'Midsomer Murders' (ITV) has been running for donkeys years; it's corn beyond belief. The plot, such as it is, is sub-Agatha Christie with extra-camp thrown in. There's a large amount of Home Counties smugness and a resultant nice warm glow of the English middle classes killing each other in the countryside. It must surely be a test of approaching middle age (knocking on thetvreviewguy's door like Beethoven's Fifth in a busy mood) as to whether one likes 'Midsomer' and why. Sure, the scenery is long and lovely and lush - always good for repeats and new episodes when the weather starts getting shitty in the Autumn. It could be the titillation of illicit affairs in the woods - last night's episode featured a nuns' cloisters (phew!) and some fruity goings on of the bourgeoisie (phwoar!) - that brings in the viewers by their millions. Would we all either consciously or subconsciously like to live in Midsomer? Would living somewhere with a higher murder rate than Compton, L.A., not be somewhat disconcerting? Is there anything to actually do, apart from kill or be killed? There's always been a hankering for the good life since, well, 'The Good Life' and when there's some extra-marital hanky panky thrown in, you'll always draw in the gawker, sorry, viewer. 'Midsomer' is like a nice, warm bottle of red plonk - offering nothing but a guilty, fleeting, ephemeral experience with no zero hangover potential. Already amply parodied in 'Hot Fuzz', the programme doesn't take itself at all seriously and rarely transgresses onto 'Morse' or 'Taggart' 'proper' murder stuff (although the plot last night, quite unusually, did touch on some interesting political issues). 'Midsomer Murders' isn't quite worth dying for but...admit your age, give in to the dark side and watch.
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