Ripper Street [SERIE TV, 2012]

Well, I wasn’t at all sure Ripper Street (BBC1) was going to survive its casual and rather shocking slaughter of young PC Dick Hobbs last week. Amid its swamp of debauchery and squalid despair, Hobbs had been a beacon of hope and innocence in a world going to merry hell.

Eagerly embracing his chosen job – policeman still being a novelty in 1860s London – and yet to be desensitised by being exposed to the worst of humanity, Hobbs was a light shining among a clutch of shady characters.

In a brief but emotional send-off at the station, which, in its tear-stained singing had a touch of film-maker Terence Davies about it, it was clear Ripper Street had life left in it.

The hunt for a baby-faced sex trafficker brought back ripples of the emotional undercurrent – DI Edmund Reid haunted by his missing daughter – that has churned away beneath the surface of this exceptional drama from the start.

Ahead of series two, we were left with as many questions as answers. Has Reid achieved closure? Will Sgt Drake break out of his emotional straitjacket? Can anyone replace Hobbs? As Mrs Reid put it: ‘You raise a hope that sinks its claws into me.

The Victorians were no slouches at forging a new frontier themselves but amid all the starch and bustle of period TV dramas one can garner the impression that these great inventors hid their light under a bushel. Come to think of it, what was more likely to be under a Victorian bushel, or a bush, was a body that had been disembowelled.
The era of grimy cobbled streets, Dickensian workhouses and brutal murders carried out by some scary chap seem to have a particular hold on us.
Not that I am complaining. I like a grisly murder case as much as the next man, especially if it involves the rescue of a damsel in distress by a handsome but troubled fellow with a fine pair of mutton chops and coke hat to match.
Hanging on the frock coat-tails of the most infamous episode of Victorian butchery was Ripper Street (BBC One), a police drama set in 1889 in Whitechapel, in the East End of London. Episode eight, the last in the series, found Det Insp Edmund Reid (Matthew Macfadyen) and his team, Det Sergeant Bennet Drake (Jerome Flynn) and Capt Homer Jackson (Adam Rothenburg), at a low ebb. Well, certainly low for Capt Jackson, who was incarcerated by a vindictive Chief Insp Fred Abberline (Clive Russell) as the main suspect for the murder of a prostitute.
But you know the way these things work and it was not too long before he was presented with a chance to prove his innocence and show that he was a good guy after all.
Add the debonair and mendacious Victor Silver (David Oakes) to the mix, who, with his sister Clara (Ruta Gedmintas) and Neanderthal-like brother Barnaby (Kristian Nairn) was conducting a white slave trade from London docks to South America, and you have curl up, cosy TV, perfect for cold winter Sunday nights.
Sure, it was heavily stylised, some of the lines were delivered in an almost comically portentous am-dram style, along with furrowed brow and anguished looks. You would not necessarily go out of your way to see it, but it was fun, and amid the “tasteful” gore a reason to be sanguine: a second series will follow this time next year.

Ripper Street ended tonight as it started nine weeks ago - disappointingly.

It showed glimpses of promise, teasing us like a Victorian madame flashes her ankles, but the final result was underwhelming, and as a viewer it felt like wading through mucky Thames sludge to make it all the way to the conclusion.
The story picked up several story strands from earlier in the series - Inspector Frederick Abberline's (Clive Russell) desperate hunt for the Ripper, Inspector Edmund Reid's (Matthew Macfadyen) hunt for his daughter, Sergeant Bennet Drake's (Jerome Flynn) hunt for a decent story - but nothing was truly resolved.
It teased and toyed with the idea that this week's mystery may centre on the return of the Ripper, but the true villain turned out to be just a creepy bloke called Victor Silver (David Oakes) who committed numerous crimes, such as drugging women he hunted in personal ads and, most worryingly, sporting a disturbing early '90s ponytail.
When Reid and Drake finally managed to get their old mucker Captain Homer Jackson (Adam Rothenberg) released from handcuffs, the episode picked up speed and sharpened its teeth. It's only when the trio unite that Ripper Street ever truly sizzles.
Suave ladies' man Jackson's Victorian CSI schtick feels dreary rather than enigmatic when he's alone, and the same goes for Drake and his surliness, and Reid and his pontification. But together, the three misfits snap into place.
'What Use Our Work' kicked through several gears as the boys started their hunt for Silver and fooled his sister with one of the most disturbing pieces of con-work ever shown on the small screen. Just think knives, face swaps and the prospect of a chopped-off manhood.
But these thrilling moments have been all too thin on the ground throughout Ripper Street's first series. When the show returns next year, the writers need to ramp up the intrigue and decide what they want the show to be.
If they want it to be a grim and grizzly splatter-fest, up the stakes with the murders, throw in some whodunnits, rattle up the tension and ditch the seriously dull interludes with Reid's personal life.
If they'd prefer it to be a examination of three very different characters in the world of Victorian policing, they need to increase the layers to the three leads (making them two-dimensional rather than one would be a start) and find some emotion from somewhere.
Or, best of all, balance both togetherr. We've got a year until the second run of Ripper Street, and it's safe to say I won't be on tenterhooks waiting for it. Ripper Street hasn't been bad TV - in fact, it's been fairly enjoyable. It's just irritating knowing that it could be so, so much better.