by Cristina Odone
source: unknown (someone sent a bunch of articles to me but didn't put where he got it)

Melissa, which had proved so disappointing in its first episode, picked up momentum and mystery with episodes two and three (Tuesday and Wednesday). Like a stagecoach in the Far West, the opening programme had galloped a group of people across exotic settings and left in its wake a great dust of confusion: who was Melissa (Jennifer Ehle) and why would perfect Guy (Tim Dutton) fall for this brazen blonde ? Did everyone involved in the PR world drink like sailors ? Who was responsible for the spate of seemingly unconnected murders ?

In the second and third episodes however, we concentrated on one murder (until the very end, that is) and on one location (with a few war zone shots thrown in for good measure). Arisototelian unity proved, as usual, more satisfying than any post-modern mumbo-jumbo about "loose and fluid as real life": once writer Alan Bleasdale stayed put and focused on the main characters - each of whom had a secret to hide - our interest was rekindled. Focus lent more depth to this rather louche lot, so that Melissa (Ehle was good but not perfect - too much hard-headed bitch instead of alluring siren) became more intriguing as hints of her past sufferings and shady dealings surfaced; her mentor Paula (a wonderful performance by Julie Walters) grew more likable; and our sympathetic hero, Guy, became more convincing when his earlier daunting perfection gave way to self-doubt and professional failure. Also key to Melissa's increased appeal was the inclusion of a humorous strain (finally) in the shape of detective duo (Bill Paterson and Michael Angelis, both superb) bent on investigating the murder of a member of Melissa's inner circle. Worth pursuing to the end.

from the Mail on Sunday, 5/18/97

I won't begin to explain the plot of Melissa, save to say that if you missed the first three parts last week, you will need to complete a short City and Guilds course before you try to follow the rest. On the other hand, there are some sound reasons for watching whether you know what's going on or not. The acting is wonderful, and although Jennifer Ehle's bewitching performance in the title role appears to have been stopped by several bullets, there is still Tim Dutton as Foster.

Dutton is a find. Apparently, he turned down a regular part in Peak Practice to be in Melissa, which says a lot for his artistic instincts, if not so much for his financial acumen. But then, what's paying off a mortgage next to a whirlwind love affair with Jennifer Ehle? Even though it looks like she's a goner, the relationship between Melissa and Guy remains the crux of the story, so it is as well that Ehle and Dutton made it utterly believable.

by Thomas Sutcliffe
source:unknown (sorry !)

There is a nice joke in the opening credits of Melissa. Among the thriler icons the camera pans across - champagne bottle smoking like a recently fired gun, manual typewriter, deposit-box key - there is a front page from a Cape Town newspaper: "Carnage" reads the headline, and then the camera moves up to the day's weather, "oulook sunny". The accidental combination that results is a good description of the insouciant violence one expects from a vintage television thriller - a set of murders designed to make us beam with pleasure. And the first deaths we see display just that flippancy: a white hire car bustles up into the hills above Cape Town, two people are gunned down and the car is seen bustling back. The jaunty Holiday soundtrack music, all rainbow nation rhythms, doesn't miss a beat.

We are allowed to believe, by judicious editing and one of those point-of-view shots in which the victim looks quizzically at the lens before being dispatched. ("You ? But ?...Aarrghhhh !"), that it is Melissa who has pulled the trigger, taking time out from a sea-cruise for a spot of touristic homicide. Only "allowed", of course, the management will accept no responsibility for conclusions hastily jumped to, and by the end of the first episode of Alan Bleasdale's luxuriant reworking of Francis Dunbridge's Sixties drama, there have been two more murders and one more suspect added to the list - Melissa's new husband, Guy, a war reporter who joins ship in Cape Town and is soon ensnared by Melissa's mysterious charms (their first conversation follows a shot in which her chiffon scarf, whipped away by the sea breeze, wraps around his head, an uneasy combination of caress and suffocation).

This may be where the first difficulty arises - viewers will have to make up their own minds up whether it is Melissa's mystery that is charming or her charm that is a mystery. In Pride and Prejudice, Jennifer Ehle showed that she could do far more than smirk prettily, but, while it's a little too early for any final verdict, her performance here seems to take a step backwards into caricature. At best, her exhuastive exploration of the theatrical laugh, is irritating (it runs from flirtatious giggles to raucous sexual whoops), at its worst, it makes you want to pitch the character over the rails. And, if you feel this, then Guy will appear to you not as fatally allured but dumbly deserving of whatever he gets.

Another difficulty arises from the amphibian nature of the period setting - this is a drama in which you frequently find yourself wondering whether you are mentally in the right decade. South Africa has a democratic government but the distinguished television journalist still uses an old manual typewriter (possible, I suppose, as an eccentricity, but highly unlikely in these days of satellite links and email). He covers a Bosnian-style war but travels home by ship, as you would in the days when liners were for transport, and not just holidays. Even Melissa's claustrophobic circle of friends (rapidly diminishing) seems redolent of a different era, when people had a "social set" that might include the odd nightclub singer and racing driver.

