Inside Number Nine

This week I’ve chosen to write about something that I’ve covered before. Previously, I’ve written blogs on Catastrophe and Love, but as good as those returning series are I’ve chosen this week to revisit Inside Number Nine.

For me this week’s episode was manna dropped from the storytelling Gods. It is unlikely there will be a better half hour of television this year. The challenge of packing intrigue, suspicion, romance and heartache into thirty minutes is akin to fitting the England rugby team into a Mini Cooper – it should be impossible, but in the hands of Shearsmith and Pemberton it's achieved.

Typically, writers Reece Shearsmith and Steve Pemberton deal in the macabre and the grotesque. They came to fame with The League of Gentlemen, a carnivalesque satire on small-town life that I’ve not seen, but in using highfalutin terms it appears otherwise. From there they moved onto Psychoville, a comedy horror-show, boasting an originality that needed to be seen to be believed (No, I ashamedly didn’t watch it either – I did hear about it though). With their current output, Inside Number Number Nine, they appear to have watered down the high camp scare of the aforementioned without compromising their heady brew.

League of Gentlemen

Inside Number Nine doesn’t have the frightening latex and make-up of the pair’s previous work; it is an altogether more natural affair. Set in the revolving real world settings of call centres, restaurants and film sets, the duo are no longer bringing the freak show to town; instead they’re highlighting the monsters that lay within. Over its three series, the show has excelled at presenting normal people doing bad things with devastating glee. Many of their episodes still have nods to horror genre; although for me, their two finest are complete human dramas.

The Twelve Days Of Christine premiered two years, starring Sheridan Smith. Many critics put it on their end of year list as an example of great television. It episodically told the story of Christine’s life over a twelve year period. For comedians, whose taste lies in horror, there wasn’t a more moving moment on the 2015 screen than seeing Smith ascertain the secret of her mind.

Sheridan Smith in Twelve Days...

I believe this week’s episode Empty Orchestra rivals that superlative offering. The title is so called because it’s the literal translation of karaoke- karaoke because the drama takes place inside a karaoke room marked ‘9.’ First in the booth is the sumo suited Greg. He puts on Human League’s Don’t You Want Me and proceeds to waddle around the microphone until Connie, an Amy Winehouse tribute, joins him. The two’s intense look and kiss is cut short by the movement of the door; quickly lipstick is wiped from the crime scene as they welcome Fran, who's channeling schoolgirl Britney.

It’s popstar fancy dress then; only not everyone is taking part. Rodger comes in looking every inch the office worker: the only nod he’s made to enforced fun is a red nose that sits uneasy. People have come to celebrate his promotion so it seems a little surprising he hasn’t dressed as a bon viveur. Behind him enters Janet, who dressed as Boy George immediately assumes outsider status by turning down her hearing aid.

Popstar: The love rivals.

The party is soon in full swing, although tensions lie beneath. First, there is talk of job cuts that Greg seems to be worried about. It appears that Rodger has been tasked with streamlining the company, meaning one of the partygoers faces the chop – a murder mystery without the murder then. Also, it soon materialises that Greg and Connie’s kiss wasn’t covered up because they wanted to keep business and pleasure separate; but because Greg’s lips are betrothed to Fran- his fiancée. If the adulterers aren’t careful, an evening of strangled vocal chords could result in- well- an evening of ….

Entering the mix later is Duane, an affable Michael Jackson alike, doing his best to enliven the shindig with some soft drugs. His song selection is of course Wham Rap! (‘Hey everybody take a look at me, I’ve got street credibility, I may not have a job, But I have a good time, With the boys I meet down on the line!’) I love how the writers have woven the music into the drama: this isn’t the crowbar jukebox of Homes Under The Hammer where the presenter’s line segues into a pop lyric which literalises the same thing; but a subtle nod to the keen observer. (The reason for latter choices will only become apparent on second viewing when you’re familiar with the plot twists.)

An office party.

Although Greg is dressed as Psy from Gangnam Style, he has actually come to the party as Machiavelli. He is scheming behind his fiance’s back in flirting with Connie, and he’s scheming behind his new boss's back to get an ID on the sacking. Amidst all the subterfuge, there is purity and kindness. Janet stands looking yearningly at Duane. She loves his love of laughter and music. Her deafness does not disable her from joy: she shares these passions. To participate in the majesty of music, she puts her hand to the speaker so she can experience the throb of vibration. Connie dismisses this deafness as stupidity. (Be careful though Connie: discounting Janet on such grounds may prove dangerous.) Profoundly deaf actress Emily Howlett plays Janet beautifully, showing there's more to deafness than frustration.

