Here we go again – another Steven Moffat murder mystery. The ex-Doctor Who showrunner has made a name for himself off the back of complex tales, with witty dialogue and an obsession with classical British cannon. For some productions, his voice as a writer cuts through the noise of modern TV to stand head and shoulders above the rest. For others (ahem – Dracula) it becomes a cacophony of style over substance with ideas that aren’t as clever as the writer appears to think they are.
With Inside Man, we’re in the middle of these two outcomes. It’s got those Moffatisms on display, used to serve a central, tantalising mystery. However, this idea of being “clever for clever sake” persists, which combined with some familiar tropes from other Moffat productions leaves a confusing taste in the mouth.
Inside Man tells the story of three separate but seemingly connected groups. The always excellent David Tennant plays the local bumbling vicar Harry, one of whose parishioners harbours a dark secret. This gets inadvertently exposed to his son’s maths tutor Janice (Dolly Wells), who herself has attracted the attention of budding journalist Beth Davenport (played by It’s A Sin star, Lydia West). Finally, hundreds of miles across the pond, convicted murderer Jefferson Grieff (Stanley Tucci) awaits his execution on death row, somehow connected to all this madness. To say any more would be to give away the twists and turns and the thrill of the chase, so I’ll keep it vague on the plot.
As you can see we’re dealing with a multilayered mystery and, whatever may be said about the actual conclusion to said mystery, the set-up is incredibly engaging. Moffat clearly understands how to keep a television audience hooked, with his years as a Doctor Who writer paying off with the crafting of some exquisite cliffhangers. The momentum train certainly keeps on moving, helped by long-time Moffat collaborator Paul McGuigan’s dynamic direction. Shots will move through walls and floorboards with impressive technicality and stylisation which shows confidence in the presentation. Add to this some gripping performances, particularly from Stanley Tucci doing his best Hannibal Lecter impression, and newcomer (Moffat’s son) Louis Oliver, as Harry’s innocent but troubled kid and you have all the ingredients for what should be the most talked-about television event of the year.
However, some good cliffhangers does not make a great show and Inside Man’s engaging hooks are let down by the answers presented. Moffat continues his obsession with sex present throughout his work, dating back to his romantic-comedy sitcom Coupling, through the dialogue. He’s going for something deeper, however, using the theme to open the door to ideas of male-female relationships and the power dynamics inherent within them. Sex is presented as almost a motivation for the murderous intentions the characters harbour, as it triggers truths about people’s feelings and can result in violent outcomes. The issue with this is that Moffat’s abilities as a joke writer, defined by a background in sitcoms, undercuts any valid points he’s trying to make; coming across as more juvenile and almost inappropriate at times. Comedy can be an amazing tool to complement dramatic weight, but in this instance, it’s a detriment, not a benefit.
This familiar theme isn’t the only repetition in Moffat’s work as we turn to the characters. Although his performance is wonderfully hammy, it cannot be denied that Tucci’s character is ever-so similar to Moffat’s interpretation of Sherlock Holmes, The Doctor, and Count Dracula. The writer loves clever characters that say clever things, being both the centre of their respective universes and also an impossible enigma that needs cracking. Yet, while this was fresh and exciting when Benedict Cumberbatch or Matt Smith did it, now it feels old and a bit tired and not particularly engaging. It’s not just one super sleuth this time around either, with Dolly Wells’ Janice seemingly two steps ahead of those around her at all times, yet not having any character beneath this stylistic trope.
Ultimately, that’s the issue with Inside Man—it’s an exercise in style over substance. There are themes and ideas that the writer wants to explore, but they’re let down by tired tropes, immature jokes, and a focus on crafting an engaging setup, rather than a satisfying outcome. Steven Moffat’s contributions as a screenwriter still stand as important milestones in modern British television, but Inside Man, unfortunately, cannot be counted as one of them.
Words by Ed Foster
Support The Indiependent
We’re trying to raise £200 a month to help cover our operational costs. This includes our ‘Writer of the Month’ awards, where we recognise the amazing work produced by our contributor team. If you’ve enjoyed reading our site, we’d really appreciate it if you could donate to The Indiependent. Whether you can give £1 or £10, you’d be making a huge difference to our small team.