Complicit

David Oyelowo has rejoined the UK Security Services, but much has changed in his absence.  Gone are the gloss, the chumminess and the dashing capers of his 'Spooks' colleagues.  Instead  he's Edward Ekubo, a lone patriot in a distinctly unglamorous office, hampered by bureaucracy, mistrusted by his superiors and less likely to wield a gun than a computer mouse in his endeavours to save the nation.

The 100-minute drama is essentially the tale of his attempts to snare a suspected terrorist, Waleed Ahmed (Arsher Ali), leading him to Cairo and some very murky moral waters indeed.

Like other current C4 dramas 'Utopia' and 'Black Mirror', this depicts a shadowy state, whose motives and methods are at least questionable (the Rimington/Manningham-Buller/'M' clone played menacingly by Monica Dolan says that they would have willingly covered up for Edward's complicity in torture if he hadn't been discovered by a blogger).  Moral dilemmas abound, performances are mesmerising - the confrontation between Waleed and Edward is as tense as the climax of a play - and the British Embassy's Tony Coveney (Stephen Campbell Moore) is the embodiment of a conscientious, constrained and ultimately compromised servant of the state.

Could this be Channel 4's renaissance for intelligent adult drama?  This was subtle and complex, with a convincing script by Guy Hibbert.  The only minor irritation was director Niall McCormick's arty inclusion of constant close-ups of Edward looking worried.  Oyelowo's acting and Hibbert's script have the done the work already, so we don't need to see every furrow on his brow.  This was only a minor quibble, though.

'Complicit' was better than its rivals across the channels, yet it was trounced in the ratings by both 'Ripper Street' and especially by 'Mr Selfridge', arguably in reverse proportion to their merits.  Apropos of moral dilemmas, our faith in majority rule has to falter at this point.... 

Spooks *spoilers*

We try, but we haven’t the time or the stamina to watch everything, nor to stick to things that no longer surprise and/or please.  Ali was the last to leave, in this case, but she didn’t even see out Adam’s tenure, so this was a trip down memory lane purely for the love of the blog.

‘Spooks’ began in the wake of 9/11 as an exciting, plot-driven series for a whole new, paranoid world.  MI5 had never looked so good nor had it had so many eager recruits.  The writing was strong, the humour was weak, and the latter was what wore us out.  Just how many hours of po-faced tension can one stand?  Browsing the internet for a crash course in what we’d missed, we’ve sort of plugged the gaps: Ros, Jo, Lucas and the ever-rising star Ruth.  Harry still frowning on proceedings.  All set for the last ever series.


Deja vu is a double-edged sword.  Harry!  Ruth!  Offices with acres of glass and screens!  We could go on.  In fact, we can't resist it: Russians!  CIA chiefs!  Fat-cat diplomats!  Lines like, "Now is the time to make our move"!  Explosions!  And all in the first twenty minutes.  It's like eating a tub of what used to be your favourite ice-cream and remembering that you stopped eating it because the last time it made you sick.


Which isn't to deny that what 'Spooks' does, it does well.  It's well-paced, slick and involving.  The rest of the cast could be anyone.  Simon Russell Beale (forever Powell's Widmerpool), Lara Pulver, Max Brown et al have taken up the mantles of Robert Glenister, Tim McInnerny, Keeley Hawes, Hermione Norris, Matthew Macfadyen, David Oyelowo, Rupert Penry Jones and Richard Armitage.  The list reads like several seasons of impressive rep casts at Stratford, playing the same parts.  After nine previous series, there would have to be bona fide vampires and aliens to surprise the audience, so finality is probably a good move.  (As an irregular viewer, Ali was still able to predict Erin's motherhood and Harry's fatherhood.)


Meanwhile... Harry goes into a library - not just any old library, an old-fashioned romantic one (the London Library?).  He's followed by at least two people and he knows it.  He pulls a folded note from the spine of a book.  The ragged handwriting reads, "We have to meet.  Tourmaline is in danger.  Sharecropper."  It's the sort of spy caper to have you wriggling on your cushions and chewing the wasabi popcorn.  And never mind those elegant little Bond shooters, these guns are huge.   What's not to love?