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Watching the Detectives
It started years ago. I was visiting my friend Jup and we were watching a new British cop show on TV. In the cold opening, the main character emerged from his car, dressed in a suit and carrying two take-away coffees. The camera made him appear to be a giant as it followed him along the street to the taped-off crime scene.
‘He doesn’t look like that,’ Jup said.
‘What?’
‘He’s more nuggetty. And his hair is dark.’
This was an adaptation of a series of novels. I’d read a few of the books but didn’t want to admit that, after ten of them, I still had no impression of the character. Whereas his voice was clear, his face was not. But Jup was absolutely right. The actor playing the role was not him.
And so began a five-year journey of armchair casting. Surely we could find an alternative. There are gazillions of actors, many of them nuggetty and a great deal of them with dark hair. How difficult could it be?
2016
‘What’s the name of that man?’
‘Which man?’
‘You know the one. He’s in that show. With the other man.’
‘Oh, yeah. That’s right.’
