When it comes to TV dramas, nobody does it better than the Brits. Nobody. This is a law of the Medes and Persians that cannot be altered.

And so it came to pass, with a nudge from our daughter and a shared Netflix account to help welcome us home, that Barby and I discovered Shetland. 

It is a crime drama set in the Shetland Isles, north east of Scotland. And yes, as you might imagine from this linguistically-inept antipodean, the enduring weakness of the show is its need for sub-titles. But even I lost sight of this flaw as I became lost in the sumptuous combination of scenery (but remember, as with the New Zealand of Lord of the Rings fame, there is more to a place than its terrain!) with deep characters carrying plotlines through tense twists and turns.

As I sat there watching, with my Large Scale Road Atlas: Britain open on my knees, it took me back to that other BBC classic, Songs of Praise, where the atlas was also my indispensable companion. However I quickly concluded that Shetland changed many of the names of places. I guess having so many murders, rather than so many hymns, in such a confined space over such a brief time period is not so helpful to the tourist industry. Nor is a pandemic, when I stop to think about it.

When I watch something as good as Shetland I like to try and stand outside myself and watch my own responses. About what do I find myself thinking as I walk, as I drive and as I lie awake. What has provoked me? What has resonated with me? What is that I cannot shake? What gets inside me and changes me?

From the three series that I’ve watched thus far, there are two responses I can make…

Leadership
I find the senior detective character, Jimmy Perez, to be so compelling. He comes across to me as a ‘grace and truth’ leader. It starts with the gracious way he relates to the people with whom he works, especially the women. Whether it be his boss, Rhona, whom he respects but to whom he struggles to submit; or his associate, Tosh, with whom the line between mentor and friend becomes so fuzzy; or his daughter, Cassie, with whom he is navigating that season of letting go, yet still loving deeply; or Cora, the pathologist, who pops in from time to time with an opinion that is trusted before she even speaks a word. And then all of these relationships develop against the backdrop of the relatively recent death of the woman to whom he would be closest of all, his wife, Fran. It is extraordinary. But there is more to it than mere grace. In each of these relationships (and in other ones, like with Sandy, his other associate) Jimmy is pressing always for truth and for truthfulness, be it professionally or personally … all at a time when it could be argued that he himself is avoiding the true and the truthful consequences of his wife’s death. I just love it. Can you tell?!

I must also mention how the grace seeps into the story in another way. Jimmy has this way of protecting the one whom the mob prematurely determines to be guilty and even, on more than one occasion, welcoming the strange and the reclusive into his home. Gee whiz, this drifts pretty much into ‘the least of these’ territory!

Jimmy with his daughter, Cassie.

After a recent post on the death of a surrogate parent I’ve been thinking about the ways in which we lead biblically and it caused me to stumble across a sixth s-word to add to my little leadership collection: shepherd, servant, steward, sage, seer and surrogate. I think this is why the fictional Jimmy Perez inspires me so much. He feeds my aspiration to be a six-s leader. It is all there in his character and, intriguingly for me in my line of work, Jimmy lives it out at some considerable distance from the Bible and the Christian community. Maybe this is what effective leadership looks like in any setting…

Perspective
Here it is important to say again that my approach with this blog is not to go off and research stuff before I write. I prefer to sit down in the early hours and write my own reflections. But I made an exception this time because I found myself so affected by a rape drawn into the storyline and I couldn’t find the words to articulate the response it provoked in me.

There are no graphic scenes to watch. Nor is there is any soapbox soliloquoy to hear. No. No. It is far more subtle. The unutterable sadness inhabits the silence and the spaces in the story, thanks to a remarkable performance by the victim. As a male I know I need to tread carefully, even reverently, here and so I decided to wander the internet to see if I could find some interpretation to help me understand what was happening. Within seconds I came across this piece in The Guardian, written in 2016 by the author (Ann Cleeves) of the novels on which the series is based. Amazing! But although she hastens to say that she did not have this storyline in her novel, she does articulate that for which I was grasping. [NB: Please read Ann’s article and linger with the 337 comments that follow it, but maybe better to do so after you’ve watched the series! I am trying to be vague and not be a spoiler.]

Here is the sub-header in Ann’s piece: Too many producers film graphic scenes of violence but gloss over the lasting trauma. I think the truth is horror enough. Then, towards the end of her article, she writes these words:

The decision not to show the rape itself in Shetland was deliberate, carefully thought through and had the support of all involved. The result is that, without being preachy or polemical, the drama captures the survivor experience: the physical shutdown during attack leading to self-blame, and the inability of some survivors to consider reporting the attack to the police. It was important to bust these myths: that in a real attack women would always fight back – in fact, the response of many victims is to freeze; and that a survivor would always choose to bring the attacker to court. It’s vital that jurors do not carry these myths and stereotypes into the court when listening to evidence and making life-changng decisions … 
Some believe a scene can only work if it is gritty, shocking and explicitly sexual. But the danger is that these high-octane dramas are so packed with action and excitement that the true effect of rape is glossed over. It ranks along with the car chase and the shootout as a device to move the story along. Shetland, by contrast, showed that the real horror of rape lasts long after the action is over. That is the truth – and faithfully represented, as it was here, the truth is truly compelling.


Yep, the second response to Shetland that I cannot shake has to do with perspective, what Ann Cleeve refers to as ‘the survivor experience’. Thank-you.


Annoyingly, Netflix carries only three of the Shetland series and I see that this is likely to remain the case. I am not yet sure how to find the other ones. All offers and suggestions gratefully received. In the meantime, I am caught between what the New Testament refers to as the ‘already and the not yet’. I’ve already tasted the excellence of Shetland, but I have not yet experienced it fully. And so I wait in hope, patiently.

nice chatting

Paul