The Mrs. Bradley Mysteries
As I watched the pilot episode of The Mrs. Bradley Mysteries, articles that I’ve read about Sherlock floated through my mind. Specifically, the articles where people argue that the audience would roundly reject a female character as snarky, immune to social convention, and borderline sociopathic as Sherlock.
As it turns out, we have a case study, because lo! Mrs. Bradley is immensely snarky, immune to social convention, and borderline sociopathic to boot. “I don't care for the countryside,” she comments, wandering around the estate of a country house that she’s visiting. “To me, it's a soggy sort of place where animals and birds wander about uncooked.”
That’s the snark. The immunity to social convention kicks off in the first few minutes of the show, when Mrs. Bradley shows up late to her ex-husband’s funeral, tosses cigars on his grave, and comments to her son that his father was very dull and she divorced him in order to avoid being bored to death. “Marriage is one of those things it's best to get over and done with early in life,” she says. “Like chickenpox.”
Mrs. Bradley and her son don’t like each other very much. She thinks he, like his father, is terminally dull. On an American show, this on its own might be enough to prove borderline sociopathy, but - I’ve noticed this on other British shows, though to a lesser extent - here it’s not presented as particularly a problem.
Indeed, if anything, it’s a badge of awesomeness. Her son’s wife comments, “My husband's mother marches to the beat of a different drum.”
The son, grimly: “My mother has an entire orchestra of her own.”
But fear not, I have better proof of borderline sociopathy! Mrs. Bradley goes to a country house, where, naturally - this is the 1920s; what always happens in 1920s country houses? - there’s a murder. Mrs. Bradley enlists her chauffeur’s aid in trying to figure out how the murderer managed to drown the victim in a bathtub.
This involves grabbing him by the ankles and dragging his head underwater, then explaining the method of the crime to the air as he thrashes around, trying (not very successfully) not to drown. Well, but she had to see him thrash to make sure it made the right pattern of splash marks! And she lets him up before he actually drowns.
Okay, the almost-drowning made me twitchy, but otherwise I loved Mrs. Bradley. And if the Netflix reviews are anything to go by, most other viewers agree. It’s as if there were a show about the Dowager Countess of Grantham solving crimes.
So maybe the Sherlock articles were unduly pessimistic, after all. Or maybe there’s just not much overlap between people who watch The Mrs. Bradley Mysteries and the fandom audience the Sherlock articles were written for.
As it turns out, we have a case study, because lo! Mrs. Bradley is immensely snarky, immune to social convention, and borderline sociopathic to boot. “I don't care for the countryside,” she comments, wandering around the estate of a country house that she’s visiting. “To me, it's a soggy sort of place where animals and birds wander about uncooked.”
That’s the snark. The immunity to social convention kicks off in the first few minutes of the show, when Mrs. Bradley shows up late to her ex-husband’s funeral, tosses cigars on his grave, and comments to her son that his father was very dull and she divorced him in order to avoid being bored to death. “Marriage is one of those things it's best to get over and done with early in life,” she says. “Like chickenpox.”
Mrs. Bradley and her son don’t like each other very much. She thinks he, like his father, is terminally dull. On an American show, this on its own might be enough to prove borderline sociopathy, but - I’ve noticed this on other British shows, though to a lesser extent - here it’s not presented as particularly a problem.
Indeed, if anything, it’s a badge of awesomeness. Her son’s wife comments, “My husband's mother marches to the beat of a different drum.”
The son, grimly: “My mother has an entire orchestra of her own.”
But fear not, I have better proof of borderline sociopathy! Mrs. Bradley goes to a country house, where, naturally - this is the 1920s; what always happens in 1920s country houses? - there’s a murder. Mrs. Bradley enlists her chauffeur’s aid in trying to figure out how the murderer managed to drown the victim in a bathtub.
This involves grabbing him by the ankles and dragging his head underwater, then explaining the method of the crime to the air as he thrashes around, trying (not very successfully) not to drown. Well, but she had to see him thrash to make sure it made the right pattern of splash marks! And she lets him up before he actually drowns.
Okay, the almost-drowning made me twitchy, but otherwise I loved Mrs. Bradley. And if the Netflix reviews are anything to go by, most other viewers agree. It’s as if there were a show about the Dowager Countess of Grantham solving crimes.
So maybe the Sherlock articles were unduly pessimistic, after all. Or maybe there’s just not much overlap between people who watch The Mrs. Bradley Mysteries and the fandom audience the Sherlock articles were written for.