Goodbye, Inspector Morse. Hello, Lewis.
Rather fittingly, I watched the last episode of Inspector Morse on New Year’s Eve. The first had aired in 1987 and this final one in 2000. I’d worked my way through all thirty-three in four or five months. By the end, the power-dressing of the 1980s was long gone and mobile phones were no longer the size of bricks.
There is a special interest in watching such a long-running series in condensed form. The extent of Morse’s dysfunctional love life is much more apparent than it was the first time round, when I was watching it spread out over such a long period. He is so susceptible, forever falling in love with a woman who turns out to be the murderer or is otherwise compromised. And how discreet it all is. We never follow him into the bedroom – and the series is all the better for that. The last episode ends of course with Morse’s death and it is all the more poignant when viewed with the knowledge that John Thaw was dead himself only two years later.
I did love that series and I think that is why I didn’t get into Lewis when it began in 2006. It seemed all wrong that the series should go on without Morse and John Thaw. But a couple of days ago I watched the pilot episode and was won over. I loved the touches that paid tribute to Morse and John Thaw: the red Jag that Lewis almost steps in front of; the Endeavour music scholarship endowed anonymously; the crossword clue on Morse’s notes relating to an earlier case. It was beautifully done. So: a worthy successor after all. I’ve got the box set and there are thirty-three episodes, so I won’t be running out of comfort viewing any time soon.