Death in Paradise Christmas Special review: Obscenely escapist holiday viewing with some completely nonsensical plotlines

The implausibilities pile on top of each other until, like a beach hut in a tropical hurricane, if you think about it too hard, the whole story blows away without much resistance

Shantol Jackson’s Naomi Thomas and Ralf Little’s DI Neville Parker in ‘Death in Paradise’ (BBC/Red Planet/Denis Guyeon)

Death in Paradise is the kind of telly you can just keep one eye on while undertaking any other task perfectly competently, up to and including eye surgery. So the BBC One show is ideal Christmas viewing, because most of us surely don’t have the time to spend slumped semi-comatose in front of the TV (a dying art in any case) for the full 90 minutes, paying complete attention to the potential forensic lines of a homicide inquiry; and for those who do prefer the sedentary lifestyle, it is only moderately demanding stuff. Win-win, then.

It’s almost obscenely escapist, as always, set in one of the Caribbean’s lovely small islands, the made-up British territory of Saint Marie (though plenty of French heritage, too). Like a tourist, you’re very happy to meander around picturesque villages and warm beaches for a while, taking in the breathtaking scenery, vibrant colours, a little gentle calypso and ska, the odd rum cocktail and, as it happens, to join the local coppers in their latest hunt for a brutal killer. The ideal mix for a Christmas break from reality, in other words. Plus, the producers have delivered once again the requisite quota of high-profile talent to reassure you that, even if you did nod off halfway through, or couldn’t make head nor tail of it, you were still getting value from the licence fee.

The cast aren’t terribly stretched in this drama, with its unforgivably banal dialogue and non-existent character development, but I guess they must have been enjoying themselves during the filming. Besides, how can one complain about anything featuring: Ralf Little as the sort-of-intern British detective inspector, Neville Parker; Doon Mackichan as his floozy mum, Melanie; Don Warrington, doing his usual turn as the lethargic and irascible police commissioner Selwyn Patterson; and Patsy Kensit, nicely embittered wife of the deceased, Bella Stableforth.

What is less formulaic, to the point of absurdity, are the plot lines that tangle around this tale, and which don’t make any kind of sense

Which brings us to the story, and it’s mostly pretty formulaic for a murder mystery. We start with the death of a wealthy self-made English builder in his luxury villa, Gerry Stableforth (Geoff Bell in another earthy role), and then we’re invited to wonder which of his mostly unpleasant family, plus one guest, have done the old boy in, pushing him off a high balcony into the forest below. His last words are reportedly “It’s behind you”, a nice panto season touch. Is it the wife he is heard arguing with? His spoiled daughter Mariana (Amelia Clarkson) and her shifty boyfriend Callen Shaw (Wade Briggs)? Or the businessman’s son Benjamin (Freddie Carson), a flashy little fella in a muscle car who needs the money? We’re also led to believe it might well be the disappearing guest, a web designer named Debbie Clumson (Bronagh Waugh), who, extravagantly, he invites over from rainy old Woking. What designs does she have on him? Or he on her? Of course, it could be a consortium involving some or all of them...

What is less formulaic, to the point of absurdity, are the plot lines that tangle around this tale, and which don’t make any kind of sense. Thus, we are invited to believe that Stableforth’s lad, who looks about 18, has somehow managed to build a fashion business empire so big, albeit unsuccessful, that it can lose $4m, and that the art student daughter can identify a genuine Chinese Ming vase worth $6m in the background of a Zoom call. The implausibilities pile on top of each other until, like a beach hut in a tropical hurricane, if you think about it too hard, the whole story blows away without much resistance. Not that it matters, because we’re just carried along in the breeze.

In truth, Death in Paradise has always been more a holiday show than a suspenseful thriller, and the mystery pitched nicely between insoluble and just-too-obvious. Like a well-designed Sudoku or Wordle puzzle – you can guess most of it. The characters, particularly the young team of local cops (Shantol Jackson, Tahj Miles, Ginny Holder) remain largely neglected, like models pointing at things in a tourist brochure. Much more could be made of them. As a format, Death in Paradise, in other words, still has plenty of potential – if anyone involved could be bothered to leave the rum punch alone and make the effort.