Sherwood: True-crime saga is compelling — and bonkers

Despite flaws, the BBC drama delivers the goods. Unlike The Real Derry, which is like ‘The Troubles for Beginners’

Good cops: David Morrissey and Robert Glenister in BBC true-crime drama Sherwood. Photo by Matt Squire

Chris Wasser

June 18 2022 02:30 AM

Sherwood (BBC One) is a bit of a mystery, isn’t it? Obviously, that’s the whole point. What I mean is that I’m not entirely sure what to do with it.

Monday night’s opener ranked among the finest I’ve seen this year. Tuesday night’s continuation (the Beeb is rolling out six episodes of this thing, two a week, over three weeks) signed off with a gruesome cliff-hanger so unapologetically barmy it had me damn-near shouting at the telly. Still, I’m hooked.

On the one hand, Sherwood provides a startlingly effective portrait of a moody Nottinghamshire village divided not by the behaviour of a rogue inhabitant, but instead, the 1980s miners’ strike. Writer James Graham (Quiz, Brexit: The Uncivil War) grew up not too far from Ashfield and, as a result, knows a thing or two about its people, its politics and the manner in which they continue to collide.

But it’s also a true-crime saga, loosely inspired by a pair of real-life murders that took place in 2004. So, you know, there’s that.

The set-up is masterful, and Sherwood introduces its key players with slow yet steady confidence. It depicts Ashfield neighbours at war and sisters who no longer speak to one another because of the historic actions of their miner husbands.

We have a plucky Tory councillor looking to win over new voters. We also have a lonely train driver whose son just married said councillor. Oh, and let’s not forget about the Sparrows, the local c rime family whose dodgy dealings place them front and centre of a major investigation involving the shock murder of one Gary Jackson (Alun Armstrong).

All you need to know about Gary — for now — is that he was a card-carrying member of the National Union of Mineworkers, which means he and his fellow NUM colleagues went on strike in 1984. Those who continued working, meanwhile, were considered “scabs”. It’s a term that Gary continues to spit often and angrily, right up until his final breath when, on the way home from a Sunday-night pint, he is struck down by a crossbow bolt.

Naturally, his wife, Julie (Lesley Manville, astonishingly good here) is devastated. Could it be that her estranged sister’s stepson — a troubled archer, hiding out in the nearby forest — is the murderer? That’s for local DCS Ian St Clair (David Morrissey) to find out, with help from DI Kevin Salisbury (Robert Glenister), a copper from London who might be able to expand on Gary’s messy arrest records from ’84. There is more.

At the end of the second episode, the train driver, Andy Fisher (an excellent Adeel Akhtar), loses his cool and, after one too many humiliations involving his new daughter-in-law, Sarah (Joanne Froggatt), clocks her over the head with a shovel, killing her instantly.

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Bonkers, am I right? Compelling, too, and despite its flaws, Sherwood is a tricky triumph. Ingenious plotting and proper characterisation will do that, and it helps that Graham’s sprawling mini-series arms itself with a venerable who’s who of British acting royalty.

Don’t ask me how this thing will come together. One minute, it’s a deadly serious police procedural; the next, it’s a deliciously twisted buddy cop serial (Morrissey and Glenister deserve their own show). Tonally inconsistent? You betcha. And I don’t know how we’re supposed to feel about the Robin Hood stuff (you heard me).

But the basic storytelling — dramatised history-meets-real-life-east Midlands crime epic — is so richly infused with brainy, ballsy conviction, I couldn’t possibly turn away. Not yet. Oh, and the legendary Manville is in the form of her life here. Let’s see how it goes, shall we?

Speaking of legends, director Colm Quinn’s Charlie Bird: Loud and Clear (RTÉ One) aired this week. A respectful, feature-length portrait of Ireland’s most-beloved journalist, this admirable documentary shines a light not just on a debilitating illness (Bird, as you’ll know, lives with motor neurone disease) but the extraordinary life that preceded it. Alas, Quinn’s film doesn’t work nearly as well as I had hoped. The problem is this: you could make an entire series about this wonderful Irish figure.

One episode might focus on Bird’s personal life, why he became a reporter, his partnership with his wife, Claire Mould, so on and so forth.

Another might cover his journalistic achievements and how he managed to be the man on the scene at crucial moments in Irish history (clips in which Bird and former workplace chums explore the archives together are terrific). Another might cover his diagnosis, and what exactly it entails; another, his awe-inspiring Croagh Patrick climb and the remarkable voice recognition software he now uses to communicate. You get the picture.

Squeeze these themes and subjects together, however, and the result is a film that, though undeniably brave and frequently moving, is a wee bit too stuffed and disorganised. Finally, a word on The Real Derry: Jamie-Lee O’Donnell (Channel 4), in which the Derry Girls star wonders what life is like for young people growing up in the city today. Well, at least I think that’s what it’s about.

A broad, wishy-washy history lesson — think ‘The Troubles for Beginners’ — O’Donnell’s well-intentioned yet sketchy demonstration talks a lot but rarely says anything new.

In one excruciatingly awkward scene, O’Donnell — raised in a Catholic community — finds out first-hand what happens when you ask a Protestant flute band what they think of Bloody Sunday (they respond with deafening silence).

In another, she discusses mental health with local TikTok sensation, Serena Terry. The line drawn between these topics is wobbly, at best, and this vague, clumsy and unusually lightweight display does nobody any favours. Pity.