“Luther;
is he really as dirty as they say?”
Well, this was the question I had been asking myself when I finally
succumbed to clicking atop Idris
Elba’s brooding face on my Netflix
menu. Now an experienced viewer of
gritty British crime dramas (Happy Valley,
Line Of Duty), I was prepped to plumb further
depths in my exploring of the nation’s obsession with murders and police
officers. Christmas 2018 had been
peppered with constant conversational mentions of buses becoming worrying
territory after a harrowing scene in the fifth series that the BBC broadcast as
part of their festive schedule. As
someone whose average daily consumption of London buses is between three and
five (I end up on the 137 most days, but most covet the rare appearance of a
spiffy little P5), this warranted further investigation. Also: Idris Elba. I like his coats.
All I knew was that he plays a copper, but most likely one
who doesn’t care much for due process, particularly after I gleaned a reference
to anger issues in the blurb. John
Luther specifically works in the department of the police that looks at
murders. I’m not sure what other sort of
law enforcement I thought he would be doing.
You don’t get your own series prosecuting for benefit fraud, I
suppose. Based in and around East London
(which means I’m often distracted during exterior set-up shots trying to see if
I can recognise various Prets I’ve grabbed overpriced gluten-free snacks in on
the way to meetings in that part of town) the Victorian brickwork and city
history create an environment abundant in stylistic aesthetics and stabbings
most horrid. Whereas I expected each
series of a handful of episodes to revolve around a singular detailed case, the
first season episodically works through a number of different killers. With the exception of the first perp we come
across (the fiery Alice Morgan who, if only to demonstrate sizzling sexual
tension, turns up throughout future instalments) most of the killers Luther
goes after are of the serial variety, often with specialist perversions.
Enter, then, a revolving cast of supporting actors whose
odds to survive even ten minutes into the drama are not high. If they’re not an established character,
you’re really just counting down the moments until the come a cropper on the
end of an axe (though this arguably also happens with established characters). It brings to mind the Saturday evenings of
growing up, when the family would gather round the box for Casualty. In between progressing long-running
storylines of the hospital staff, character actors would appear for set-up
scenes. We all knew someone was going to
end up in accident and emergency, so there was a grisly thrill in eying each
wobbly ladder or erratic motoring decision before we could tut at the crunching
of bone and bursting forth of blood that necessitated a visit from Holby’s
finest. Similarly, with our Luther, we
lay in wait as viewers, eager for the closure of each bit-part’s untimely
dispatching at the hands of some sort of fantastical psychopath. Often, Luther himself is trying to anticipate
a maniac’s next move, glancing at some bits of paper pinned to a board in order
to leap unfathomably to incredible conclusions that allow him to deduce the
upcoming location of the culprit’s next hit.
Racing across town in his awful Volvo, Luther must have lost count of
the number of times he’s been too late to save the victim. If I’m late to a meeting at work, we just
start five minutes later. If Luther
arrives delayed, folk get murdered.
I’m sure that makes for some awkward chats in his
end-of-year reviews. Later series see
him under the leadership of DSU Martin Schenk (a more sort of subterranean Ted
Hasting with much less lustrous hair).
Given the track record of Luther’s subordinates to end up dead
themselves, we can only imagine what sort of constructive criticism is offered
for his line management skills. Getting
assigned to his team can’t just therefore signify a death knell for any young
detective sergeant’s career; it also drastically reduces their life
expectancy. Oh well, there’s still
plenty of decent shop chat. One police
idiom for being convinced a suspect has committed a crime is expressed with the
verb to fancy someone for something.
“Did you fancy him for it?” Luther will ask a seasoned colleague when
the database throws up candidates for various bodily mutilations. I think it’s meant to sound blokey, but all I
can think about is the playground usage of to fancy: my head is filled with an
embarrassed DCI giggling as they ask a hardened criminal if they’d like to
dance at a school disco.
But Luther is such a lad that he can say and do what he
wants and still he’d be our hero.
Plagued by family problems, career problems, and wedged-in problems
where new hangers-on suddenly emerge to whom he seems to owe excessive favours,
the jeopardy of whether Luther will solve the case before the rest of London is
brutally slain is multiplied by pressure from mafia bosses and other such
inconveniences. For me, these pale in
interest to the actual killings, but that’s more likely just me struggling with
complex storylines. Either way, these
plot devices lead to one of my favourite scenes where Luther beats off two
would-be assassins. His weapon of
choice? A bin. Truly legendary.
Altogether, though, Luther is a classy contribution to the
insatiable canon of British crime drama, with more grit than a Highways Agency
lorry on a frosty morning. He’s made me
consider investing in my own set of baggy grey work shirts, but Luther’s
greatest sartorial achievement if twinning tweed overcoats with blazers, turning
up the collars on both, chasing after a criminal and then not having to take everything
off at the end of it due to be too sweaty.
I did mention he’s an extraordinary man, as he doesn’t seem to get as
hot as I would. Watch Luther at home
alone with the lights if you’re feeling brave, then go out and ride the
deserted top decks of night buses through underpopulated suburbs and see how
your nerves hold out. Luther focuses
your mind back on the endless human potential for evil, filtered through the
lens of work being a pain in the arse. Whether
there’s a murderer under your bed or a serial killer in your cupboard, you’ve
still got to drag yourself into the office in the morning, just as Luther needs
to keep solving crimes in order to afford his lavish collection of the same
shirts and coats. We can conclude, then,
that he’s not as dirty as they say, as he clearly has a clean outfit for each
day of the week.
