G. K. Chesterton wrote after Conan Doyle invented Sherlock Holmes but (mostly) before Agatha Christie's reign. His detective Father Brown is an inoffensive little priest who knows a lot about crime, from years of hearing confessions. So he can see what others can't.
Here's an example (and since this story wasn't in the series it's not a spoiler). A headless man is found. His house is scattered with snuff; with clockwork like destroyed toys of the period; and with other bizarre things.
Father Brown (I won't give away how) figures out that the man left everything in the Will is scrupulously honest. He was left all the man's "gold." So he takes the man's collection of gold snuff boxes but not the snuff; he takes the man's gold watch-cases but not the watches; and as for beheading the man, since he was dead anyway it was easier to remove the man's gold teeth.
Chesterton's stories are less who-dun-its than puzzles to be solved. And they may have a theological point. Often this is said it's because Chesterton was such a strong Catholic, but his conversion to Catholicism came after he'd created Father Brown and had written most of his stories.
Whether Father Brown's stories could make a viable series like Brett's "Sherlock Holmes" or Suchet's "Poirot" or Hickson's "Miss Marple" is debatable. Some of Chesterton's Father Brown stories (which I love) are great while others are slight to plump out an hour apiece. And since Chesterton liked to serve everything up with a taste of humor he's often presented as a silly rather than a serous writer. Serious writers, it seems, shouldn't have a sense of humor. Baloney.
(Forget the Mark Williams reboot; all it has in common with Chesterton's stories is the main title).
This series has some poor production values and acting. Even the great Kenneth More appears miscast as Father Brown. A fine actor, More's performances have always been of characters who are sharp and smart, not low-key characters who appear silly on the outside, even if they are cleverer than everyone else on the inside. I've always appreciated Kenneth More's acting, but he's not that good at hiding his light under a bushel the Father Brown way.
When I first caught this in high school (fifteen years before I cared to read Chesterton, now one if my favorite authors) I was accustomed to British TV presentation with great actors performing in long takes on videotape on cheap-looking sets and with outdoors scenes on grainy film. Nowadays I'm more accustomed to slicker productions where the actors practically whisper. So the series looks old and creaky. Too bad. Chesterton deserves better.
