You can never find a plumber when you need one. And then, what are the chances, when you have a blocked drain, that an expert turns up and uncovers evidence that you’re a serial killer.
The irony in this story is that Dennis Nilsen, the subject of Des (the nickname Nilsen gave himself), is the person who calls in the drains man, claiming the bones of a takeaway are the guilty party in the blockage. It’s all over when the police ask, ‘Where’s the rest of the body?’ and Nilsen says, ‘In the cupboard.’ Suffice it to say they didn’t find a side of fries.
Based on Brian Masters’s book, Killing for Company, the three-parter begins by painting a picture of Britain in 1983 and, in particular, London, where the streets are full of vulnerable homeless who have come to the city in search of a better life. Some of them might have found it, had it not been for the seemingly ordinary civil servant working in Kentish Town Job Centre, picking up boys and men in bars and taking them home to strangle or drown them and tend their corpses. An estimated 20 victims met their gruesome ends in his two apartments.
This is a true horror story that David Tennant (Nilsen) makes all the more chilling in his extraordinary, understated portrayal. The calm and ease with which Nilsen initially speaks with the police is downright creepy in Tennant’s performance: the fixed stare, the ego quietly enjoying being centre stage, his bizarre relationship with Masters and what might be written about the crimes. ‘I just don’t want those poor men exploited,’ he says, during their first meeting. ‘I’m here to comprehend,’ says Masters.
It’s a long time since I read the book but remember being struck by what, as a gay man himself, seemed to be Masters’s morbid and, at times, almost salacious fascination with Nilsen’s world. It is a great read, though, and one that delivers a far deeper, more complex exploration of the subject than the drama, which to me should have focused more on the perspective from the biographer’s point of view, rather than that of the police.
Despite the fine acting performances, the cops’ story is just one of missed opportunities, bungled investigations and a result that saw Nilsen convicted of only six murders. Unable to agree, the jury had to deliver majority verdicts, which makes you wonder who was roped in for jury service back then. How much more evidence did they need? Did they really think Kentucky Fried Chicken was the underlying problem?
Why did Masters continue to visit Nilsen for ten years after his conviction (Nilsen died in 2018), and did he come any closer to comprehending what the police never stood any chance of doing? Read the book – it’s as fascinating an insight into the biographer as it is into the killer, but in the drama feels more like an adjunct to the story rather than the pivot of it. At least the drains man has his 15 minutes of fame when he poses for the press; I bet he never had to sign on at Kentish Town Job Centre.
It’s yet to be revealed what The Singapore Grip is in the drama of the same name, but if you really want to know, ask a gynaecologist (let’s just say Brian Masters won’t be the definitive voice on this).
Based on J G Farrell’s 1978 novel, it takes place in the early 1940s. Singapore is under colonial rule, the British are about to surrender to the Japanese army, and Charles Dance is running around half-naked.
I never thought I’d be seeing so much of Mr Dance’s naked torso in my lifetime. Recent pictures in the press have shown him frolicking in the sea with his new Italian producer girlfriend, 20 years his junior. Now, here he is again, tending his roses as Monty Webb, who for some reason needs to be topless and in a sarong. Expect the Charles Dance Christmas calendar this year.
The drama is very ITV Sunday night: Downton accents, pretty women, and a bit of racism thrown in for good measure. Webb takes in Vera Chiang (the proverbial mystery, possible dodgy foreigner, played by Elizabeth Tan), when she is threatened with deportation back to China. Quite why he does this is anybody’s guess, but her first action upon arrival is to rush towards the torso. She doesn’t get much chance to do anything else, because Webb has a stroke and dies.
There’s the proverbial villain in the form of Joan (Georgia Blizzard), a nasty piece of work and daughter of Webb’s equally villainous business partner, Walter Blackett (David Morrissey). Webb’s son, Matthew (Luke Treadaway) now inherits daddy’s fortune, so Webb is in cahoots with his daughter to get them hitched.
How could it all go wrong? My guess is that Matthew will fall for Vera, which will be one in the eye for that uppity Joan.
Downton with noodles.
It’s watchable enough, but gripping it is not. Not in the Singapore sense.
Or the Dennis Nilsen sense, come to that.
