I’m sure you already knew … but I just finished watching Season 2 of “Luther”, the best British psychological crime drama I’ve seen on TV. The suspense is so unsettling that a portion of each episode is viewed through my partially covered eyes or by watching my husband’s face and asking him to tell me what happened. Even he jumps occasionally. I did not believe that the bad guy, a vigilante, would shoot Ripley since Justin Ripley was the most loyal, brave, honest, proud “copper” on the show and the only true friend to Luther. However, a shotgun blast to the chest ended all that. There was no hope of heroic medical intervention, that it was a bad dream or any of the other techniques used to assure our favorite characters survive certain death. Luther’s anguish – when he laid down beside his dead friend – finished me off. I’ve been dwelling on Ripley’s death thinking that he should have backed off and not confronted the killer.
Do you ever do that … wish that you could change the ending of a story? I’ve read “Rebecca” by Daphne du Maurier and “Jane Eyre” by Charlotte Bronte again and again trying to tell the heroines to grow a backbone and claim their loves. I talk out loud to many of Charles Dickens’ characters attempting to tell them who to trust and I won’t even tell you about my conversations with Stephen King’s victims. There would be far fewer casualties if they would listen when I warn them not to open a certain door, or go down the basement stairs, or turn down a dark alley. I try, but no one listens.
So, I will watch the final season (Season 3) of “Luther” and hope that he straightens out his personal life, triumphs over the internal police investigation, rids London of more murderous psychos, and re-establishes his strange and dangerous relationship with Alice. He will have to do it all without his faithful side-kick, Justin, which makes me sad.
Please don’t tell me the ending.