The Settling of the Sun is the second episode of Inspector Morse to be directed by Peter Hammond, following Service of All the Dead, and preceding his final work on the series, Sins of the Fathers. It's not completely coincidental that I've reviewed all three of these episodes; some people are distracted and annoyed by Hammond's visual style, but I usually enjoy and find that it adds to the fabric of the story. (He directed these and a few films of Jeremy Brett's Sherlock Holmes series.)
This is not one of the absolute best episodes, but I think the previous reviews are a little harsh on it. The themes explored of revenge and racial prejudice are pointed and worth considering. This episode does discuss some of the darkest chapters of human history, in particular The Second World War, and some of our darkest and most disturbing (and disturbed) parts as humans. Yet as dark as it is, and as gruesome as the details of the first murder are, it is not an overly gory or gratuitous piece in terms of showing bloodshed or the aftermath. A great deal is left to the imagination, which perhaps seems counterintuitive for a visual medium but Morse has always dealt in subtlety and it is done in such a way that the story loses none of its power in not making you feel nauseated.
Alongside the reliably engaging Thaw and Whately, there are some memorable characters in the supporting cast. Robert Stephens and Robert Lang are both thoroughly loathsome, Stephens as a callus and odious Oxford administrator who's concerned about having to pay the staff overtime during the investigation, and Lang as Morse's superior, investigating drug trafficking at the college. This was the only appearance of Detective Superintendent Dewar in the series, before James Grout was a regular as Chief Super Strange. He only has one substantial scene but manages to be genuinely unpleasant, "bouncing off" Morse from receiving further information about the fact that the murder victim was under surveillance as a drug dealer, and makes one realize just how friendly a boss Strange was. As a child, I first saw Robert Lang playing King Miraz in the BBC's TV series of The Chronicles of Narnia, and it's interesting that in both productions he's cast as the dastard.
The other major player is Anna Calder Marshall, as a lady friend of Morse's. But she's twitchy, moody, obviously lying, possibly on the verge of a breakdown, and tells him to his face that she never had any feelings for him. It's a difficult part, unlikely as Dr. Jane Robson is to elicit sympathy for most of the story, but Marshall has some fine moments in expressing the combination of profound anger and vulnerability that seem to be at the core of her character. Definitely one of the most difficult characters in all of Morse, but a performance that isn't easily forgotten.
Also present is director Hammond's aforementioned wily camera, photographing the characters through windows, mirrors (including a memorable shot early on through the wing mirror of an ambulance), and even in opaque reflections caught in the red paint of Morse's beautiful Jaguar. The camera pans in a wandering way, occasionally whizzes about, and there is one questionable use of slow-motion---though at least in ends on a shot with almost a painter's composition. By and large, however, I find that this adds to the visual texture and sometimes can even comment on the characters and situation. One shot that I particularly love shows a woman praying at a church altar, except that we see her visage reflected in a decorative showing a towering depiction of the crucified Christ. The affect, then, is that we see this woman, who is both seeking forgiveness and justifying her crimes before God, prostrate at the feet of Jesus, who is both literally and symbolically a towering a figure for her. Similarly affective is Hammond's use of close-up during dramatic monologues, bringing an actor's face into the extreme foreground (usually left of the screen) and letting us study it, while Morse drifts out of focus into the background of the shot (usually background right). Note particularly Anna Calder Marshall's last major scene. The photograph here goes a long way to complimenting her performance; teamwork between literary and visual storytelling, giving us a strong window into Jane's agony. In short, Hammond's camera work, for me, really lets the audience into the character and drama at times.
All in all, an episode with many interesting features and well-worth watching for fans. I've come back to it a few times over the years, despite some of the less fawning comments here. It is a very dark story, and perhaps this combines with its undoubted visual idiosyncrasies to drive some people away. But lest things get too heavy, there's always Peter Woodthorpe's ever-alert and unflappable police pathologist Max--who will, without fail, get the last word. "I spy a spoilt shirt!", he observes when Morse has been ill after seeing a brutally murdered corpse. Later, another body is discovered in a public bathroom. Having completed his duties, Max pauses before exiting to relieve himself in a urinal, then washes his hands, and leaves. He keeps talking about the cause and manner of death throughout his micturition and no one around him ever bats an eye.
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