all of 2020. There’s a new champion, and whoever assembled the look of this one should have been honoured at the Oscars. Shot in Barcelona and the Canary Islands, it beats Maleficent by almost entirely avoiding CGI, in lieu of stunning locations such as the former residence of sculptor Xavier Corberó: “a mazelike estate constructed from cement that features nine connected structures and 300 arches.” That quote comes from a feature in Architecture Digest, which is not something every film gets, shall we say. And it deserves one, for the entirety of this is a 95-minute coffee-table book. Even when the plot stumbles, you can wallow in a remarkable visual style, achieved for the relative pittance of $10 million.

That plot concerns Uma (Roberts), who has just refused the hand in marriage of the young man chosen by her family. She is sent off to the titular establishment, on a remote island, to be “re-educated” into a more pliable form, under the guidance of The Duchess (Jovovich). Uma meets others going through the same treatment for various reasons, but plots to escape, with the help of the one she truly loves. Only for this to be derailed when the true nature of the “re-education” is revealed, explaining why Paradise Hills has a 100% success rate with its patients, despite a very low-key approach, mostly consisting of yoga. Yet, it turns out to be an method which can perhaps be leveraged against those who seek to control Uma.

As a modern-day fairy-tale, it works quite nicely, driven particularly by the visual style which feels like the dream of a mad interior designer. However, it’s not as clever as it thinks it is, and occasionally descends into the painfully obvious, such as The Duchess clipping thorns off roses. ‘Cos the roses represent the young women, being shorn of their individuality and essence, y’see? Yeah, I rolled my eyes a bit at that. You also wonder why they bother with flashy stuff like cranking Uma up to the roof on a carousel pony, in order to show her holograms of her intended. It seems entirely unnecessary, given the… considerably more physical, shall we say, nature of Paradise Hills’ true solution.

But it’s fun to watch Jovovich in a role which doesn’t require her to kick ass – except, perhaps of the psychological kind. For she still exudes menace, even when being extremely polite, or perhaps due to this. Managing to make “You’re just a prickly little pear” into a dire threat is no small feat. While Roberts is decent enough, the rest of the supporting cast of inmates (González, Macdonald and the ever-clunkily named Awkwafina) seem largely redundant. We’re never given much reason to care about their characters, and I found the film achieved greater impact when it stayed focused on Uma. But given the beauty on display, I’m largely prepared to forgive its other flaws.

Dir: Alice Waddington
Star: Emma Roberts, Milla Jovovich, Eiza González, Danielle Macdonald

The Plagues of Breslau

  By

★★★★
“Siedem”

The above is the Polish for “seven”, and in the first half-hour, you’ll be forgiven for thinking that’s what you’re watching: a Polish knock-off of David Fincher’s Se7en. Homicide cop Helena Rus (Kożuchowska) is struggling to come to terms with life, after her boyfriend is killed by a drunk-driver and, for political reasons, the criminal is allowed to go free. A welcome distraction comes in the shape of a series of ritualistic murders: every day at 6 pm, a body turns up on the streets of Wroclaw. The victims have been killed in strange and unusual ways – the first, for example, is sewn inside a cow-hide, which shrinks as it dries, crushing the victim to death. Each has a word branded into their flesh, such as “Degenerate”.

To help her, a profiler is sent from the capital, Warsaw: the equally brusque Magda Drewniak (Widawska), who quickly identifies that the perpetrator is replicating the titular incidents – Wroclaw was previously known as Breslau. In those, the ruler cleaned up town by selecting a criminal each day for gruesome public execution. So far, so Se7en. But just as we were settling in comfortably, the film hurls an absolute doozy of a twist at the viewer, and from then on, all bets are off. It becomes less of a whodunnit, and more a whydunnit, with the killer having a very specific agenda, which might be considerably closer to Helena than is comfortable for her.

