January 11, 2023 - 7:39am

On Sunday night, Prince Harry went head-to-head with a middle-aged police officer from Yorkshire, albeit one who is also burdened with a fractious family life. Police Sergeant Catherine Cawood, protagonist of the hit BBC series Happy Valley, gave Tom Bradby’s Harry — The Interview a good thrashing in the TV ratings battle, proving that viewers are still in love with the crime drama that remains the most feminist thing on British TV. 

Across its three seasons, Happy Valley has dealt with the usual nasties found in a crime drama — murder, drugs, rape, and the rest — but manages to stand apart from its competitors, not only because of the unusually high quality of the script and acting, but also because the key characters are so unconventional. This is a show that passes the Bechdel test with flying colours and then goes much further, paying close and sympathetic attention to the lives of women in a way that we rarely see in primetime drama. 

Cawood, played by Sarah Lancashire, is not only middle-aged, she is also unglamorous, presenting herself much like any ordinary British police officer. There is very little attention paid to her romantic life — or indeed anyone else’s — with the focus instead on her relationships with family members, in particular her sister and her grandson. She is a competent professional, but not a Holmesian genius. In other words, she is thrillingly normal — a middle-aged working class British woman, average in appearance, who is usually only seen on screen in soap operas or vox pop items on the news. 

And while the show features a lot of violence against women, these scenes are never gratuitous. Another series (Games of Thrones, say) would have taken every opportunity to show the handsome Tommy Lee Royce (as portrayed by James Norton) committing sexual violence on screen, but in Happy Valley we see none of this. Instead, it is only scenes of menace before the act, and then the emotional consequences for the women which endure for years afterwards. Here is a realistic representation of rape, but portrayed from the point of view of the victims, rather than that of an invisible voyeur. 

On this point, compare Happy Valley with The Fall, another BBC crime drama which also features both a female police officer as protagonist and a gorgeous psychopath as antagonist. The Fall is full of frightening and extended scenes in which the serial killer played by Jamie Dornan tortures and murders young women who exist in the drama solely for that function. Meanwhile, Gillian Anderson’s beautiful detective pursues him in a cat-and-mouse game filled with sexual charge. Titillation is clearly the point. 

Writers of shows like The Fall are presumably trying, consciously or unconsciously, to cater for a female audience with a thing for hybristophilia (a sexual interest in criminals, one of those very rare fetishes found more often in women than in men). A lot of crime drama seems to be geared towards this audience, who I’m sure are disproportionately represented among viewers. 

Crime fiction has not always tried to make violence seem sexy. Agatha Christie, for instance, tended to cast rich old men as her victims, rather than hot young women. It is only in the last few decades that titillation has become the norm in the genre.

But Happy Valley proves that there is a market for crime dramas that resist the temptation to indulge viewers’ baser impulses. Filmmakers take note: it is possible to produce hugely successful programmes featuring women who are neither beautiful nor dead.


Louise Perry is a freelance writer and campaigner against sexual violence.

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