Code of a Killer
I’m watching a BBC series called Code of a Killer which revolves around the discovery of DNA and it’s use in catching a killer. A story of a scientist and a detective, how they cracked the biggest advance in criminal investigation. One things for sure I am learning a lot.
This series intrigued me a plenty as that was the year (1986) I was pregnant with Brittany. Watching the show, I’m horrified at the fashion, the minimal technology (we have come along way in such a short space of time), I feel they have got it wrong or maybe it’s my blurred memory. The feel of the show looks like the 70’s, the British were always ahead of us not behind. So maybe it’s just me. Creators of this series also have their hands up for Broadchurch and Line of Duty. You just know with that pedigree it’s going to be good.
The main character, a male, his hair is driving me nuts, goes from black to medium dark brown with regrowth and black again oops, though in all fairness, could just be the light, but I swear one frame his regrowth was worse than I would ever have let mine go.
Bright Electric Blue
That colour and strength of blue is clearly a favourite of someones or of the times. I can’t decide as it pops in and out of the show like an embarrassed relative. Bright electric blue door handles in one scene and on doors the next, usually in government buildings, clearly on trend then. I remember here in 1986 the trend was coloured toilet bowls and basins, either a soft green (avocado) or a pink (rose). What were we thinking?
I’m on the lookout for lace curtains remember those plastered across every single window. I put up my hand I am a guilty party to that craze. It got messy when mould wove it’s wicked way into the intricate white lace. (depends what country and what weather you were exposed to).
Oh and everyone smoked!
The rooms are hazy, lit cigarettes are thrown to the ground in disgust after intense dialogue, some cigarettes are not even stubbed out or ground into the pavement, (a sin and fire hazard here in WA) watching the way some characters grind the cigarette into the pavement like they wished it never happened, eyes focused on the task deep in thought (where did we go wrong, or are they thinking, what’s my next line).
The use of tape recorders makes me smile, (now every man and his dog has a mobile phone to do the job) those small oblong cream coloured boxes with wide black buttons mimicking stubby piano keys, two fingers slide the buttons down firmly, the interrogation can begin. Bringing back many memories.
I am in love with British TV always have been, British TV’s not all glossed perfection and glamour. Not all candy for the eyes. I love the rawness, the understated polish, the seemingly realistic often flawed characters. Not to mention the story lines, though admittedly sometimes the cop shows are feeling a little blended. Any one watching the emergency hospital drama Critical? I watch through my spread fingers thrust in front of my face used as a mobile curtain, beats a cushion as you can still see snippets of blood and gore, of which there is a lot of blood and guts spilling out of their bodies once they cut them open. I am fascinated watching as they slice you open through the fat and muscle. It’s a visual masterpiece. Now a cushion hides all or nothing especially if you peer at the wrong moment over the top of said cushion. Failing that turn the sound off, works well.
The man below I am in love with, any guesses as to who he is?