Recently, I watched the BBC One/HBO Max series The Tourist, written by brothers Harry and Jack Williams. I liked a lot about that show, so much so that I researched the Williams brothers in the hopes that they’d written something else I might similarly like. One IMDb search later and I came across The Missing, a two-season mystery series about kidnapped children that aired in 2014 and 2016/17 on BBC One and Starz. Suddenly remembering my passing interest in the series back in 2014, I decided to give it a watch. Having finished its two seasons, I can now happily report that The Missing is well worth the 16 hours I gave to it.

The first thing that struck me about the series, and this struck me only minutes into episode one of season one, is that its characters are written rather unorthodoxly. Instead of sticking to the industry convention of writing characters with mostly redeeming qualities, Harry and Jack Williams chose to inhabit their show with people who kind of suck, but in a good way. Take protagonist Julien Baptiste (Tchéky Karyo) for example, who’s the only character that links season one and season two. On the surface, he’s a brilliant and stoic detective who’s admirably determined to uncover the truth and recover the missing children. However, beneath all of his nobler qualities is a man who slowly reveals himself to be a dangerously obsessive sleuth who flagrantly neglects his family. Considering that Baptiste is our main hero, it was certainly bold to go this route with him, but it really works.

In addition to Baptiste, the series’ other main protagonists are the missing children’s parents: Tony (James Nesbitt) and Emily Hughes (Frances O’Connor) in season one, and Sam (David Morrissey) and Gemma Webster (Keeley Hawes) in season 2. Immediately, I found them even more frustrating than Baptiste. Tony and Gemma are the dogged parents in their respective seasons, refusing to swallow that they should move on and accept the widely recognized “truth” regarding their children’s cases. However commendable their pursuit of the truth is, they always undermine themselves in some way. Tony, for example, is incredibly impatient and rude, gratingly so. Not two episodes in and I was already wondering why anyone would want to help him, even if his cause was worthwhile. And then there’s Gemma, who is considerably less irritating than Tony, but still annoying in her own way. Like Tony, she’s anxious to discover the truth about her kidnapped child, but unlike Tony, she’s often incredibly passive. There are moments where it seemed like she couldn’t be bothered to care anymore, and I was sitting there yelling, “C’mon! Get a move on…”

I wouldn’t blame you if the past two paragraphs have only served to convince you that these characters, and thusly the show, are pretty terrible. However, that conclusion is quite incorrect. Sure, Tony and Gemma can be frustrating, and sure, Emily and Sam (their spouses) are overly emotional and infuriatingly skeptical. But that’s the funny thing about real people, their flaws always outweigh their virtues. This is what I found so unorthodox about Jack and Harry’s characters: they feel like actual people stuck in a very fictional mystery. Most writers would opt to have them be more heroic, more even-keeled, or more relatable, and the end result in that instance would probably be a more popular series. But that’s not the case here, and I couldn’t be happier about that. I prefer characters that are as deplorable as they are likable, or as cowardly as they are valiant. There are plenty of those contradictions and nuances in The Missing’s characters, and it gives the show a premium, lived-in feel that mass-produced programs often lack.

Having said that, the story surrounding these characters often devolves into something a lot less realistic. Season one’s story, which revolves around the disappearance of a young boy who goes missing from a swimming pool in France, mostly feels like something that could actually happen. On the one hand, there’s a good deal of first introducing and then subsequently eliminating clues/suspects that comes off as authentic to real-life investigations, and the characters’ reactions to these give-and-takes are appropriately varied, and thusly also realistic. On the other hand, there are quite a few moments that’ll strike some viewers as far-fetched, like almost everything that happens in episode 8, its finale. Whether or not you’ll accept the reveals in that episode will come down to how much you tolerate contrivances only seen in mystery fiction. My guess is that most fans of the genre will gladly tolerate them because of the show’s highly effective storytelling up to that point. At least I did.

Then there’s season two, which is notably more over-the-top and seemingly improbable. Season two expands on season one’s scope to include even more missing children, this time at least two missing girls that we know of. Not only are there more missing kids, but there’s also more action, more suspense, more twists, and the corresponding implausibility that comes with all that. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, especially for those who want a bit more oomph and zhuzh from their mystery thrillers. In my eyes though, season two falls into the trap that many second seasons do. You know, the one where the writers clearly felt the need to up the stakes from season one, even though the audience didn’t necessarily ask for that.

It’s not that season two doesn’t work; it really does more often than not. But there are many moments where it was clear that the writers wrote themselves into a corner out of ambition, and then came up with shallow and convenient ways of writing their way out. I mean, literally two characters this season have brain diseases that prevent them from thinking clearly, probably because it serves to fill plot holes that would otherwise be glaring.* Season two’s finale is also loaded with contrivances, even more so than season one’s. A number of things occur because people happen to be in the right place at the right time, over and over again. These coincidences weaken the season’s credibility, and they become even more noticeable when viewed through the show’s overarching framework.

