I’d say there has been a mix of ups and downs during this episode. Yes, I was right to call Jason, Stephen, Stuart and Dodgy Bendik for generally being up to no good. But all of these smug correct predictions are nothing to the huge balls-up I made of The Jan Situation. AND TO THINK I CALLED HIM A CUPCAKE. Honestly, next time I abandon the plaintive charms of the hapless Matthew to favour his poor maligned boyfriend, I shall think again. Looking bemused and having a few meltdowns isn’t going to get you out of the extremely sticky question of how exactly your hair ended up in the hand of the suffocated babysitter.
On the other hand, hold your rapidly accelerating horses, for I have answers that might possibly save my little sweetcheeks from utter humiliation (but to be honest, going for the police officer’s throat during an interrogation isn’t ever going to go down too well, is it now).
And the all-too-familiar shots of putting on underwear combined with several close-ups of Pete the smug interviewee proclaim that, yes, it is indeed Hans Rosenfeldt behind the metaphorical steering wheel of Marcella and he’s getting it all right so far. Even the annoying habit of Mark the technology whiz tending to throw in nonsensical computer jargon while explaining some complicated action he’s had to perform couldn’t turn me away from the screen, and that’s coming from someone who barely knows how to type. Let me tell you, the amount of times this post has been deleted by accident speaks for itself.
P.S. Who else is feeling very sorry for Mr Squiggles right now? (Or was it Mrs Snuggles?)
Fantastic estate-agent shots of Grace’s exquisite townhouse aside, I’m not sure I have quite recovered from the trauma of this week’s episode, and it can only really go downhill from here. Now I’m not one to count my chickens before they’ve hatched, but it looks like the little idea I hatched about more than one murderer might have just occurred to Marcella too so can we all celebrate the one and only prediction I’ve ever got right (please Hans, let me have this one?!) However, it does also seem that Marcella is looking a leetle on the guilty side herself at the mo, so maybe being on the same wavelength is not something to write home about after all. For what it is worth, I have a great working relationship with the pregnant mistress of my ex-husband (sorry, sorry, current husband. THEY WERE ON A BREAK*). Let us proceed.
Well, the hardest thing this week was working out who knew what and who was hiding what from whom. I’m still a tad embarrassed that I mixed up our dear friend Pete with his supervisor Guy, who, frankly, has done a shit job of supervising Pete in between his own little breaking-and-entering jaunts (SPOILER: it was him with the shoulder stab wound). In an industry that should be characterised as one of the homeliest and most trustworthy –bakeries are usually owned by sweet old grannies, aren’t they?– I think I can speak for us all when I say that this branch might be one to avoid on the daily bread run: even pies handcrafted by one Sweeney Todd are looking quite appetising at this point.
Oh my giddy aunt. I tell you, what with Marcella’s red-tinged flashback scenes and the thundering soundtrack going on like a 20 horsepower combine harvester in the background, I didn’t know what to do with myself and settled on barely removing the cushion from my eyes for the whole episode. Apologies, therefore, for a slightly restricted analysis.
On the plus side, the bloodstained bath scene has been put to one side for now: or rather moved to the centre of an investigation conducted by Marcella and practically the entire cast to try to find out what has happened to Grace of the Perfect Hair, who has gone missing after the ill-fated meeting at the end of the last episode. Meetings between the wife and the mistress rarely go well, on the whole, but on a bar of one to full-scale murder, this particular example seems to lean towards the higher end of the scale.
Well, this is slightly off-topic, some might argue, seeing as the title of the blog does feature reading material rather heavily, but since another of my great passions is crime drama (the more cringeworthily nail-biting the better), I thought I might chip in on ITV’s latest addition: its new series, Marcella*. Now,
probably none of you and for good reason because you’re not saddos like me some of you may know that the screenwriter of this series is none other than HANS ROSENFELDT, who happens to be the genius genius writer behind thrilling Swedish drama The Bridge. I do have to admit that this is the only reason I’m watching Marcella because frankly the adverts looked terrifying, and it’s always slightly embarrassing when you are forced to stash a pile of cushions (suitable for hiding one’s face with when you simply cannot bear to look at the screen) beforehand as opposed to in the heat of the moment. Guilty as charged.
*Mar-chella, not Mar-sella. Don’t be a Rav. (And the inside jokes are beginning already, prepare yourselves.)