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Kate Bush's longtime fans know that it's a mistake to expect conventional music from her (as everyone will be able to verify in the fall of 2005, when her first album in more than 12 years is scheduled to be released at last). It would be just as much a mistake to expect conventional film-making from her. Bush's music is often accessible, but don't look for linear narrative, expository dialog, establishing shots or even consistent angle of view. Kate Bush tells stories not directly, not rationally -- in other words, not from a distance. Rather, she lets her viewers experience her characters' situations from within the vertigo they themselves are experiencing. For example, during the section featuring the song "Moments of Pleasure," there are extended twirling shots done not for want of imagination (Kate Bush lacking imagination?!) but to reach intended expressive and dramatic ends while simultaneously paying tribute to past cinematic models (the most direct references are to the 1948 classic 'The Red Shoes,' by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, the former of whom Bush befriended shortly before his death in 1990 and in honor of whom her attendant album of 1993 was named). When the camera twirls again at several other key points in the film, it becomes clear that camera movement has emerged as a new tool in Kate's rich, thematic symbol-language (the title refers to three slips of paper, each featuring a visual symbol, all fluttering in constant motion throughout the film). Likewise the lighting, costumes, sets, choreography, and dialog insinuate themselves impressionistically, subtly, allusively -- pointing the viewer gently toward unanswered questions, hiding within the glorious folds of Bush's musical cloak-of-many-colors. There is profound organized thinking in every frame of The Line, the Cross and the Curve, but it doesn't appear at first viewing. Fortunately, you don't need to look for clarity to appreciate Kate Bush's art: there's plenty of sheer entertainment value to be had found in the sublime riot of raw genius.

Having read the two previous comments, both of which read as though they had been written by two citizens of Superman's Bizarro World (where everything is exactly the opposite of how it is in real life), I felt I had to come to this fine series' defense. Taking the accusations one by one:

Ngaio Marsh was indeed a brilliant writer; her detective stories have in fact made a great TV series, and this is it. Patrick Malahide is a gifted actor, it's true, and he was perfectly cast as Roderick Alleyn, precisely because he makes of him so much more than "a stereotype toff." I agree that Marsh's Alleyn remains elusive as a personality throughout the series of novels; and Malahide, sensing this essential quality of Marsh's hero, allows a cloud of reticence to hover around his Alleyn to exquisitely ambiguous and subtle effect. Troy, played with equal finesse and discretion by Belinda Lang, is, in fact, portrayed as "an individualist with her own career as a painter" -- in fact, one episode (Final Curtain) features her prominently, on her own, noting many crucial clues while fulfilling a portrait commission! (Needless to say, she never says "You never have time for me!" or anything of the sort.) The adaptations are extremely clever and elegant, managing to retain much of the loveliness of Marsh's unparalleled drawing-room conversation while keeping within the time limits set by a 98- minute format. Period detail is not "ladled on," at all. On the contrary, the art direction, cinematography (a nearly subliminal sepia filter tints the series) and set decoration are, as we've come to expect of these British productions, impeccable and always convincing. The comparison of Marsh's stories -- and this production of them -- with those of P. D. James is useless: Marsh's readership and tone were entirely unlike those of James, and their books are apples and oranges. It's childish to rank one over the other. The pace is leisurely -- not "slow and badly done." The "interplay of characters" is extraordinarily full and complex throughout the series -- but it is subtle, discreet and low-key, all evidently the sort of virtues which threaten to put some critics and their wives to sleep.

In short, if you enjoy civilized old-school British mystery of the very best sort, you can't do much better than Malahide and Lang in The Inspector Alleyn Mysteries. I for one can't wait for the second DVD set.