OK, so it turns out that I don’t know how to properly pronounce the Danish word Forbrydelsen – The Killing to most of us – but at least a commenter under this week’s Telly Addict TV review on the Guardian website was kind enough to point this out. For-broodle-sun, you idiots! (I must say, I really feel I am getting off lightly with the comments under Telly Addict. Users of the Guardian website are rightly fabled to be among the cruellest, bitchiest and rudest on earth. But mostly, they just engage with each other about the programmes I have reviewed, which is kind of what it’s for, so God bless them.) As well as the return of The Killing to BBC4 – and I’m only watching Episode 1 for now, as I wish to binge on the rest of the nine episodes when I’ve got at least five or six in the Sky+ tank – I stumble across Tamara Ecclestone: Billion $$ Girl on Channel 5 and find myself frustrated by the quality of Britain’s Greatest Codebreaker on C4. The link is here.
Some late news just in. The Killing is a good television programme. I know, I know, get hip to the beat, Granddad, but when was the last time I got in early with something? I mean, really. I do not set trends. I follow them. Usually after everybody else has stopped following them due to lack of interest, and because a better trend has just started up somewhere else. And if I’d paid attention to my Radio Times colleague Alison Graham – who just sits over there from me in the Radio Times office, and anyway, even if she didn’t sit over there, she highly recommended The Killing the week it started on BBC4 in the Radio Times, a magazine I read – I’d have been in at the ground floor. But I didn’t, and wasn’t. And then it was too late.
I mean, it was old news to the Danes when BBC4 started showing Forbrydelsen (“The Crime“), having aired, and been a hit, on Danish television in early 2007. I can’t remember exactly what was on when The Killing started here, but it must have been a handful, as we never series-linked it – perhaps it clashed with something else? – so by the time the MEDIA had spotted it, about six episodes in, it was too late to practically catch up. (And iPlayer is great, but I don’t like watching telly on my laptop – it eats up my wi-fi allowance for a start, and it’s too small, and I’ve tried hooking it up to my telly, but it’s not happening, right?) Hey, I was cool with having missed the start. I missed the start of The Office. I missed the start of The Wire. I missed the start of The Inbetweeners. I miss the start of everything. But BBC4 are smart, I thought – they’ll just show the previous episodes as a “catch-up”, maybe in the middle of the night, and we can draw up alongside, majestically. But they clearly didn’t have the rights to repeat The Killing, and The Killing remained an exclusive pleasure of a) early adopters, b) Alison Graham disciples, c) people who don’t mind watching things on the iPlayer, and d) some Guardian readers. Not all Guardian readers. But some.
At this point, I became as stubborn as a mule. If the BBC, which I’d already paid for, wouldn’t show The Killing again from the start, I would not – that’s WOULD NOT – shell out for the DVD box set. I remained unanimous in this. It became a badge of honour. When the box set came out, I did not buy it. Friends who did buy it found themselves with waiting lists, as others put their hands up to borrow it. So much time passed, I wondered if I would ever see this bloody programme.
BBC4 announced that they had purchased series two of The Killing. C4 announced that they had purchased the US translation of The Killing. A-boo! How could I watch either of these things without having seen the original. And then Zoe Ball stepped in. She lent me her box set, even though she was only halfway through it, as she couldn’t foresee sufficient quality time ahead to fit any more of it in for the next two weeks. Grateful, I brought hers home with me after appearing on her Radio 2 show last Saturday. And I must give it back to her next Saturday. This will not be a problem. I’ve nearly finished all 20 episodes.
The Killing, or Forbrydelesen, which feels a more respectful name for it now that I have been sucked into its Danish ways, is superior, intelligent television. It’s a whodunit, if you didn’t know that already, with echoes of Twin Peaks in that there are a lot of trees, the music’s all synthesised, and it revolves around the question, “Who killed …?” (In Twin Peaks, it was “Who killed Laura Palmer?”; here, it’s “Who killed Nanna Birk Larsen?”) Oh, and like Twin Peaks, it’s gloomy and foreboding. Unlike Twin Peaks, it’s not weird. It’s a fairly straightforward police procedural, albeit one that’s plotted exquisitely, and unfolds at a sometimes funereal pace, daringly allowing the reality of the situation – the grief, the suspicion, the subterfuge, the domestic – to breathe in among all the clues and red herrings. The weirdness lies simply in the fact that it’s all unfolding in Copenhagen. What a fascinating insight into another culture this is! And how much we are learning about the national character and the mechanics of local government and the best type of wood for a sauna (although, to be fair to Denmark, the character who’s interested in the wood is Norwegian and having a house fitted out in Sweden – the subtle differences between, and cultural friction between, the three Scandinavian countries provides a lot of intrigue for we outsiders).
You may have picked up on the vital fact that the lead detective, DCI Sarah Lund (the mesmerisingly natural Sophie Grabøl), wears a Faroese jumper. In fact, she wears two, one white with a dark pattern, the other dark with a white pattern, a negative of the more famous one. It does speak of the show’s essence, certainly you might wear one if you lived in cold, grey, wet Copenhagen, with thermals underneath, and in that sense it’s key, and – as has been pointed out already – it’s a rare flash of light in the seemingly permanent night of Denmark. But it’s not all that matters. What matters is that, even though it’s subtitled – and Danish is a really difficult language to follow, with very few Anglicised words (apart from, mainly, “alibi”, “station” and “fucked”) – you’re gripped. We all know that subtitles are considered commercial poison. This is why even foreign films with a wide release in this country are trailed by trailers that feature no dialogue, just in case we spot that they’re not in English! But BBC4 have bucked this trend. Firstly with Spiral – which I started watching but couldn’t really fall in love with – and now this, which I could.
You’re into a whole new strata of modest numbers once you leave behind the main five channels, but to have pulled in 600,000 viewers come the end of The Killing‘s run is a remarkable feat. Especially when the much less Danish and much more relentlessly marketed Mad Men drew nowhere near that amount to BBC4 in its last series, opening with 370,000. Hence its purchase by Sky Atlantic for the fifth. The Killing is a hit by anyone’s standards. And it’s all foreign. This is cheering news for non-philistines. (And in this matter, I speak as someone who was once subtitles-intolerant, but had that allergy massaged out of me about ten years ago.)
And can I just nominate Bjarne Henrikson as The Killing‘s finest performer, among many? He plays Nanna’s bereaved removals-man father, Theis Birk Larsen, the Scandinavian Harry Secombe. Stoic and often wordless, this great bear of a patriarch conveys the whole paintbox of human emotion with those hooded blue eyes, blonde sideburns and tiny, expressive mouth. (Yes, he conveys emotion with his sideburns.)
Oh, and I haven’t finished watching it yet – three more eps to go! – and for those here who have yet to even start it, let’s steer well clear of whodidit spoilers, please. Tak!