The origins of detective fiction can be dated back to as early as the 8th century in the Arabian Nights. Edgar Allan Poe’s C. Auguste Dupin is widely considered to be one of the first fictional detectives, at least in English literature. In France, it was Emile Gaboriau’s Monsieur Lecoq. And then along came Arthur Conan Doyle, inspired by both Poe and Gaboriau, with Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson, and the rest, as they say, is history. While it’s true that several literary geniuses and screenwriters have tried to do their own take on the Holmes-Watson dynamic, to varying degrees of success, nothing has quite surpassed the worldwide appeal of Doyle’s work. And one of the major reasons why I think that’s the case is because modern detective fiction is convoluted for the sake of being convoluted, with no satisfying payoff at the end of the ordeal. Well, on that note, let’s talk about Dept. Q.
Based on Jussi Adler-Olsen’s book series of the same name, Scott Frank’s Dept. Q tells the story of DCI Carl Morck, who is severely injured while investigating a crime scene with DCI James Hardy and PC Anderson. Anderson dies on the spot, Hardy is paralyzed from the waist down, and other than a bullet wound in his neck and immense psychological damage, Morck makes it out okay. When he returns to active duty with the intention of investigating his own shooting, his boss, DCS Moira Jacobson, creates the titular department to keep him busy with cold cases. He is joined by DC Rose Dickson and Akram Salim, who help him zero in on a prosecutor’s disappearance. Seemingly parallel to this, we see Merritt losing a high-profile case, which allows Graham Finch to walk free despite (allegedly) killing his wife. She lives with her mentally impaired brother, William, and her brother’s caretaker, Claire Marsh. She is constantly being bombarded with hate messages. And one day, when she is on the ferry to Mhor with William, she is kidnapped. Coincidentally, the prosecutor that Morck, Akram, and Rose are looking into is Merritt, who has been gone for 4 years. Is she dead? If alive, will she be found in time? Most importantly, who is the prime suspect? Well, that’s what the show is all about.
While the major chunk of Dept. Q’s attention is dedicated to solving the mystery around Merritt’s disappearance, it also focuses on the circumstances that led to Finch’s release, as well as finding out the identity of the guy who shot Anderson, Hardy, and Morck. Now, I don’t know about everyone else, but using one plot to misdirect is more than enough. Having three intersecting cases on the table, while also dealing with the protagonist’s psychological issues and his relationship with his stepson, that too in a 9-episode series, seems like overkill. Yeah, those who are used to 6 or 8 episodes per season will find the number 9 to be daunting. But with the amount of material that the writers are juggling with, and given how weighty they are, they needed more time and space; around 15-20 episodes would’ve been fine. Or they should’ve streamlined the stories so as to ensure that each subplot got a somewhat satisfying conclusion, instead of everything feeling rushed. Thankfully, the dialogue writing and the character work are robust enough to keep things engaging from the first episode to the last. Honestly, I could’ve listened to hours of banter between Morck, Rose, Hardy, and Akram.
Another problem that Dept. Q runs into by having too many subplots is tonal imbalance. Without spoiling anything, the whole thing feels like a mixture of Se7en, Hot Fuzz, The Kid Detective, and The Nice Guys. Yeah, these are four of my favorite crime thriller movies, but downing them at the same time is something that I don’t exactly recommend. So, when the narrative jumps from darkly comedic interactions between Morck and the people in his world to the hell that Merritt is/was in, it just feels off. Maybe the intention behind the structuring is to show the contrast between the police and detectives “solving” a case versus a victim’s harrowing ordeal of “suffering” through that case. But, in execution, the whole thing seems jarring. The first few times that the show goes from classic Scottish sarcasm to Hostel-esque torture are tolerable. However, when it happens for the 20th time, it’s not interesting anymore. The pacing is inconsistent. The green screen and VFX work for the car-driving scenes are atrocious. The editing and cinematography, for the most part, are fine. The production design and art direction, especially when it comes to the office of the titular department, are excellent. The subtle choices in terms of hair and makeup and costume design are worth applauding.
The only impeccable aspect of Dept. Q is its cast. It’s one thing to hire a bunch of talented actors and a whole different ball game to get the best performances out of them, but Scott Frank has seemingly managed to achieve the impossible. Matthew Goode is, as always, amazing. He unpacks all the layers of Morck with such finesse that it’s fascinating to watch. He is one of the most underappreciated actors out there, and I love the fact that he doesn’t care about all that and continues to reinvent himself. Chloe Pirrie is brilliant. She goes from being someone you can empathize with to someone you should loathe so seamlessly that you won’t even realize you’ve started hating Merritt. Jamie Sives is excellent. His chemistry with Goode will tug at your heartstrings. Alexej Manvelov is the secret weapon up this show’s sleeve. His stoicism and no-nonsense behavior are simply the best. Leah Byrne is the complete opposite of Manvelov. She is chirpy, very emotional, and an overall sweetheart. And when Goode, Sives, Manvelov, and Byrne are just playing off of each other, it’s a hoot. As for the supporting cast, Mark Bonnar, Shirley Henderson, Kate Dickie, Kelly Macdonald, Tom Bulpett, Steven Miller, and everyone else who shows up even for a few seconds on the screen knock it out of the park like it’s just another day of their job.
I suppose the most straightforward way of describing Dept. Q is that it’s a mixed bag. It’s not bad enough to make me say that it’s unwatchable. It’s not amazing enough for me to declare that it is a must-watch. The cast is likable. The dialogue writing is great. The subplots comment on institutional corruption, capitalism, trauma (in various forms), parenting, and justice. But by the time the credits on the finale rolled, nothing really stuck with me. I didn’t have an emotional reaction to anything. Am I up for a second season with this group of detectives? Sure, yeah. However, the storytelling needs to improve. I know that Netflix has made Harlan Coben a household name by greenlighting adaptations of every garbage book that he has written, but just because something is popular doesn’t mean that it needs to be emulated. There’s a chasm of difference between complex and convoluted, and until and unless writers and showrunners understand that, we’ll keep getting these half-baked and hollow pieces of media. So, while everyone figures out how they’re going to do that, I’m going to go and hang out with Arthur Conan Doyle.
