Inspector Morse: The Sins of the Fathers

 "He didn't think Mr Trevor could organise a proverbial. Even in his own brewery."

Last episode was, especially on reflection, utterly superb. And so is this one, full of cleverly interwoven plot threads and nuanced characters played by first rate guest stars... until it isn't. The ending, with its sudden reveal of events back in history which motivated the murderer, doesn't feel earned and, although it doesn't exactly breal Father Knox's traditional rules of detective fiction, it isn't really in the spirit. None of this historical Knox stuff was forewarned to the viewer.

And yet the drama is excellent. Betty Marsden's racist mother, and Lionel Jeffries and Isabel Dean as the horribly snobbish family of the victim, all particularly excel, although we do find ourselves with that age old problem of detective telly, that the most famous guest actors are likely to be the ones whodunit.

The young Alex Jennings, though... wow. I realise he's been ubiquitous on television these last few years, but as a young actor he could exude such nuance and, yes, menace.

A flawed but impressive instalment, though. And, yet again, a remindwr that the world of my early youth is long gone. No more posh old people of that generation, and no more typewriters. But we have real ale still, and long may it persist.

The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes: The Illustrious Client

 "You go your way. Let me go mine."

This is one of those rare Sherlock Holmes stories which are not whodunits at all. A fairly late short story, it is perhaps surprising that Granada should have adapted this most unusual tale ahead of others. But here we are.

This is a well-made piece of television with some strong performances. It's just odd that the plot concerns an attempt to prevent a naive young lasy from marrying one Baron Gruner- a bounder, a cad and a foreigner to boot- who has numerous crimes, including murder, in his past, and "collects" women to abuse. He's a deeply disturbing and loathsome individual, and t's instructive to hear Conan Doyle's dialogue explaining gaslighting before the term was coined.

This is a thriller, not a murder mystery, and feels intended as an adaptation of a piece of classic literature to a greater extent than is usually the case even with Granada. Nevertheless, it works, and gives the ever-sublime Jeremy Brett the chance to play different angles as Holmes while Anthony Valentine twirls his moustache with aplomb. Surprisingly decent, but I wouldn't hope to see too much more in this vein.