L'ispettore Maigret

Rumpled French detective Maigret's friend Mr. Durban, a private investigator, is killed while riding the train to Paris and his body is dumped in a river. This touches off a hunt for the killer(s) that leads to a rich industrialist and a family full of entanglements. The deaths multiply until Maigret finds the key.

Richard Harris plays the part of Maigret superbly. His interviewing of suspects is so very intense that the air fairly crackles as he performs. All in all a very good mystery.

The opening credits of this film state that it was "based on the Maigret character in the novels by Georges Simenon". This is complete and utter tosh. Though named Maigret, the character played by Richard Harris in this film has nothing to do with the famous Commissaire Maigret from Simenon's novels. Shambling about with a pipe in his teeth, Harris cuts us a dishevelled, wearied figure. His cardigan is buttoned wrong, his scarf is always threatening to blow off his neck, and his shabby overcoat looks like a comfortable home for an extended family of moths. Coupled with his ridiculously low-worn hat which makes him resemble Rob Petrie it becomes obvious that this creation owes more to Peter Falk's Columbo and Richard Harris' own idiosyncrasies than the diligent, calm, and indefatigable Commissaire Maigret. Furthermore, Harris' Maigret is irascible, grumpy, and seemingly depressed. He is a miserable creature, resembling a rain-soaked gumshoe more than a well-fed, mischievous French copper. Harris' voice does him no favours. Throughout the film, he speaks in a low, raspy whisper which makes him inaudible at times. As a result, his Maigret seems like the kind of guy you'd cross the street to avoid, and I bet he smells too.

More to the point, this film has no relation to any of the novels Simenon wrote. The plot, involving industrial espionage and a lot of business talk, is an entirely original brainchild of screenwriter Arthur Weingarten and doesn't even bear a passing resemblance to Simenon's introspective, psychological writing. There are no complex or unusual characters and none of that trademark mournful atmosphere. Nor is there any trace of France here besides several exterior shots of Paris. For one, all the suspects are Americans. They are the Portmans, a filthy rich dysfunctional family arguing over stock shares. Their employees include the British Julian Braden and the American David Hollenbeck. No Frenchmen here. The only French people in the film are the policemen, but even they have been anglicised. Note only how their names are pronounced in the film. Jules Maigret has become Jools McRay, Sgt Lucas has acquired a hard 's' at the end of his surname, and their uniformed collaborator is given the rather ambiguous name of Leila Normand (pronounced, again, with an audible 'd'). This Maigret has been entirely stripped of his Frenchness.

Without the Frenchness, the recognisable character traits, and with an uncharacteristic plot, this is clearly an in-name-only version of Maigret. In fact, if you were to change the spelling from Maigret to McRay and set it in Ireland, no one would have been any the wiser. Ironically, I'm sure that this would have made the film's reception much better because over the years this TV movie has acquired an infamously negative reputation stemming mainly from its comparison to Simenon. When looked at as a standalone TV movie, however, it is only slightly worse than the regular offering on the NBC Movie of the Week. It is on par with the weaker episodes of "McCloud" or "McMillan and Wife".

The screenplay by Arthur Weingarten is much like any other of his works on shows like "Ironside" or "Murder, She Wrote". It is a mystery story, somewhat plodding and overlong, with an entirely unbelievable conclusion, but which never-the-less passes the time. The big twist is so obvious (and hammered home by a lengthy exposition scene less than 40 minutes into this 90-minute movie) that I wasn't even aware it was a secret until the very ending. The supporting cast made up of such semi-famous names as Patrick O'Neill, Ian Ogilvy, and Victoria Tennant do a decent job. There are no standout performances, but no one comes out of this with egg on their face besides maybe Andrew McCulloch who makes for a shockingly wooden sidekick. Even Richard Harris, giving an entirely misguided performance, has moments in which you remember why he is such a highly respected actor. The direction by Paul Lynch is reliable and suitably moody. He keeps the plot moving at a decent pace and even when the script becomes awfully long-winded, he still manages to shuffle things along in an agreeable manner. I was rarely bored, even though I can't say I was ever hooked either.

There are several laughably melodramatic lines and scenes. At one point, Maigret looks over his wire-framed glasses and says: "Murder... is always a mistake, Mr Portman". It is a moment straight out of a Leslie Nielsen parody. Another unintentionally hilarious scene is a foot chase in which the wheezing and shambling Harris somehow relentlessly keeps up with a much younger and fitter hitman who keeps missing his shots even though his target seems to be at arm's length distance from him. However, these scenes are few and far apart. To be honest, I find episodes of "Jake and the Fatman" far more cringe-worthy than anything on display in "Maigret" which for the most part proceeds unremarkably.

Over the years, "Maigret" has acquired the reputation of being shockingly bad and embarrassing. It really isn't. There's nothing here that you can't see in dozens of other TV movies from the period none of which have this poisonous reputation. So, why is it so despised? I believe the answer lies in the title of the programme. Calling it "Maigret" was a disastrous mistake as this TV movie really has nothing to do with Simenon. Were it called "McRay", I'm sure people would have been kinder to it and admitted it is merely average crime-time TV. At worst, merely dull, never horrible. But, is it worth seeking out and watching? Absolutely not. There's nothing here of any interest to anyone but Maigret completists like me. It is not bad enough to be laughed at, it is not good enough to entertain. It is merely a dull, middle-of-the-road TV movie.

I'm sorry to say I switched off in the first fifteen minutes, after Richard Harris shambled into view slouching and shouting at all and sundry. (Which is a pity because that meant I missed Caroline Munro in a supporting part.) Over the years I have encountered several incarnations of the Chief Inspector, but never had I run into one that had made me reach for the Off switch the way this one did.

It is true that screen adaptations cannot be absolutely faithful to their literary heroes, otherwise the movie of a bestseller would have to be about eight hours long. But there is no excuse for merely using the famous name of a character if that is all there is in the finished product (yes, I am looking at you, George Gently).