‘Dept. Q' is a little too grim for the sake of being grim

Boston Globe

a day ago

By basement office, of course, Moira means a sort of locker room. Morck is soon sulking amongst sinks and urinals (if you've ever wondered how someone would pronounce 'urinal' in a Scottish accent, the answer is 'your EYE null,' and you'll hear it said plenty).
He eventually assembles a team in Rose (Leah Byrne), a young detective who's been sidelined after mental health struggles, and Akram (Alexej Manvelov), a Syrian immigrant who's really not supposed to be more than an office assistant, but who has some kind of mysterious law enforcement (or perhaps just enforcement) background from his life in Syria.
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Despite its origins as a series of mystery novels, the show seems very much designed to appeal to fans of 'Slow Horses,' Apple TV+'s cynical government spook drama, which stars
Structurally, these shows are quite similar, given that they're portraits of brilliant men extracting good work from woebegone colleagues who would otherwise be overlooked.
But the parallels end there. A bone-deep cynicism is the default tone on 'Slow Horses'; 'Dept. Q' skews more melancholy and dark. Morck and team are swiftly drawn into the case of a missing woman, who has long been given up for dead. They don't know for sure if they're pursuing a missing woman or a dead one, and 'Dept. Q' spends excruciating amounts of time delving into the grimy details of her fate.
On some level, they're necessary: the structure of this kind of show means viewers need to be one step ahead of Morck and Co, given that our awareness of the woman's ongoing peril ratchets up the tension of whether Morck can solve this case in time.
It's very, very grim. I should say that the woman is not tortured with the fear or reality of sexual assault, but given that she's a woman and powerless, it's hard to avoid this context entirely.
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Beyond that, the show struggles with its angle on Morck. He's filled with rage over what happened to Hardy and keeps lashing out inappropriately, but his hidden depths are all implied.
The problem with starting the action after he's been through a traumatic event is that it nullifies whatever his history was prior to this —
of course
he's angry. His prior misanthropy is mostly revealed through other characters opining about what a jerk he is. Goode is stuck emoting at the tortured end of soulful, but the character is a bit of a trap: we have to find him compelling even as the show is stuck on repeat about how upset he is about the world at large.
It's an interesting primer on why this sort of thing works better on 'Slow Horses.' Lamb has a lifetime of misdeeds to look back on with a jaded eye. Morck is much younger, and a singular event is driving him right now— our entire perception of him is molded through that lens.
The show fares better with Rose and Akram. Byrne brings an irrepressible energy to Rose, and though the character has also been through a traumatic event, she's still allowed to crack jokes. Moreover, she's still interested in engaging with people and learning how to be a good detective.
Akram might be smarter than Morck; one gets the sense that, given the opportunity, he'd have the instincts to get this thing wrapped up swiftly. Morck's consistent rudeness to him runs the risk of moving him from compelling misanthrope territory into antagonist.
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There are signs here that a good procedural lurks in the bones of the show across its nine episode season (critics were given the first eight). Sives brings some vital levity and warmth to the proceedings once Hardy heals enough to start helping out with the case. It's clear he's the better mentor between the two of them, with Morck unnaturally forced into the role. If the show could just turn down the dial on its protagonist grimly shouting at people, this motley crew might actually cohere into a crack squad of crime solvers.
DEPT. Q
Starring: Matthew Goode, Chloe Pirrie, Alexej Manvelov, Leah Byrne, Jamie Sives. On Netflix
Lisa Weidenfeld can be reached at