Inspector Morse: Last Bus to Woodstock

 "Is sex more trouble than it's worth?"

This is another solid episode, with a fairly impressive cast, with a couple of twists at the end> John Thaw, as ever, is superb. But this- based, I believe, on what was Colin Dexter's very first novel in 1975, although updated to not use the phrase "swinging set" or, indeed, the distasteful subplot of John's perviness- doesn't really stand out as an episode.

It's much toned down from the rather edgy novel. Neither of the Crowthers die, and Mary doesn't deliberately murder Sylvia. It leads to a far more sedate experience which shows, more than most episodes, how much has been changed from the rather dark and sexually sleazy early novels. Instead, we have an innocent female student of English Literature who gets #MeToo'd, in a very 1988 way, by a creepd don who faces no consequences, and blames herself, and also gets to talk to Morse about Spenser and the naughty Earl of Rochester.

It's good. I enjoyed it. But this is not, I think, an episode that will linger in the memory.

Incidentally, I'm 44 and don't instinctively think of 1988 as being particularly long ago. I have memories from 1988. It feels modern and contemporary. Yet this is a world of office desks without PC's, of men routinely wearing suits in offices, of calling colleagues "Mr" and "Miss" at work, and of typists. When I started in the Civil Service in 2003, it was literally the Monday after typists had ceased to be a thing...

Inspector Morse: The Silent World of Nicholas Quinn

 "There's always a fifty-fifty chance that the man who found the body did the deed..."

This second episode is better than the first: a complex yet logical series of events that furnishes us with the clues quite fairly, with well-rounded characters portrayed by an extraordinary cast of some of this country's finest character actors. Even better, there are a couple of fiendishly clever twists at the end- and the traditional Morse conceit of having our Wagnerian detective make a couple of wrong turns only makes the whole thing more effective.

It's been decades, plural, since I last read the novel, but this seemed like a fairly straight adaptation to me, although with a few extra visual clues slotted in at the start, as would sometimes happen in Granada's Sherlock Holmes. No doubt it's an '80s thing for the ITV franchises which were, of course, still largely in their pre-1991 heyday.

It's also notable how much of Morse's character is by now shaping up- the crosswords are prominent here- and, of course, relevant- as is the Wagner. Morse's attitude to real ale is, of course, eminently civilised. It's good too, and surprising, to see pathologist Max fleshed out a bit. Peter Woodthorpe maks him quite the memorable character.

There's more Oxford architectural porn here, of course, no doubt for the last time. But there's some interestingly dated attitudes here, in a 1987 adaptation of a 1977 novel. Personally, I've never seen Last Tango in Paris, but certainly not out of any prudery; I haven't got around to it, plus I understand the actual making of the film was a bit #MeToo. It's a proper film by a reputable director and I would not, personally, think of it as porn, just a serious film with sex in it.

On the other hand, I hate butter...

Inspector Morse: The Dead of Jericho

 "You're one of these people who have breakfast, aren't you?"

I've read all the Colin Dexter novels at least once although, I'm sure, it's been at least twenty years. I've never seen any of the TV series before though, at least not a whole episodes. I'll not be blogging these quickly as the episodes are bloody long, but the first one is fascinating. This is in some ways the Morse of the books- bloody minded, knows his beer and his culture, but in other ways he isn't: this isn't the course misogynist that Colin Dexter wrote but more of a gentle soul who courts Anne Stavely sensitively.

John Thaw is superb, but credit is also due to Anthony Minghella for perhaps the hardest adaptation- one that has to introduce the series and the characters. He does so with subtlety and writerly restraint, with shortand simple scenes that don't show off, and by showing, not telling; the hallmark of a certain sort of good screenwriting. A shockingly young Gemma Jones is also excellent as, of course, is the great Patrick Troughton in what must be one of his last roles.

I thought I remembered little of the story as it unfolded but the Sophocles red herring came to me as the camera focused yet again on a copy of Oedipus the King just after we learned that Ned had blinded himself. But it was all quite clever, and a cosily enjoyable thing to watch without being too cosy. It helps that morse himself is a compellingly nuanced character.

I'll keep occasionally blogging these. Look out for another episode sometime...