Grant Humbarger

I like to test my pain threshold every now and again by purposefully choosing fiction that can only be described as dire - parallel novels, historical mysteries written by Regency romance authors, that sort of thing. Being a fan of the original 'Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased)', and knowing full well that the BBC rehash with Reeves and Mortimer was painful to watch, this spin-off novelisation was irresistible. It's a shame that there doesn't exist any published fan fiction based on the 1960s series, but then again ...

The original show was basically about a 'private enquiry agent' named Jeff Randall whose partner returns to haunt him. Aside from Marty Hopirk's ghostly presence, there was nothing supernatural or surreal about the basic premise, and each episode was about Jeff investigating a case with Marty's help. The Reeves and Mortimer version, written by Charlie Higson, completely missed the point and pulled out all the stops - CGI galore, a 'spiritual' mentor for Marty, and completely random and supposedly comic plots. The strong friendship between Jeff and Marty was somehow weaker, and Marty's fiancee Jeannie was eyeing up his best friend before the ink was dry on the death certificate. The whole project was an exercise in style over substance, and in that respect, the tie-in novella is word perfect.

Books occasionally allow for more emotion and introspection than action-based television programmes have time for, but bar a less than convincing suggestion that Jeannie actually grieved for Marty, the characters remain stiff and unsympathetic. You wouldn't guess it from the dialogue, but Grant clearly sticks very closely to the screen template in describing Marty (Reeves), who keeps 'drawing up to his full height', the 'little man' Randall (Mortimer), and that exercise in girl power, Jeannie (Emilia Fox): 'Jeannie had cropped blonde hair and a doe-eyed, elfin beauty', but is also 'possessed of a steely determination'. Unfortunately, he also follows Higson's lead in plotting, with toilet humour for the kids, and an utterly random storyline that is probably meant to read like Douglas Adams, but fails. Also, the repetitive and awkward setting of dialogue got on my nerves, opening a line with one word, only to interrupt the flow with narrative direction, before resuming the passage: 'I don't,' said Marty through gritted teeth,' like spider plants.' Effective when there should be emphasis on the first word, but grating when misused in every single chapter.

Perhaps I'm being too pedantic (unlike the 'pragmatic' Jeannie) - if the intended readership of this little book is the same demographic as the audience of the series, I'm no doubt missing the childish appeal. This is authorised fan fiction, no more no less, and I didn't like the series upon which it is based, so what did I expect? Passed an afternoon and satisfied my sadistic potboiler twinge for this month, though!… (mais)