Cracker: An Introduction

"I drink too much, I smoke too much, I gamble too much. I am too much!"

Among the glut of '90s British crime dramas, two stand out. One was Prime Suspect (1991-1996, 2003-2006), Lynda La Plante's long-running series with Helen Mirren. This series gained acclaim for highlighting sexism within traditionally masculine environments and protagonist Jane Tennison's struggle with alcoholism; a character study within a smashing police procedural. La Plante's fearless examination of social issues, and Mirren's striking performance, made Prime Suspect an international hit.

Jimmy McGovern's Cracker (1993-1996) successfully ran on iTV simultaneous to Suspect, yet never matched its international breakout status (a flaccid American reboot notwithstanding). McGovern's drama is a worthy companion piece, perhaps even better: it mixes crime drama and political commentary with a sharp character study, creating a masterpiece far ahead of its time. Cracker's layered plot, twisted character dynamics and general complexity are remarkable for a show that produced only nine episodes.

Cracker follows many precepts of your standard police drama. Its protagonist, Edward "Fitz" Fitzgerald (Robbie Coltrane), is a brilliant criminal psychologist who helps the Manchester police. Strict realism goes out the window when Fitz savagely questions suspects without a lawyer present. So far, so familiar. But McGovern adds trenchant satire and tortured family drama. There's a hero who's not only a personal wreck, but possesses a spotty professional record. There are policemen (and women) just as damaged as the criminals. More generally, there's a trenchant, scathing look at post-Thatcher England.

Make no mistake, Cracker is a very English show - just not the posh, refined England we expect. The Greater Manchester Police sport regional dialects: Fitz is Scottish, Beck Irish, Wise Liverpudlian, the rest convincingly Mancunian. Characters follow football (soccer for us Yanks) and down dirty beer in dingy pubs. Blue collar whites, colored immigrants and foreigners all face discrimination, distrust and destitution. It's a much grimmer, darker Britain than American viewers expect, evincing a distinct working class rage.

Thus the layered villains. Most of McGovern's antagonists come from society's lower dregs, channeling engrained rage into violent action. McGovern expertly navigates a tightrope: he sympathizes with outcasts driven to murder, but won't glamorize their actions. Albie Kinsella's existential anguish is palpable, yet he's still a bastard who murders five people. We pity Floyd Malcolm's racial shame until recalling that he's a serial rapist. Maggie Harvey's justified anger at prostitutes doesn't excuse killing them. McGovern rails against the system but avoids espousing homicide as the solution.

Then there's Fitz himself, a classic anti-hero. At first glance he's not dissimilar from Sherlock Holmes or Columbo, an ace detective with a keen eye for detail. Where Holmes occasionally indulges in drugs, Fitz's vices completely consume him - especially gambling. "Why not a normal addiction?" wife Judith (Barbara Flynn) asks, reasoning heroin would at least kill him. McGovern shows Fitz's home life to be a shambles, with Judith flaunting her affairs and son Mark (Kieran O'Brien) all but disowning him. It's a palpable tragedy: Fitz, usually able to instantly decode criminals, remains oblivious to his own failings.

Most viewers see Robbie Coltrane as a comic actor, unfair to this multi-layered talent. Coltrane certainly indulges witty remarks, flirtation and James Cagney impressions throughout the show; Fitz is, along with everything else, highly amusing. Yet Coltrane's Scots bonhomie, channeled into drama, becomes a force of nature. Coltrane can display naive vulnerability; Fitz genuinely loves Judith and Mark, never understanding why they resent him. But interrogating suspects he's a force, probing for weakness with sensitive interrogation before exploding in hateful rage. Coltrane's brilliant acting ballasts even weaker installments.

The rich ensemble cast can't be done justice here. Barbara Flynn brilliantly shows Judith's impatience with her intolerable husband. She's balanced with Fitz's sometime-lover Jane Penhaligon (Geraldine Somerville), an ambitious lady cop well-written and acted enough to avoid being a Jane Tennison manque. Impulsive DCI Billborough (Christopher Eccleston) places "results" ahead of justice; DCI Wise (Ricky Tomlinson) provides a level-headed contrast. Then there's DS Jimmy Beck (Lorcan Cranitch), a boorish Irishman whose demons drive the show's most affecting arc. Frequently the side characters eclipse Fitz, sometimes spectacularly so.

If there's any weakness to McGovern's formula, it's his predilection for placing protagonists in jeopardy. It makes sense that police themselves become targets, and it's undeniably powerful when certain characters get killed or traumatized. Yet the trick wears thin over time, especially moments in Men Should Weep and True Romance where criminals menace Fitz's family. When handled well, this escalation proves extremely effective; when botched, it devolves the gritty procedural to cheap melodrama.

The cast brims with budding British talent. Coltrane remains familiar from Harry Potter, where he rejoined Geraldine Somerville. Lorcan Cranitch subsequently had high-profile roles on Ballykissangel and Rome, while Christopher Eccleston became a short-lived Doctor Who. Robert Carlyle parlayed his chilling guest appearance into myriad film (Trainspotting, The Full Monty) and television (Hamish Macbeth, Once Upon a Time) roles. Liam Cunningham (The Wind That Shakes the Barley), Samantha Morton (Elizabeth: The Golden Age) and Jim Carter (Downton Abbey) feature in one-off roles.

But Cracker's influence extends far beyond cast ubiquity. One can't credit McGovern alone for shifting television towards morally ambiguous protagonists. Yet Fitz undoubtedly presages anti-heroic detectives like Monk and Luther, let alone non-genre heroes like House. All protagonists who are severely flawed, often morally suspect, but undeniably brilliant in their respective fields. Fitz one-ups even these latecomers, however, by occasionally proving spectacularly wrong. Even Fitz's expertise doesn't always redeem him.

From here on, we'll examine the series through its individual episodes, however long that may take. I'd intended to dissect one episode per series, yet there's too much going on for a limited analysis. Each episode (even two one-off specials) thus earns a review, though I'll still single out standout episodes. Hopefully this approach does Cracker justice.

One final note: these reviews contain massive spoilers. I've no reticence about spoiling a 20 year old series for one, and it's impossible to discuss certain ongoing plots without referring to previous episodes. You've been warned.