Good cop, bad cop
It’s Saturday morning and a sense of anticipation is growing. Breakfast? No, had it and it was very tasty, thank you. A fun packed day ahead on a Bank Holiday weekend? Yes, but that’s not it either. Give up? Well, Ispettore Montalbano returns to the TV screen tonight.
I was hooked by the series last time round. The combination of sun-dappled villas, turquoise seas, good storylines and, of course, the incomparable ispettore himself. Especially as he swims to shore. Then there’s his long suffering girlfriend, Livia, who we somehow know is never going to get him to the church on time.
Reality, pshaw! Those who have lived in the area say it bears no resemblance. But then the Oxford of Morse is long gone, and who is to say that Sweden could ever be as gloomy as Wallander implies.
Yet somehow this heady mix of foreign climes, quirky lead actors and who-dunnittales has clicked with a whole new generation of viewers. Maybe we should be called post-Conans, Doyle as opposed to the Barbarian.
I’m not sure what that says about us. I know that the ispettore series is so old (indeed, that’s part of its appeal) that the lead might now move around with a Zimmer frame. I know that my Italian friends say I should not be watching such rubbish. But Saturday night has become crime night.
So I’m raising my cup of coffee in a toast. Here’s to a life of crime and a bit of eye candy. Works for me every time.