Director Vega was previously seen here with Pitbull: Tough Women and Women of Mafia, but has stepped up his game a notch with this. Not least, in the spectacularly grisly nature of proceedings, with some disturbingly realistic deaths and corpses: you will need a strong stomach for a number of moments. However, both Helena and Magda make for excellent characters. The former is perpetually soft-spoken, yet takes absolutely no shit from anyone, despite possessing arguably the worst hair-cut in cinema history. And Magda’s impeccable knowledge of subjects from Polish history to coma recovery, makes her a force to be reckoned with as well. However, they’re facing a killer who is always one step ahead of them, and whose plan will come right into police headquarters.

It ends up being a little Se7en and a little Dragon Tattoo, yet has more than enough of its own style and content to stand on its own terms. It does perhaps stretch belief in some of the elements: a couple of the killings feel like they would require a road-crew to assemble, rather than being the work of a single person. However, in Helena Rus, we’ve got one of the most uncompromising heroines to come out of the European noir scene, and I’d love to see more of her cases in future – even if the ending makes that… somewhat uncertain, shall we say. Just be prepared for a film which is short on genuinely likable characters, and long on carnage. In particular, I recommend having a shot of vodka at hand for the guillotine scene.

Dir: Patryk Vega
Star: Małgorzata Kożuchowska, Daria Widawska, Tomasz Oświeciński, Maria Dejmek

The Poppy War, by R.F. Kuang

  By

Literary rating: ★★★★½
Kick-butt quotient: ☆☆☆☆

“Was she now a goddess or a monster? Perhaps neither. Perhaps both.”

There can’t be many fantasy novels based on the events of World War II. But here we are, and Kuang has done an amazing job of taking historical events and weaving them into a saga of gods, magical powers and monsters, that works very well, even if you have no clue about the background.

At the beginning, Rin is a young orphan girl in a remote village in the South of the empire. Abused ceaselessly by her foster parents, they’re about to sell her into marriage. Her only hope of escape is to pass the exam which grants admission to the military academy of Sinegard. Even though she succeeds, she remains an outcast there, except to the equally derided Master Jiang, professor of lore. He helps her tap into powers largely forgotten by the Empire, but warns that if she doesn’t control them, they will control her. Her studies are brought to a sudden end when the Federation invades, laying siege to Sinegard. With the city about to fall, desperate measures have to be taken. But some doors, once opened, are an awful lot harder to close.

“This is what you have to tell yourself,” Qara said fiercely. “You have to believe that it was necessary. That it stopped something worse. And even if it wasn’t, it’s the lie we’ll tell ourselves, starting today and every day afterward.”

The above quote is a good depiction of the dilemma at the core of the book. Is it permissible to do evil deeds to stop evil deeds? But that’s just part of the moral quagmire in which Rin finds herself, where a desire to protect her country merges with a quest for vengeance – both personal, and for previous genocide. There’s no denying the abilities into which she can tap are increasingly powerful, bordering on the divine. But she’s no “Mary Sue”: the cost mounts alongside them, to the point where her humanity is in danger of being entirely scorched away when she uses them.

And even if it doesn’t, the drugs necessary – both to reach the Pantheon where the gods reside, and to numb the pain of life following her awakening – won’t necessarily help Rin retain her sanity. There’s a gigantic stone prison, inside which are entombed, in a state of living hell, the thousands of previous shamans, who were driven completely insane by what they unleashed inside themselves, and had to be contained or they could destroy the world. The dangers here are very real, and only escalate the further Rin develops.

“I will die on my feet,” she said. “I will die with flames in my hand and fury in my heart. I will die fighting for the legacy of my people, rather than on Shiro’s operating table, drugged and wasted. I will not die a coward.”

Kuang has constructed a great heroine in Rin. From the very beginning, she is driven to escape a situation many would accept as hopeless, and demonstrates enormous resilience, and an utter commitment to do whatever she feels is necessary. She succeeds, not through some innate ability (hello, Harry Potter), but by working her butt off. Yet it’s that same willingness which ends up taking her, both physically and mentally, to some appalling places and experiences. The descriptions of Federation atrocities are all, apparently, backed by historical fact, matching what the Japanese did during the occupation of China in the thirties and forties. Most notably, the sacking of one city is based on the Rape of Nanking, and even a hardened soul like myself had his stomach flip on occasion. Kuang doesn’t pull her punches. There also seems to be a scientist based on the infamous Unit 731, who carried out human “experiments” on the locals.

