Fire up the Quattro! Gene Hunt, the foul-mouthed, chain-smoking, hard-drinking, sexist detective from the TV series Life On Mars is about to make a comeback.
The creators of the time-travelling cop show and its sequel Ashes To Ashes, which ran for four years from 2006 to 2010, are reported to be in advanced talks with streamers including Netflix to produce a long-awaited follow-up.
The BBC, which aired the first two series, has passed on the opportunity to make a third, fearing it would be too offensive for today’s woke sensibilities.
But with Gary Oldman’s flatulent, foul-mouthed, chain-smoking, hard-drinking, etc, spy Jackson Lamb ripping up the ratings in Apple TV’s Slow Horses, setting the template for a new-breed of anti-hero, the time is ripe for a Gene Hunt revival.
Philip Glenister played Detective Chief Inspector Hunt in both Life On Mars and Ashes To Ashes. In the first series, John Simm starred as a policeman called Sam Tyler, who was transported back to 1973 after a car crash.
Ashes To Ashes transferred the action from Manchester to London and featured Keeley Hawes as Alex Drake, a high-flying female DI who is shot in 2008 and wakes up in 1981.
Both are horrified at what they consider the prehistoric attitude of Hunt and his Sweeney-style CID sidekicks. The Seventies in particular were a byword for police brutality and corruption.
Former Met Commissioner Sir Robert Mark said at the time that: ‘The basic test of a decent police force is that it catches more criminals than it employs. And the Met is failing.’
Gene Hunt, played by Philip Glenister, from the BBC’s Life On Mars and Ashes To Ashes series
Mark set up an anti-corruption unit, which resulted in hundreds of bent coppers being either dismissed or prosecuted.
Nobody is suggesting that policing reverts to the bad old, Wild West days of the 1970s. But I can’t help wondering what Gene Hunt would make of today’s ‘police service’.
Especially at a time when the shameless Chief Constable of the West Midlands is under intense pressure to resign, and the head of the Met is accused of colluding with the Mayor to gaslight the public over the level of crime in London.
So instead of sticking to the Back To The Future formats of Life On Mars and Ashes To Ashes, I’d love to see the new series pulling a reverse ferret and catapulting Gene Hunt into the Scotland Yard of 2026.
(After getting bashed over the head by a National Union of Mineworkers flying picket during the Battle of Orgreave, Hunt wakes up in trap three of the gender-neutral toilets at the Yard. Spotting a female officer washing her hands . . . )
Oi, luv, what are you doing in here? This is the Gents.
I beg your pardon.
You’re in the wrong bog, pet.
Sorry?
This is the men’s khazi, not the WPCs’ WC.
I am not a WPC, I’m a DS.
And I’m a DCI. So what the hell are you doing in here?
I’ve come to use the urinals.
Eh?
Are you saying women can’t have a penis?
Bloody right, I am.
In which case I shall be reporting you to internal affairs for hate crime.
Now listen here, Danny La Rue .. .
No you listen to me, SIR! I don’t know who this La Rue character is, but you can’t speak to me like that. This is 2026.
Christ, nearly half past eight. I must have passed out hours ago after the squad party when we nicked Scargill. Top strippers, though.
Scargill?
Bolshie miners’ leader. Dodgy hairdo, like a walnut whip. Nicked at Orgreave.
I heard about that. 1984 wasn’t it? The inquiry into police brutality.
What inquiry? We gave them the kicking they deserved.
How long have you been out of it, sir?
Dunno. What time did you say it was, half-eight?
No, I said it was 2026. The year 2026, not 20.26 at night.
Bugger me. Have you got a fag?
Who are you calling a fag?
Nobody, I just want a ciggy.
This is a no-smoking facility.
How about a large scotch? There’s bound to be a bottle in the squad room.
Booze is banned, too.
Sir Mark Rowley, Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, outside New Scotland Yard
How the hell do you run a Flying Squad without booze and fags?
We don’t, sir. We’ve disbanded the Flying Squad. It’s all about diversity these days.
OK, let’s start again. I’m DCI Gene Hunt, transferred from Manchester.
And I’m DS Daisy Malone. Today, anyway. Tomorrow I might be DS Davy Malone again.
Eh?
Met policy is to allow officers to identify as any gender they like.
I thought you had a deep voice for a bird. You sound a bit like Barry White.
Who?
Never mind. But why are you wearing high heels and painting your nails in rainbow colours?
We’re celebrating LGBTQ+ year?
What?
Lesbian, Gays, Queer …
In my day we nicked queers, we didn’t celebrate them.
Another remark like that and I will report you for hate crime. Now will you push off, I’m trying to shave before I go on duty.
OK, what’s occurring? Bring me up to speed.
Well, we’re escorting the pro-Palestinian demonstration through town and we’ve got orders to nick any counter-protester suspected of walking while Jewish. Then half a dozen of us are shooting up to Harrow to nick a woman for feeding the pigeons.
What about shoplifting, knife crime, pickpocketing, burglary, car theft, that sort of thing?
Oh, no, we don’t do any of that these days. Community policing takes precedence.
Community?
Yes, haven’t you heard about West Midlands banning Israeli football fans from Villa Park in case they incite hostility among the peace-loving Islamist community? The Chief Constable was worried there could be violence.
Violence? He should have surrounded them with armed bastards. What about street crime?
Well, there has been a spate of Rolex robberies – largely migrant gangs ripping high-end watches off people’s wrists.
So, we’re flooding the streets with undercover officers?
Not, exactly, sir. We have other priorities.
Such as?
Setting up speed traps to catch motorists doing more than 20mph.
Twenty? The Quattro wouldn’t get out of first gear. Doesn’t anyone care about real criminals?
Oh, yes. The Met’s recruited hundreds of convicted criminals without any background checks, including serial rapists.
Sounds like they’d probably give the Yorkshire a Ripper a job these days. My old guv’nor Robert Mark would be turning in his grave. Doesn’t anyone do proper coppering today?
Absolutely, we have a dedicated squad patrolling the internet for inappropriate comments. We sent five armed coppers to Heathrow to nick an Irish comedy writer for claiming that women can’t have penises.
Listen, Daisy, or Davy, or whatever your bloody name is today. If my auntie had a full set of tackle she’d be my uncle. Painted nails, escorting terrorist supporters through the streets, nicking people for hurty words, not bothering to investigate real crimes. Talk about Life On Mars. Jeez, I need a drink. Are you sure you haven’t got a bottle of Glennhoddle in your drawer?
Sir, you’re an overweight, over-the-hill, nicotine-stained, alcoholic homophobe.
You make that sound like a bad thing. Fire up the Quattro and get me back to 1984.