The framework to which I’m referring is The Missing’s use of intercut past and present storylines. Both seasons have concurrent stories running at different points in time, with season one mostly taking place in 2006 (past) and 2014 (present), and season two mostly taking place in 2014 and 2016. The benefit of this format is that we viewers get to see the characters at their lowest points, and then follow them as they move on in time, either becoming more content or more discontent with the findings, or lack thereof, of the investigations. We also have the privilege of seeing these actors sink their teeth into playing different versions of the same person, an opportunity not often afforded in any production. It was amazing to see Frances O’Connor’s Emily Hughes grow from being a distraught mother to Tony’s reliable ally. Likewise, it was impressive to watch James Nesbitt’s Tony shift from being a calm and loving father/husband to an erratic and exaspering addict for the truth. Season two featured similarly satisfying and challenging arcs for its characters, including for the already well-established Baptiste. All of this is no small feat, and it’s the core element that makes this series so addictive, and its hokier story-beats easier to digest.

Still, as I hinted at two paragraphs ago, the dual timeline format can directly contribute to some of the show’s weaknesses in regards to coincidence and contrivance. It’s already a stretch to believe that a case can lie dormant for a good number of years before, suddenly and rapidly, a bunch of new info comes to light nearly all at once. It’s even more of a stretch when, after years of nothing, something inopportune occurs at the very moment our protagonists finally make progress. For example, and this is a vague spoiler, there’s a moment in each season where the protagonists go to meet with someone crucial to the case, but that person dies right at that moment. They’ve been fine for years, but now that they’re important to the story, guess it’s time they die. Sure, the writers make sure that these events aren’t random, per se, but my god are they convenient.

Although I may have made it seem like I somewhat dislike The Missing, that’s really not the case at all. Yes, I find a lot of the writing to be contrived and reliant on “gotcha” moments, but then again, aren’t many of the best mysteries guilty of the same to some extent? They are in my recollection, and therefore I’m quite willing to forgive this show’s trespasses in that regard, especially when its characters and their characterization is so strong. I love Baptiste, Tony, Vincent Bourg, Gemma Webster, Adrian Stone, and so on. Then there are the performances to consider, which are almost uniformly terrific. Keeley Hawes is a powerhouse is season two, as is James Nesbitt is season one. And I shouldn’t forget Tchéky Karyo, whose superb performance represents the heart and soul of this series. I’ve always loved Karyo as an actor, growing up watching him in films like Bad Boys (1995) and The Patriot (2000), but he never got a true starring role in his English-language films. I hope that people come to see Baptiste as his signature performance, one that shines in a storied career.

Before I wrap up, I feel the need to mention Titus De Voogdt and his character Vincent Bourg from season one. Warning: this is minor spoiler territory. So, Bourg is a pedophile who’s falsely targeted early in the season because of his arrest history. Normally, like 99.9% of the time, a character like this is portrayed as being irredeemably disgusting and perverse, but the writers intriguingly went the opposite route here. I’m not saying they forgive Bourg and his ilk in any way, but they did surprisingly decide to make him a sympathetic character, having him be unfairly profiled and targeted. He’s shown to be someone who didn’t chose to be the way he is, but rather someone born with a defect that he’s desperate to fix; he’s aware of his revolting nature and is actively rejecting it. Unfortunately for him, that proves difficult as we follow his struggles for nearly a decade. De Voogt’s portrayal of Bourg is nearly perfect in my eyes, and I found myself feeling bad for him, which is admittedly something I never thought I’d feel for someone like that. I have to give a lot of credit to Harry and Jack Williams for having the gall to even think about writing that sort of character in such a way, and even more credit for actually doing it. It really made me ponder a number of things, especially profiling and confirmation bias.

All in all, The Missing is a fine bit of mystery thriller television. Sure, it suffers from some contrived and inconsistent writing, but the strength of its characters more than makes up for that. It’s a show that takes risks: with its story, its characters, its editing**, and occasionally its cinematography. Those risks paid off for me, leaving me with a feeling a satisfaction at series’ end. However, I know that some viewers might not appreciate the show’s time-jumping or irritatingly realistic characters. They might even argue that the characters didn’t ring true to them, but that’s the beauty of the writing here. If the characters resonate with you as real, then you’ll dig the show and recommend it to friends. Others will absolutely hate it and curse its name. But you know what? I doubt many will feel it’s just okay and leave it there. And that’s a tall-tale sign that a show has made its mark.

Oh, and there’s a spin-off called Baptiste that ran a couple seasons, so I’ll watch that and follow-up with another review!

If I had to score it, I’d give The Missing a 7/10. (Season One = 8/10, Season Two = 6/10)

Notes:

* While most of the plot holes in season two are filled, there are a few that go without adequate fixing. For those of you who’ve seen it, one of the biggest ones that bothers me is the motivation surrounding the flowers.

** Throughout the series, there’s some dialogue in foreign languages that’s not subtitled. While deliberate (it’s meant to help the audience understand the parents’ feeling of confusion and isolation), it was still annoying to me at times. Therefore, it felt like something I needed to mention here in the notes.