But it’s all severe unpleasantess which is very necessary to the plot. Because it’s the only way through which Rin can justify her own reactions, and the extreme measures which she unleashes, along with the rest of the Cike [the Imperial shaman troop to which she is conscripted, and who are used to take on the Federation by unconventional means] There’s certainly no shortage of awesome-if-horrific set pieces, such as the Cike’s luring in and destruction of an enemy fleet. I’d love to see Peter Jackson or Guillermo Del Toro take on a cinematic adaptation, though the entire $200 million budget would probably end up going on digital flames…

“She was no victim of destiny. She was the last Speerly, commander of the Cike, and a shaman who called the gods to do her bidding. And she would call the gods to do such terrible things.”

The general tone is one of increasing darkness, and by the end, I was as much scared of Rin as in awe of her or concerned for her fate. About the only weakness I can think of, is that she’s rather distant and unlikable. Not exactly fun to be around, shall we say, and given some of her later acts, the term “heroine” seems dubious at best. But she’s going to need to be an ultimate, supernatural bad-ass in future volumes – not least to deal with a potentially equally-lethal shaman, who escaped from the stone prison, partly through Rin’s actions. There’s also the little matter of the Empress, who may not be the honourable subject of veneration she initially appeared to be.

It all sets up very nicely, without needing to create an artificial cliff-hander. As time permits, I definitely look forward to reading the next installment, The Dragon Republic.

Author: R.F. Kuang
Publisher: Harper Voyager, available through Amazon, both as a paperback and an e-book
1 of 3 in the Poppy War series.

Pickings

  By

★★
“Pap fiction.”

I am not a fan of Quentin Tarantino, outside of Kill Bill. Even as early as Reservoir Dogs, I found his style to be self-indulgent, and could never hear his characters speaking in their own voices, only QT’s. He seems to be capable only of cobbling together elements and influences from obscure, yet generally superior movies, and sprinkling them with pop-culture riffs and dialogue that’s so fake-sounding and artificial, it needs a warning label. So, while I appreciate the irony of someone ripping off the master of rip-off cinema, as Morgan does here, it’s not a world into which I willingly travel.

The influence here is palpable from the opening scene, when bar owner Jo Lee-Haywood (Price) is interrogating a thug she has captured and, it turns out, is tied up in a backroom of the bar she runs. Jo ends up talking about motivational speaker Tony Robbins, and how everyone is motivated by pleasure or fear, in a speech which couldn’t be more Quentin Tarantino, if it were licking the heroine’s bare feet. More or less from then on, it seemed painfully apparent this was the kind of film I was going to have to endure, rather than enjoy. And that was largely correct.

Jo, it turns out, is in debt to some rather nasty people, in particular a gangster named Sam “Hollywood” Barone (Urbas). He sends his henchmen to make Jo and her daughter, Scarlet (Vincent), an offer they can’t refuse, involving handing over the bar. Only, Jo is all, “Nah, we’re good, thanks,” and is having none of it. For she is not exactly the innocent bar-owner she seems, but came to the small Michigan town in order to escape a particularly brutal past. This isn’t her first time at the crime rodeo, shall we say – as we find out via another Tarantino-esque device, the needlessly convoluted time-line.

Morgan also appears to be a fan of Sin City, throwing in stylistic flourishes such as switching to rotoscoped animation at random. Most of these are more aggrandisements than art, save for Hollywood always being depicted in black-and-white. That’s a great way of indicating his status as a character straight out of film noir. The rest, though? Style for the sake of it, down to the cribbing of musical cues lifted from Morricone scored spaghetti Westerns, and a character who seems to have wandered straight off those same dusty streets. 

