Why you should look beyond the leading men in these hit shows

Sydney Morning Herald

17-06-2025

Matthew Goode and Jon Hamm are the talented and charismatic headliners in a couple of impressive recent crime dramas, Dept. Q and Your Friends and Neighbours. But marquee stars don't guarantee a satisfying series.
Even with intelligent scripts, thoughtful direction and distinctive design, the leads can't carry the load alone. And both of these series benefit from scene-stealing supporting players.
Goode can convincingly play a charmer, which he did as Lady Mary's love in the final season of Downton Abbey, a will-they-or-won't-they romantic interest for Alicia in The Good Wife, and a drinking buddy for Matthew Rhys in The Wine Show (the actors created a dream TV assignment, basing themselves in a Tuscan villa to sample Italian wines). In Dept. Q, though, he convincingly moves away from such roles to play detective chief inspector Carl Morck, a classic, troubled police detective. Recovering from an injury sustained in the line of duty, he's wounded psychologically as well as physically and spends much of the gripping nine-part thriller looking gaunt, dishevelled and depleted.
Initially confident to the point of cockiness, Morck has that violently knocked out of him, although he remains a brilliant detective, reliably the smartest guy in the room. Or is he? Enter Akram Salim (Alexej Manvelov), a Syrian expat of mysterious background who's as still and steady as Morck is restless and nervy.
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While Morck ricochets around like a pinball and is prone to impatient, profanity-filled outbursts, Akram is quietly assured and speaks volumes with his eyes. A keen observer, he's attuned to those around him, the scope of his skill-set subtly emerging through the series. In a terrific scene at the end of the second episode, he calmly talks Morck through an anxiety attack, and then adds, firmly but evenly, a request – which is more like an order – that Morck should never again interrupt him while he's praying.
In a season based on the first book in a series by Danish author Jussi Adler-Olsen and transplanted to a gloomy and forbidding Edinburgh, Morck and Akram form an intriguing odd couple at the heart of an idiosyncratic team of investigators.
Operating from the bowels of the police HQ, the cold-case unit is installed in a disused shower quarters (hence the 'Q'). Outsider Akram deftly manoeuvres his way into the fledgling operation, initially by bringing sweet treats to appreciative underling detective constable Rose Dickson (Leah Byrne). Bright, sharp-eyed and spirited, she too inveigles her way into the ad hoc team; another outlier who proves her worth, even though her blemished history on the force has seen her relegated to desk duties.
Akram and Rose's value, to Morck, the investigation team and the drama, grows through the series, lending to its rich texture.
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Like Goode in Dept. Q, Jon Hamm is initially the drawcard for the blackly comic thriller, Your Friends and Neighbours, created by Jonathan Tropper. Hamm indelibly remains Mad Men 's brooding advertising executive Don Draper, but since that landmark series, has taken on a number of notable roles (Landman, The Morning Show, Beirut).
But his return to heading a TV series sees him perfectly cast as hedge-fund manager Andrew 'Coop' Cooper, Tropper using Hamm's leading-man looks to good effect. Coop looks like he belongs in the affluent enclave where social lives and business deals revolve around the country club.
Yet it soon emerges that it's no coincidence Coop is spending a lot of time home alone watching old movies, frequently films noirs whose male protagonists find their lives spiralling out of control. Soon after the nine-part series begins, Coop loses his job, and it emerges that his marriage to Mel (Amanda Peet) disintegrated largely because he was wedded to his work. As he battles to keep up appearances, find another job and maintain the family's lifestyle, he decides on a dangerous course of action.
However, the women in this cleverly crafted series happily don't conform to simple stereotypes, and while Coop is at the heart of the action, they also have nuance and substance. There's no obvious femme fatale or Nice Girl here. Mel's marriage-ending infidelity is seen as a response to Coop's inattention. The way the character is written and played makes her a sympathetic figure, a decent person devoted to her ex and their kids, and also struggling in the aftermath of the break-up, even though she outwardly appears to be happily moving on.
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Coop's secret lover, Samantha Levitt (Olivia Munn), has been dumped by her husband for a younger woman and is rocked by insecurities amid an acrimonious divorce. She's closest to a femme fatale, although it becomes clear that she has her reasons.
Other supporting female roles are cleverly constructed and cast. Olivia Cross (Kitty Hawthorne), who becomes the unwitting and unwilling catalyst for Coop's dismissal, is smart and ambitious, but not devious. Lu (Randy Danson), a diminutive yet fearsome grandmother, enters Coop's life during his dalliance with the dark side. She has stews bubbling away upstairs as she conducts her trade in stolen goods from a steel cage behind a pawn shop, a gun handy to deter potential threats.
And then there's housemaid Elena (Aimee Carrero), who initially makes an impact with one superbly delivered line in response to Coop's arrival at a boys' night at the luxury home of Mel's lover (Mark Tallman) and goes on to occupy a central role in the action. Through the savvy Elena, the series pivots to provide a different perspective on the families of this affluent community. She's part of a largely unnoticed contingent of migrant workers that keeps the plush residences clean and tidy, women who know a lot about the dirty linen behind the pristine facades.
Tropper gives all of these characters vivid life, enriching the tapestry of the show woven around his star. They're vibrant and compelling, and, along with Dept. Q 's supporting cast, bring to mind the quote by famed Russian acting teacher Konstantin Stanislavski: 'There are no small parts, only small actors.'