Broadchurch: Season 1 (2013)

Broadchurch is one of several recent television series inspired by Twin Peaks’ fusion of grisly procedural with ethereal atmospherics. Set in a small town on the Dorset coast, it revolves around the murder of a young boy, and subsequent investigation by local Detective Sergeant Ellie Miller (Olivia Colman) and Detective Sergeant Alec Hardy (David Tennant), who’s brought down from London. As might be expected, the texture of the town and surrounding landscape plays a major role, but not in a conventional or regular way. For the first couple of episodes, it’s pitched at a melodramatic, even operatic  level, not dissimilar to some of the more reflective sequences in the first season of The Killing. For a short while, that feels a little forced, but it quickly disperses into a quite striking evocation of the affective tissue of the town, which becomes more tangible and corporeal as the series progresses. In particular, directors James Strong and Euros Lyn favor extremely wide, low shots, hugging the ground or floor to conjure up a single, undulating affective surface, which ripples throughout the series with a thrillingly musical presence, making the continuous, high-pitched, heartrending score almost unnecessary. On top of that, most of the scenes are somewhat overexposed, meaning that, like the characters, we’re continually forced to squint through refracted light, even at night, to the point where the entire mise-en-scene feels liquid, or crystal. It’s no surprise, then, that the ocean plays such a critical forensic role in the investigation, nor is it a surprise that its Colman’s best role to date, since there’s something about the way her face registers and reconfigures feeling that works well here – her responses are oceanic, always threatening to collapse her features under the weight of their own torrential apprehension. And as Peep Show and The Office made clear, that can also makes her a quite startling comic presence - her rapport with David Tennant teeters the show precipitously between comedy and tragedy, often in a single conversation, as if the ever-circulating swathe of feeling were too voracious to ever commit to one register for too long.

The Good Wife: Season 1 (2009)

When The Good Wife came out, it was a bit of an anomaly for CBS – and that’s been reflected in steadily low ratings ever since, despite its critical acclaim. Whereas CBS prides itself on perfecting the episodic periodical, the first season of The Good Wife boasts an intricate, intriguing and sustained narrative arc, revolving around Alicia Florrick (Julianna Margulies), the wife of a disgraced States Attorney, who has to support her family by returning to her original job as a defense lawyer, while her husband (Chris Noth) awaits trial in prison. However, in keeping with CBS' procedural focus, this story plays out, week by week, as a series of fascinating court cases, many of which turn on cutting-edge legal and technological issues, reflecting Chicago’s heritage as a centre of legal academia, research and culture (no other legal procedural is quite so fascinated, or quite so wry, with specialist testimony). Every episode advances the main narrative thread in the most elegant, organic way imaginable, partly by way of a series of equally intriguing subplots and satellite dramas that make the most of the outstanding supporting cast, which includes Christine Baranski, Josh Charles, Archie Panjabi and (toward the end of the season), Alan Cumming. They’re all pitch perfect, but the show belong to Margulies – at least, it wouldn’t be the same show without her particular brand of remoteness; her face modulates almost subliminally, giving the show space to sustain long periods of ambiguity and suspense. And that means that it also has room to develop its quite distinctive brand of legal-political procedural, with cases often exposing or clarifying the threads connecting private legal practice with public political election. In particular, series creators Robert and Michelle King are brilliant at evoking the tenor and agenda that each judge casts over a courtroom –Season 2 is propelled by a judge running for States Attorney – and the rotating cast of judges weaves a rich tapestry of minor, beloved character actors. It’s not surprising, then, that it’s been critically acclaimed, nor is it surprising that it hasn’t been more critically acclaimed, since it lacks the insistence on its own originality that tends to draw the most fervent critical acclaim, which isn’t to say that it’s not original, but that it’s eminently modest in its originality.