It had me from the first five minutes; Dinah’s late-night chase through Manchester, cab and heels ditched, suspect shortly to meet a sticky end under a bus. And it’s still got me, 355 minutes later – only now I’m officially in love with DI Vivienne Deering and about half her station to boot. No Offence has proved to be that doubly rare thing: a comedy drama that is both gripping and funny, and a police procedural that really does bring something new to the genre.
That something new is Abbott’s understanding of people, place and the way they speak. No Offence uses a team of writers, but has an unmistakable streak of Abbott running through every conversation. Every line is carefully measured, beautifully balanced, the good stuff sprinkled through every exchange, rather than saved up for the zingers. “Calm, methodical, Sunday fucking best,” briefs Deering as her team close in on the killer. “Don’t give me the face,” she tuts as Dinah tries to resist her orders. It all feels real.
I would probably still watch if Deering was the only good thing about No Offence. She’s a brilliant concoction: in some ways, completely unlike the traditional TV police boss (a plump, sexual, mid-40s woman with a taste for leather and a bleach-blond blow-dry); in others, absolutely recognisable (massive ego, fiercely protective of her troops, plagued by the decisions of chiefs above her).
What makes Deering utterly compelling is the seam of tenderness that breaks free at surprising moments, and her absolute commitment to nailing the bad guys. “I’m here, I’ll see you through, it’s all right. You can go off now,” she tells Patrick Llewellyn, taking his hand as he lies dying. “Fucker’s dead,” she declares, seconds later to her assembled troops. Neither feel out of character.
It takes some skill to carry that off – and Joanna Scanlan has basically given a seven-week lesson in why directors should be less predictable and altogether bolder when it comes to casting. As deft with the office banter – “I do like a man who isn’t bothered about promotion,” she deadpans as an officer gives her a seven out of 10 when she asks how she looks – as with moments of fury or pure frustration. In other hands, Viv would have been a monster: between Abbott and Scanlan, she’s human; the cliched northern matriarch re-imagined as a modern police boss.
But No Offence is not just Scanlan’s show. When almost every actor on screen has proved a revelation – from Elaine Cassidy as Dinah, to Alexandra Roach as Joy, Will Mellor as Spike and Paul Ritter as eccentric forensics expert Randolph – then you can be sure they’re appearing in a pretty remarkable piece of television.
Of course, No Offence has its flaws. While I have enjoyed the show’s main focus on one mystery across the series, and particularly admired the way it has been careful not to reduce its disabled actors to merely victims, I have wondered whether there was enough happening to really merit the long-running case. And I question, too, whether the final twist of last week’s episode, (spoilers!) that somebody within the team has been working with Patrick, is really necessary.
But perhaps that’s partly because, among the long list of things to admire, the thing I have most relished about No Offence is the show’s underscore of constable-level banter. I don’t want any of the team to be proved a murder and rapist in next week’s final episode, because I have spent seven weeks seeing them all develop as characters, and enjoying their interactions that capture completely the warmth and wit of the north west. (For this Mancunian in exile, each episode feels like a love-letter to the city and its people.)
Abbott has not exactly been idling away his time since those early glory days of Shameless. But I’ll admit, I had forgotten how astonishing his best work could be. You can’t watch No Offence and not be reminded of his talent – let’s hope Channel 4 also recognises it with a second series. Because to decide not to renew the adventures of Viv and her team? Well, I wouldn’t fancy telling her, would you?