And it’s a shame, as in Jo, the film has a character which could have been a classic – even if the whole “left in a coma” thing is also cribbed from a certain QT film you’ve probably seen. Price plays her character like a velvet glove cast in iron (that’s one cult film not referenced!), and it soon becomes apparent that, when it comes to protecting Scarlet, Jo has no limits. Exploring this aspect, rather than making both story-line and players subservient to the movie’s look and feel, would have helped avoid this coming over like a fan submission to TarantinoCon 2018.

Dir: Usher Morgan
Star: Elyse Price, Yaron Urbas, Katie Vincent, Joe Trombino

Pussy Kills

  By

★★
“Coughs up a hairball.”

Despite a startling cover, this isn’t as sleazy as it seems. Indeed, even the title appears to be erring on the side of restraint, having apparently avoided the more obvious (and arguably, accurate) one of Killer Pussy. While the heroine certainly has an… interesting choice of costume, that’s as far as the film wants to go. It’s an odd approach: a sleeve like that sets up certain sets of expectations, which the movie has no apparent interest in matching. It’s not as if anyone of a sensitive nature is going to have got past the cover, so it seems odd to exercise such self-discipline when it comes to the content.

Anyway, it’s the story of Susie (Maya), whose parents were killed in a gang-related incident. Although both she and the cops know who was responsible, there isn’t enough evidence for the police to do anything. As a result, Susie begins her own surveillance operation, just before Halloween, only for the subjects to spot her. She is captured and raped by the gang, causing her already fragile sanity to crack. She manages to escape, and takes on the alternate persona of Pussy, her “sexy pussycat” Halloween costume. Wearing it, she tracks down the members of the gang who raped her, as well as their associates, and offs them in a variety of ways. She begins with some enthusiastic axe-work, then graduates to strangulation with a shoe-lace, and so on. But neither the gang nor the cops are enthusiastic about the corpses left in Pussy’s wake.

If only Catwoman had been like this. Well, if only this had had the budget of Catwoman, then it might have helped. At least, it might not have been a case where all the violence seems to occur just off-screen, accompanied by sprays of digital blood. You want to see vengeful savagery done properly? I Spit on Your Grave 3. There’s precious little sense of escalation or progress here, so for a good 45 minutes, it’s just one uninteresting kill after another. It may have started life as a web series, which may explain this over-episodic approach.

Still,  you’re clearly doing something wrong, when even Maya’s undeniably appealing butt begins to lose its charms… [Eventually… Probably after murder seven or so] Things do get slightly more interesting down the stretch, with the gang kidnapping Susie’s husband (Jia). There’s actually some drive to the narrative, rather than it being not much more than a loosely connected series of murders, intercut with shots of its leading lady’s booty. But even to reach that point, you also have to sit through the garish early going, where Black appears to be swapping lens filters on almost every shot, turning those scenes into a lurid, kaleidoscopic nightmare. When a director has to apply so much style, that’s usually an indication they have little or no confidence in the substance of their work. In this case, such concerns are largely justified.

Dir: Gabriel Black
Star: Lina Maya, Izzy Martinez, Kraig Million, Dave Jia

The Precipice

  By

★★
“Teeters on the edge of complete failure”

There’s nothing wrong, as such, with a film playing its hand close to its chest. However, you’ve got to give the audience enough information to keep them interested, and wanting to find out more. It’s here that this movie fails entirely, doggedly remaining so reluctant to tell you anything, I wanted to strap it down in a chair and start waterboarding. We don’t even get names for anyone involved, it’s that willfully unforthcoming. This begins in the aftermath of a shoot-out at a wind-farm, from which there are apparently only two survivors: a woman (Szep) and her captive (de Francesco). They head across the rural terrain towards a rendezvous with her allies, pursued not only by the captive’s allies, but also other interested parties.

I’ll fill in some of the background, since the movie is painfully averse to doing so. There is a looming, if not already happening, ecological catastrophe, which will result in the loss of all potable water. This may potentially lead to the collapse of civilization, particularly in the more crowded Northern hemisphere. The 1% are aware of the impending situation, and are plotting to head south, taking over resources there for their own benefit – in particular, a large underground water source. This is what the captive was involved in, and what the woman is attempting to prevent. Yet there may also be other, hidden agendas.

