I really love The Sweeney. It’s brilliantly written, superbly acted, and well shot. Who cares that they effectively spent six years chasing after the same old Jag, or, that they wore such Godawful ties. I’ll even forgive them their misogynist tendancies, and sheepishly gloss over the fact that they were, at times, well... a bit racist - nothing pleased George more than interrogating a black suspect - or ’slag’ - using his patented faux Jamaican “yeah mon” accent. Dodgy ground, admittedly, but I kind of put that down to frankly reflecting the attitudes of the day. I mean, from what I gather, they weren’t half as bad as the real Police force of the 70s.
They had great car chases (that bloody Jag) and were always getting into fights with proper, hard looking villians - and they were twice as mean as any of them. More than any of the boys own stuff though, and much as I do love all that, I’m massively into the subtleties of the characterization, and the dynamic between Jack & George. When George's wife got killed by a speeding car in a case of mistaken identity, Jack was there for George. And how, do you ask? Did he take him to bereavement counseling, let him talk about his feelings - maybe even just give him a big hug? No, none of these. What he did was to turn up at George's house with a bottle of nasty Bells Whisky, and an offer to help him "drink it down to the label".
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