But its also a spin-off to a series called The Bill that premiered nearly two decades before CBS started co-opting The Who catalog for its enormously successful franchise.
From 2003, MIT is not as successful, at least in terms of flashy visuals and absorbing storytelling (and its not like Britain cant do that, if youve seen its recent, stellar reboot of Sherlock), yet it remains an effective, well-written police procedural, if only a little staid. Characters dont stick out that tends to happen when none looks as dynamite as Marg Helgenberger but the stories do: a man gruesomely felled in a drive-by in the premieres opening moments, corpses of children discarded like literal garbage, dead celebs and more.
Of the eight hours here, episode seven is the most gripping, partly because its also the most gratuitous, dealing with the murder of a former glamour model and Page 3 girl. Sex sells anywhere, mitigating minor annoyances that dont translate as well insults like grubby barrow boy.
MIT distinguishes itself from American crime shows by doing that thing you may have seen on the BBCs excellent Luther, where the footage is interrupted by stark bursts of silence as it shifts to white-on-black credits. It gets your attention, and without Roger Daltreys primal, wake-the-eff-up cry of YEEEEEOWWWWWW! (The closing theme, however, is a sore-thumb torch number that sounds swiped from some weepy montage on Greys Anatomy.) Rod Lott