“Broadchurch”: You Should Watch It

Many moons ago, my friend Peter Mahler gave me a copy of the first season of “Broadchurch,” which had just aired in Britain. I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t get around to watching it. I had just devoured all three seasons of “The Killing” (the original Danish version, thank you very snobbily much, not the American imposter), and I was a little murdered out. Plus, I had caught up with “Hannibal,” so I really wasn’t ready for more dead bodies. But tonight, when “Broadchurch” gets its American premiere, on BBC America, I suspect I will be DVR-ing. Of the program, in The New Yorker, Emily Nussbaum writes: ‘There’s something refreshing about a show that takes [an] approach along the lines of an Agatha Christie novel: a small town, multiple suspects, and a contained story. A satisfying model of this is “Broadchurch.” When I first started watching, I felt a distinct sinking sensation: Crap. Another well-made show about child murder. Hesitant as I was to absorb, once again, the pain of a bereaved family — “The Killing” nearly killed me, and “The Fall” filled me with nauseated dread — I’m grateful that I stuck with it. “Broadchurch” is beautifully crafted: well filmed, well cast, well scored, atmospheric without being a drag.’

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