Even though the singing in this week’s episode was off-key, the same charge can’t be levelled at the script. In The Empty Orchestra Pemberton and Shearsmith have masterfully conducted a composition that will bring the gallery and the boxes to their feet. Take a bow, lads! Take another! We stand. We applaud you.

Inside Number Nine is on iPlayer.

The Good Wife

Sometimes it's hard to be a woman
Giving all your love to just one man
You'll have bad times
And he'll have good times,
Doin' things that you don't understand

But if you love him you'll forgive him,
Even though he's hard to understand
And if you love him oh be proud of him,
'cause after all he's just a man

(Tammy Wynette, Stand By Your Man)

As good as the song is, the sentiment is truly nauseating. Essentially, Wynette is shrugging her shoulders to adultery, conceding there is nothing to be done: this is what men are like. In her tune women are passive, waiting by the door for that wandering piece of libido to return. Men, on the other hand, are complex – it isn’t simple selfishness that causes them to stray, but a well of emotions that runs too deep for any woman to ever understand.

Even though the song predates the feminist movement, it still echoes today. Gender inequality is still rife: when a man commits adultery he is defined as ‘straying’ - women aren't granted such euphemisms. There is still the abiding theory that men aren't predisposed to monogamy, whereas women are hardwired to faithfulness. The truth is people don’t have to follow their base instincts; they can exercise control. Just because your cock points north doesn’t mean you have to follow it? Still today, the patriarchy of Wynette's lyrics persist: women forgive your men for they cannot suppress the caveman within.

In The Good Wife Alicia Florrick has to make a decision whether she stands by her man, Peter Florrick, or leave him. Peter is the Cook County State Attorney who has been caught sleeping with prostitutes. There is also a suggestion that he has been taking bribes to reduce people’s prison sentences – a charge he denies. In the first episode he stands and faces the media’s grand jury: he accepts the verdict of being a bad husband, but refutes all other allegations. His wife, holding his hand, looks at him questioningly, wondering how her husband’s rhetorical strength has survived his moral weakness. Further questions are raised when she spots a stray hair on her husband’s blazer – a blonde one that does not belong to him; does not belong to her. When this trial concludes, the two are taken out of the spotlight and thrown into personal darkness.

The first episode fast-forwards six months to Alicia’s first day at work. She has returned because her husband is in jail, convicted of the crimes he denied. With two children to clothe, Alicia returns to the profession she gave up to raise them. She is a legal associate, forced to compete with Cary, a young male with few responsibilities, for the job of becoming a full-time attorney. Despite the travails of juggling work and child-care, she is a fantastic lawyer: personable and scrupulous, a mix that clients and colleagues admire. Cary though is fast-talking, dynamic and confident, making him a worthy competitor to the reserved Alicia. 

The conflict at work isn’t Alicia’s main concern though. Work is an enjoyable distraction from the hard question of marriage to Peter. If anything having him in jail is a relief: it postpones the decision she has to make. He is seemingly remorseful and chastened: shouldn’t she stand by him? At work, she has rekindled her friendship with Will Gardner, a university friend that now heads the legal firm – is he worth taking her wedding ring off for?

Away from the romantic and political intrigues of the show, the prevailing action takes place in the court room. Every week there is a new case that Alicia must defend. Assisting her is the enigmatic Kalinda, one of television’s great female characters. Kalinda is an investigator who revisits the crime scene and reviews testimony in the hope holes can be found. She is sharp, smart and sexy – and dangerous with it. Together they make a great team, asserting the drama’s focus on strong women. What’s fascinating about these court scenes is their attention to detail: most legal dramas make do with ‘objection’ and ‘overruled’ as their only nod to verisimilitude. In The Good Wife the legal jargon is there; so too is the preparation (interviewing witnesses, gathering paperwork, pre-trial hearings, plea bargaining) – the series trusts the viewers to pick up the language and procedure; the fact that we do is a credit to the writing.

Kalinda is a badass.

The Good Wife’s title is ironic: Alicia begins by being the eponymous, but as the series develops she leaves behind the scandal that has defined her. For fans of Better Call Saul it is a fantastic companion piece: both contain lawyers trying to escape from another's shadow; admittedly the way they do it is different, but their humane charm is wholly comparable. So while Better Call Saul has us all on hold, why not dial Alicia Florrick, a lawyer you can trust.

The Good Wife is on Netflix.