The Beast Must Die

It’s an emotionally charged story populated by complex characters, some of whom your heart will ache for, while others you’ll simply love to loathe. If the show can keep up this momentum moving into its second half, it might justify a BritBox subscription all on its own.

It sets the bar pleasingly high, with a stellar cast giving uniformly great performances. (Jumbo was made for grief and fury, while Howle is tremendous as a nervy bundle of torments.) It also boasts a lovely, allusive script (particularly in the scenes between Strangeways and his therapist, played by Nathaniel Parker), and a well-paced plot that only occasionally depends on slightly unconvincing breakthrough moments in Frances’s amateur investigation.

It feels surprisingly high-end – the acting is top notch and the cinematography (from Joel Devlin) is impressive.

It becomes a compelling dance between three very different people from different walks of life, and the dialogue is strong enough that the sometimes unbelievable twists are tolerable. In the end, it’s the rare pulp mystery in which the people carry the plot instead of the other way around, and that alone makes it an interesting option this summer.

The novel may have been formally innovative and written to amuse, the Chabrol film more wicked and less forgiving, but this “Beast Must Die” balances harsh judgment with empathy, an apt approach for these divided times.

Beast becomes a suspensefully offbeat variation of the country-house mystery, not a whodunit but a how-will-she-do-it. [19 Jul - 1 Aug 2021, p.7]

More often than not, that structure comes off stiff and clunky rather than genuine and flowing. ... That’s not to say that the dialogue from Gaby Chiappe, who adapted Cecil Day-Lewis’ novel (though seems to change quite a bit, including Frances’ gender) isn’t sharp. It’s what we enjoyed about the first episode the most, including Jumbo’s and Howle’s performances (Harris doesn’t appear until Episode 2). But we just wish Frances’ way to George didn’t look so damned easy.

Everything works well until writer Gaby Chiappe enters into the final act. The story line, and the character motivations, get a bit mired, though certainly not terminally so. The last chapters don’t completely satisfy the show’s early ambitions, but that doesn’t ruin the experience as a whole. Jumbo is superb throughout, holding contrary emotions at once.

While there are intriguing traces of a psychological thriller, maybe even a horror, that are suggested at this point, none of it is capitalized on.