Suspect (Channel 4) | channel4.com
The Whistleblowers: Inside the UN (BBC Two) | iPlayer
Lenny Henry’s Caribbean Britain (BBC Two) | iPlayer
Ellie and Natasia (BBC Three) | iPlayer
It’s late, a sigh past midnight, and I’m five whiskies and a pack of smokes down, when I decide to eyeball Channel 4’s new eight-part thriller, Suspect, starring some acting heavy called James Nesbitt…
Some TV critic-noir there, in keeping with the steamily nihilistic tone Channel 4’s new drama aims towards, albeit with patchy results. Directed by Dries Vos, adapted by Matt Baker from the Danish series Forhøret, it stars Nesbitt as Danny, a cop first seen talking to a police pathologist about the suspected suicide lying between them on a mortuary table. When a devastated Danny realises the Jane Doe is his estranged daughter, Christina (Imogen King), he suspects murder and strides out into the London night to prove it.
Yes, here is Nesbitt delivering yet another Troubled Cop, this time with Brillo pad facial hair you could scrub a bath with. Still, the cast has the wow factor, including Anne-Marie Duff as Danny’s ex, Richard E Grant as Christina’s shadowy mentor, Niamh Algar as her wife and Joely Richardson as the pathologist. Suspect also has an interesting structure: each 30 minute episode – two episodes nightly over four nights – comprises mainly of a double-hander between Danny and one of the suspects. I was expecting prestige telly-Cluedo: Richard E Grant in WC1 with the lead piping?
Trouble is, the format makes everything too repetitive: Danny thunders up to different people, at different times, in different spaces, growling out practically the same questions and threats. Improbable clues and hunches fall like plot dominoes. While Dead Christina appears in mystical visions, an intriguing theme about Danny being a bad father is left under-examined. As the episodes progress, it becomes “seedy nightlife” bingo: drugs, lap-dancing clubs, a bizarre segue into cryptocurrency.
On top of this, things feel surreally over-mannered, giving some encounters the ambience of Tinder dates conducted via the medium of interpretive dance. Presumably it’s on purpose, to lend that air of stylised Soho-noir. Framed like this, it makes more sense: Nesbitt is the jaded gumshoe; London is standing in for Los Angeles; Richardson is the Jessica Rabbit of the mortuary slabs… etcetera. In this respect, Suspect deserves some credit for creative ambition, but the result is more “Nah!” than noir.
On BBC Two, Ben Steele’s superb, rigorous, feature-length documentary, The Whistleblowers: Inside the UN tells you everything you don’t want to be true. It makes the case that that international bastion of human rights, the United Nations, promoter of “peace, dignity and equality”, whose members are protected by diplomatic immunity, is riddled with abuses of power, corruption and cover-ups.
The whistleblowing allegations are wide-ranging and disturbing: human rights officer Emma Reilly was horrified when the identity of an Uyghur activist was revealed to China; James Wasserstrom says his office was eliminated when he identified financial kickbacks in Kosovo; John O’Brien claims he was slapped down when he unearthed financial misconduct involving Russia. Elsewhere, there is UN stonewalling over allegations that range from causing the deadly 2010 cholera outbreak in Haiti, to the sexual harassment of personnel, to the rape and sexual abuse of children in Central African peacekeeping zones.
The whistleblowers’ impassioned reasons for joining the UN contrast horribly with their stories, a reminder that one definition of cynicism is idealism with its heart broken. In shocking, Kafka-esque scenes, Reilly films policemen arriving at her apartment, sent by the UN to investigate her being “suicidal”, and taking her for psychological assessment (this happens just as she is due to raise concerns in an online UN meeting). We’re told that various UN employees have been fired since participating in the documentary. Steele keeps things cool and measured, delivering a disquieting film that raises urgent questions about corruption, abuse, entitlement and systemic lack of accountability.
Another BBC Two documentary, the two-part Lenny Henry’s Caribbean Britain, asks: how has Caribbean culture enriched Britain? It’s a rich, textured exploration of the cultural crossover, lifting off from the arrival of the Windrush generation, encompassing television, music, fashion, comedy, sport and more.
There is a veritable throng of interviewees, including Billy Ocean, David Harewood, Trevor Nelson and Sonia Boyce. Racism is dealt with – the “No Irish, No Blacks, No Dogs” signs, the National Front – but does not dominate. While obvious cultural themes are discussed, not least, reggae, ska, jungle and beyond, it also looks at everything from the wit of calypso to the groundbreaking textiles of designer Althea McNish. I loved hearing Dennis Bovell talk about making Janet Kay’s Silly Games, the high-pitched lovers rock masterpiece that’s been imperilling the nation’s eardrums since 1979.
At times, the pace is too rapid, but that’s a minor quibble. Of course, Henry – comedian, actor, spokesperson – is a high-profile representative of British-Caribbean culture. He dips in with his story here and there, but he mainly serves as enthusiast-in-chief, waxing lyrical with guests in the spirit of fierce, warm celebration.
On to BBC Three’s Ellie and Natasia, originally a 2019 pilot and now a six-part sketch show series full of dark, sparkling mischief from standup partners Natasia Demetriou and Ellie White, who also appeared together in Stath Lets Flats.
Sketch shows are notoriously tricky beasts, but Natasia and Ellie and director Simon Bird manage to evoke the likes of Smack the Pony while also feeling fresh. With intermittent guests (including Natasia’s brother, Jamie), the 15-minute episodes include skits on everything from vaping dominatrixes, to wild swimming (“I’m up, dressed, walking towards my kink”), to a strangely haunting recurring piece on squalid, flat-bound business Internet Nails: “Life. Love. Nails”.
Some sketches, such as a riff on the card game snap, drone on too long. The show is strongest when taking socially blasphemous pops at vacuous, self-aggrandising types: “I’ve got a pixie haircut and that is my life’s work.” A spoof pop video digging out professionally childlike performers – “Feeling really cute when I poo myself” – had me howling. Ellie and Natasia could be the wickedly subversive sketch show you never knew you needed.
Star ratings (out of five)
Suspect ★★
Whistleblowers: Inside the UN ★★★★★
Lenny Henry’s Caribbean Britain ★★★
Ellie and Natasia ★★★★
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