Let me tell you, folks, I’ve seen my fair share of underwhelming opening episodes, but Bodkin took the biscuit. And the tea. And the scones. However, my reviewing integrity (and the fact that I had nothing better to do on a Monday night) compelled me to persevere. By episode three, I was hooked like a trout on a fisherman’s line, which, as it turns out, is not entirely irrelevant to this show.
Bodkin
This seven-part comedy drama, surprisingly backed by the Obamas’ production company (yes, those Obamas), is a bit of a gamble. The first hour could easily lull you into a deep slumber, but if you can muster the strength to soldier on, you’ll be rewarded with a darkly humorous, whimsical thriller. It’s a show that aspires to capture the quirky charm and success of Only Murders in the Building, and while it doesn’t quite reach those dizzying heights, it’s still a damn good time.
Will Forte, that SNL legend and the man who brought us the post-apocalyptic hilarity of The Last Man on Earth, takes the helm as podcaster Gilbert Power. After scoring a hit with a podcast about his wife’s cancer, Gilbert decides to venture into the true-crime genre while exploring his Irish roots. He sets off to the quaint (and entirely fictional) town of Bodkin in west Cork, where three people mysteriously vanished from the annual Samhain festival two decades ago. Accompanying Gilbert on this quest is Emmy Scissor (Robyn Cara), an earnest young researcher with a name as contrived as the town itself. They’re reluctantly joined by Dove (Siobhán Cullen), an investigative journalist with a permanent scowl and a penchant for telling people to “feck off.” Emmy, bless her naive soul, idolizes Dove as a journalistic icon, much to Dove’s annoyance (and, let’s be honest, my secret envy).
Upon arrival, they encounter a cast of characters straight out of central casting for an Irish village: a pair of gossiping old geezers, a cheerful but clueless taxi driver, a stern landlady, a shifty fisherman with a smuggling past, a friendly farmer, a burly blacksmith with the voice of an angel, a gruff old-school garda (police officer), and a local boy-turned-Samhain-festival-reviver who goes by the nickname “Shitpants” (due to a childhood incident, and because, as the show reminds us,”we’re a very literal people”). And of course, no Irish village would be complete without nuns – some enjoying a pint at the pub, others running a wellness retreat in a deconsecrated nunnery to make ends meet.
As the plot thickens, we learn more about the villagers’ past and present lives, their connections to one another, and their hidden agendas. It becomes clear that their charming Irishness is often a facade designed to deflect Gilbert’s probing questions. Dove, with her cynical outlook, sees through the ruse, and it’s thanks to her (and Emmy’s occasional brushes with the law) that they unravel multiple interconnected mysteries that could give Gilbert the podcast sensation he craves.
By the third episode, Bodkin hits its stride and settles into a captivating rhythm. The mystery is intriguing enough to keep you guessing, the humor is dark and clever (with delightful touches like a spontaneous wake singalong to “Don’t Stop Thinking About Tomorrow”), and the characters are just peculiar enough to keep things interesting without going off the rails. The show gains momentum (pun intended), charm, and even a few dead bodies, making that initial slow burn well worth it.
In conclusion, Bodkin may not be perfect, but it’s a delightfully quirky and entertaining show that gets better with each episode. If you’re looking for a murder mystery with a side of Irish humor and a dash of the unexpected, give Bodkin a chance. You might just find yourself pleasantly surprised, just like I was. And who knows, you might even develop a newfound appreciation for the beauty of a well-crafted feck off.