The interplay between the two leads is probably the best thing about this, with trust hard to come by on either side. For instance, just before bedding down, he asks her, “What makes you think I won’t slit your throat in the middle of the night?” Her reply, which genuinely made me LOL: “Probably the ketamine I laced your food with,” just as he falls unconscious. It’s a shame their relationship operates in such a vacuum, as far as reasons to care go. Both she and he clearly know what’s happening here: they’re just unwilling to share this data with the audience, and the result is a low-intensity apathy. Which is a bit of a pity, since Szep is decent, a low-rent version of Rhona Mitra, and the pursuing group is led by another unnamed woman (Walker). Say what you like about this dystopian future, at least it’s clearly an equal opportunity one.

The scenery is quite nice, and well-photographed too, though I was a bit confused by the lobbing in of some South African references. I guess it’s all Southern Hemisphere. There’s also a scene where the woman just lets her captive run off, because… Well, like just about everything else here, it goes unexplained. Perhaps the most telling point is, I actually ended up watching this twice, because the first time, I got an hour in and realized I had no real clue what was happening. I blamed this on my having been distracted somehow, so restarted it. Nope. A second viewing proved it was truly a case where it was the movie’s fault, and not mine.

Dir: Michael Hatch
Star: Paris Szep, Vito de Francesco, Alyson Walker, Benjamin Francis Pascoe

Prime Suspect: Tennison

  By

★★★½
“Before she was famous…”

Origin stories are all the rage, it appears. Though it’s probably just coincidence we watched this prequel to Prime Suspect the same week that Joker came out. It’s not quite as successful in terms of reinventing an iconic character, or shedding light on how they became who they are. This is largely because lead actress Martini is not Helen Mirren. Though it would unfair to hold that against her – because, let’s face it, who is? While I found it interesting to see some of the early influences which turned Jane Tennison into who she is, what she became is more notable than how she got there. It’s probably more enjoyable if you can separate them, and just enjoy this on its own terms, as a period police procedural.

It’s 1973, and we join the 22-year-old WPC 517, Jane Tennison (Martini), as she tries to find a footing in her first posting, to Hackney Police Station in East London. There, she has to cope with a time where women police officers were largely sidelined to making tea and taking messages. However, one of the detectives there, D.C.I. Len Bradfield (Reid) takes her under his wing, as the investigation begins into the murder of a prostitute, found strangled with her own bra. Meanwhile, long-term criminal Clifford Bentley – against whom Bradfield has a grudge – has barely got out of jail, before he and his family are planning a new robbery. But Jane is about to discover that things are not always as cut and dried as she’d like, and that the law and justice can be different, too.

It’s when the heroine is forced to confront these dilemmas that the show is at its most interesting. For example, when Tennison witnesses a colleague roughing up a suspect in the murder, actions which could allow them to go free. Should she speak up or keep silent? There are no easy answers, and depicting the dramatic tension is where Martini is at her most effective, along with trying to deal with her “helicopter mother”, who doesn’t appreciate her little girl is all grown up. [As an aside, there’s no denying the actress does bear more than a slight resemblance to a young Helen Mirren. Compare the pic on the right to this one of Mirren, from 1972, a year before this takes place]

Of course, if you’ve seen the episodes with Tennison all grown up, you’ll not be surprised by much here. There’s no way, for example, that Jane and Len are ever going to end up happily ever after. That said, the double-whammy in which this is accomplished was undeniably effective. It goes some way to explaining her aloofness in middle-age, as the scars of her early experiences. Being able to hang more personality trains on FutureJane, in a similar way, would have helped link this to what was to come. Instead, it’s just a little too disconnected, though on its own merits, we still were solidly entertained.

Dir: David Caffrey
Star: Stefanie Martini, Sam Reid, Blake Harrison, Alun Armstrong
a.k.a. Prime Suspect 1973