One week after the final episode of ABC TV’s Mystery Road spin-off series went to air, the broadcaster fills the same time slot (Sundays 8:30pm) with another round of high quality neo-noir, returning Guy Pearce as down-in-the-mouth private investigator Jack Irish in the second season of his namesake show. The format of these two franchises bears some similarities, both making their debut in feature-length increments (Mystery Road as two films, Jack Irish as three telemovies) before arriving on TV, shrinking in screen size while expanding and deepening the plot lines.
The genre is a great space to explore social issues, because neo-noir stories often involve scrutinising power. Aaron Pedersen and Pearce’s hard-bitten characters might as well be journalists chiselling away at exposés, chasing leads and untangling curly plots. As much as they are stony warrior types, stamped with the countenance of wary men Who Have Seen Things, their challenge is ultimately intellectual, their end goals nothing if not related to truth and accountability.
A core part in the new Jack Irish – a six-part series from writers Andrew Knight, Matt Cameron, Elise McCredie and Andrew Anastasios, and directors Mark Joffe, Kriv Stenders and Fiona Banks, inspired by the novels of the late Peter Tempe – concerns jiggery-pokery in higher learning institutions. The first episode begins with contrasts. Joffe, the director, makes the transition from high in the air – a drone-filmed aerial shot capturing the outskirts of Mumbai – to low to the ground, the camera inches from the gravel as it follows a postie on a scooter.
Warm hues (oranges, yellows, reds) infuse images of a family gathered around a dinner table, as a father reads aloud a letter from his student daughter Lakshmi (Rubi Balasingam) who lives in Australia. These pleasant colours give way to cold metallic blues and greys when we meet Lakshmi on the streets of Melbourne’s CBD. Distraught and incomprehensible, she runs on to the road and gets fatally struck by a bus. The circumstances around her death are suspicious, possibly involving a person following her.
The first of the obligatory This Time It’s Personal elements, connecting the protagonist to a network of shady goings-on, relates to Irish’s courier Eddie Chin (George Zhao), a Chinese international student who knew Lakshmi. Less than 15 minutes into the first episode, a chase scene unfolds, Melbourne style – baddies in a car pursuing Eddie on a bicycle down laneways. The story jumps ahead three years, then, somewhat unexpectedly, introduces comedian and Hard Quiz host Tom Gleeson – appearing in a small role as a bird watcher who stumbles upon a package marked for Jack.
The protagonist has returned to his professional roots in law, now suffering through conveyancing – which you just know isn’t going to stick. In a gloriously ‘strayan twist, his office is situated in the back room of a pub. This allows for semi-regular cameos from two adorably obdurate, stiff-necked elderly barflies played by John Flaus and Terry Norris. Soon Jack will return to the good old days, enjoying the perks of the parlous PI lifestyle, i.e. getting stuffed into the boots of cars and tied to trees.
Will this be, as one character puts it, a story about “shonky schools and dud diplomas”? In quintessential noir style, Irish’s investigations penetrate hierarchies and implicate many people in increasingly dramatic circumstances. Pedersen himself (who plays Jay Swan in Mystery Road) delivers words that will resonate with fans of this consistently impressive and moreish franchise: “It’s never just straightforward with you, is it Jack? Never a meat and three veg murder.”
The first episode, written by Andrew Knight – the veteran screenwriter who recently penned Ali’s Wedding, Hacksaw Ridge and The Water Diviner – sets in motion a plot that oscillates from cloak and dagger intrigue to pithy character-based interactions with friend and foe, to splashes of the protagonist’s private life, including his romantic relationship with psychiatrist Dr Rory Finch (Danielle Cormack). The three directors eschew distinctive personal styles to give consistency to the writing, which is the show’s greatest asset.
That is not to overlook the many fine, tantalisingly sporadic performances from a cracker cast including Pedersen, Marta Dusseldorp, Cormack, Roy Billing, Bob Franklin, Shane Jacobson and Deborah Mailman (and of course Pearce, who is effortlessly captivating in the lead role). Nor to shortchange the technical aspects, which are impressive across the board, including the memorably Melbourne-ised cinematography of veteran sharp eye Garry Phillips (whose work includes shooting The Railway Man and Gettin’ Square).
The series doesn’t wrap a great amount of depth around issues it initially appears keen to explore: corruption in higher institutions, dodgy wheeling and dealing in the horse racing industry (a subplot that often feels disconnected to the core narrative) and even the current state of journalism, illuminated through the plight of disenfranchised journo Linda (Dusseldorp). But you can hardly penalise Jack Irish for not excelling in social commentary. It’s tight, taut, high-powered viewing. The film-makers use genre formula to tap into contemporary issues – and hang it all together in a highly addictive package.
