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The mysterious murder of an environmental activist leads her straight-laced father, an Inspector of the local police force, through a haunting revelation of the murkiness of the British Nuclear Policy of the eighties. Written by
Bryn Coope <firstname.lastname@example.org>
Superb, courageous television we're not likely to see again.
This is television nothing like US commercial TV. (And I include in that category not only network, but the tragically disappointing cable outlets.) Certainly, US public TV generally shied away from EOD - even, I'm afraid, NYC's flagship station. It was just too hot in the Age of Reagan. Also, I'm afraid, after Maggie Thatcher's gutting of the BBC, it will be rare there as well. What EOD offers is the complexity, the density, the reality of life - much like reading a novel, say, by John Le Carré at his best. And the acting! My God, those Brits - as Jedburgh says, they deserve the Falklands! One note that I can't resist: when we finally first see the cooling pool of Northmoor's plutonium holding - and remember that plutonium was named after the Greek God of the Underworld - Michael Kamen's music gives us a contrabass passage from Walton's "Belshazzar's Feast." And in that British cantata, the chorus sings "Thy sons shall be made eunuchs in the palace of the King of Babylon....By the waters of Babylon, we sat down, yea we wept...." And we sense what will be spelled out for us: the limitless depths of Grogan's international nuclear despotism. Like a fine novel, EOD deserves attentive and multiple viewings.
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