RTE’s ‘The Gone’ is a lesson in what not to do

The series was co-produced by a hefty array of TV companies from Ireland and New Zealand, though most of the funding seems to have come from the latter. Crime caper co-productions featuring joint policing operations are a mainstay of RTE’s drama output and, overall, their quality has been improving. But the multinational cop show collaboration is tricky, as this uneven and occasionally wobbly venture demonstrates.

Co-written by Anna McPartlin and Michael Bennett, The Gone wastes no time in bringing together its lead characters — a considerable feat of scripting ingenuity, given that the principals start out on opposite sides of the world. But amidst this globe-spanning hurly-burly there is little room for subtlety or sophistication, especially at the Irish end. The early smattering of Dublin-centred scenes could almost have been constructed from a checklist of crass Oirish stereotypes with particular emphasis on raucous boozing and random street brawling.

Crime-drama fusions don’t have to be dog’s dinners. The genre’s smartest manifestations are simultaneously universal and country-specific, allowing audiences to see foreign cultures from the inside. Sadly, however, The Gone recalls the bad old days of the hopelessly lopsided co-production when one national sensibility (usually, that of the primary financial backer) overwhelmed the others. At heart, this is a New Zealand story to which a few chunks of Ireland-related bric-a-brac have been clumsily tacked on.

The tale begins when a young Irish couple vanish from their holiday home on the North Island. Sinead (Rachel Morgan) and Ronan (Simon Mead) look like devoted sweethearts, but their romance has been soured by Ronan’s rage and raging steroid addiction. Detectives soon discover multiple reasons why they might have been abducted, or worse.

Sinead’s family background seems relevant. Her mother Hannah (Michelle Fairley) is a senior judge in Dublin who recently put away the kingpin of a vicious international drugs cartel. Fearing that Sinead has been targeted in revenge, Hannah contacts a trusted garda friend and asks him to fly to New Zealand to help the investigation.

Richard Flood plays Detective Theo Richter, a Special Branch officer who sounds more like an Agent of SHIELD. In keeping with his laughably implausible name, the character is a hyper-macho contrivance: shaven-headed, muscle-bound and bristling with scowling intensity. As if to remind himself that he’s a citizen of Ireland rather than the Marvel universe, Richter goes nowhere without his hurling stick and sliotar, practising his puck-outs late at night, while mulling the evidence.

Flood works hard to breathe some semblance of humanity into this risible cartoon, but his efforts are doomed. Richter is a walking compilation of corny cop-opera conventions: a brilliant detective with a messy love life, a hard-bitten straight shooter who isn’t afraid to bend rules or bang heads in pursuit of villains. Though already committed to resigning, he agrees to Hannah’s request. One last job, a final shot at redemption.

On arrival, Richter becomes a consultant to DS Diana Huia (Acushla-Tara Kupe), a newly promoted Kiwi cop. The missing persons investigation is Huia’s first big case and she’s routinely patronised by older male colleagues. But, alert as ever, Richter recognises the brains and pluck beneath her callow exterior. After the regulation rocky start, they gradually morph into a formidable policing unit: veteran and rookie, master and pupil, hurler on the ditch and warrior queen.

Huia’s backstory is as richly detailed as Richter’s is crudely drawn. She grew up in a proud yet fractured Maori clan, but alienated her kinsfolk by joining the police. Her search for Sinead and Ronan leads her back to a home town where she was traumatised as a child and is now distrusted.

Trying too hard to touch too many bases, The Gone is complicated rather than complex. Last week’s opening episode was a plodding watch, not dull exactly, but conspicuously lacking the all-important jolt of originality. There is a lot going on and some of it is mildly interesting. But the PR promise that the series delivers an innovatively gritty mix of Irish and Maori culture is a hollow boast. In all the ways that matter, it’s little more than an uphill trudge across overfamiliar territory.

Weak beer is the house speciality on Ireland’s Perfect Pubs, a frothy but insipid search for the nation’s most salubrious saloons. Crisply filmed and briskly paced, the series is energetically fronted by Anna Clifford, a stand-up comedian and aspiring barstool philosopher. Each episode (of ten or so minutes) involves a whirlwind tour of a scenic or culturally notable district, culminating with a ruminative soak in its finest watering hole. The intention, it seems, is to revitalise the old-school TV travelogue with a bracing shot of TikTok-esque mischief and swagger.

All of the featured locales and locals are worth the visit. But, despite its avowed passion for regional distinction and offbeat experiences, the show is let down by a blandly generic tone. Its attempts at cheeky humour are feeble, with giddiness mistaken for wit.

Suds and bubbles will always catch one’s eye but it’s never long before they also get up one’s nose.