It may be that this is symptomatic of a wider problem, which has to do with how seriously we are suposed to take the story (and, indeed, how seriously Bleasdale is taking it). He has always been a writer who plays with conventional expectations weight and levity, but he was able to do so in the past because he was on home territory - the imagined world was solid beneath your feet. Here he is abroad and it shows; there is a frankly preposterous scene of war correspondents driving indifferently through heavy shellfire (distinguished reporters have to live long enough to get distinguished) which is followed by a rather embarrassing caricature of a literary party. If the writer is simply taking time off to have fun, then most viewers will be able to join in. But to do so, they will first have to adjust to the weather forecast that generally accompanies a Bleasdale drama - no longer "advancing lows", it seems, but "outlook sunny", perfect for a holiday.

Mel's Drop-Dead Gorgeous

Last night's view
by Tony Purnell (no source again)

No wonder Jennifer Ehle looked happy playing Melissa. She got a chance to let her hair down after wearing all those silly-looking bonnets as Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice.

She threw caution and her corsets to the wind as glamorous publicist Melissa, who went overboard for dashing war correspondent Guy Foster (Tim Dutton) on a South African cruise ship.

He went to the captain's fancy dress ball in a white tuxedo and put on his best Humphrey Bogart accent to create a moment from Casablanca.

"Here's looking at you, kid," he said and before anyone could say "Play it again, Sam" he was looking at an awful lot more of her.

He got the nod when Melissa, who clearly saw the classic movie on the telly, toasted the start of a beautiful friendship.

He took her back to his cabin for a game that is not usually listed alongside quoits on cruise ships....kissing by numbers. They clearly got well into double fingers because by the end of the voyage she proposed to him.

What Jane Austen would have made of it is anybody's guess, but this was Alan Bleasdale updating Sixties thriller writer Francis Durbridge.

The Boys From the Blackstuff and GBH writer was a big fan and describes Melissa as a homage to one of the country's finest thriller writers.

He has taken lots of liberties by coming up with new characters and lots of unexpected twists and turns in a prequel which has been moulded on to an original script.

It is so full of intrigue it is unlikely anyone will spot the join. Guy fell hook, line and sinker for the mysterious Melissa and agreed to wed - but you know it will end in tears.

I suspect the wedding was just another excuse for Melissa and her rowdy pals to get sloshed on champagne.

Among them were Julie Walters taking a break from Victoria Wood, and Diane Weston, who escaped from The Upper Hand and Honor Blackman.

The drinks bill for the opening episode must have been enormous, but not everyone was so bubbly.

An elderly widower on the ship was lost overboard - but did he fall or was he pushed ? Back in Cape Town police discovered two bodies and a wall splashed with blood.

And just before the closing credits rolled a chum of Melissa's was battered to death. Don't ask me why because I haven't got a clue and didn't expect to find one.

That is the thing about Francis Durbridge mysteries - you always know exactly where you are. Completely in the dark.

Thirty years ago, his TV serials kept the nation guessing for weeks. Then, of course, when blood was spilt it was not so gory. Murders were committed in black and white.

Things were not as sexy either for old smoothies like Gerald Harper. He never set foot in the bedroom and was more likely to do the crossword than indulge in kissing by numbers.

Oh Melissa, How We'll Miss Ya !

Lanning on the Box
source: unknown

Not so much whodunit but who can escape the indiscriminate serial killer in Channel 4's Melissa, who has already left nearly as many bleeding victims as the Conservative Parliamentary Party.

OK, Alan Bleasdale's adaptation of thriller legend Francis Durbridge's original 1960s script delivered more red herrings than the Shanghai trawler fleet.

And this major five-part drama is irritatingly scheduled: three episodes last week, with the critical third clashing with the unmissable Sharpe on ITV and the final two tomorrow and Tuesday.

But all can be readily forgiven for the ravishing sight of Jennifer Ehle in the title role.

Simply captivating in The Camomile Lawn, she is mesmeric as Melissa, romancing on the moonlit deck of a luxury liner, the tropical wind ruffling her hair. Ah, Melissa, Melissa, moonlight becomes you so.

Like those lesbians' pickle jar, the Ehle bird spontaneously combusts with sheer sexual chemistry.

Tim Dutton was on the button as the bold war-zone newsman with a kiss of death for the ladies in his life. But gosh, if those war zones were really so gung-ho and dashed dangerous, surely Martin Bell would have worn brown trousers rather than white suits ?

Strong support too from Julie Walters and Diana Weston as seasoned swingers with a capacity for Chardonnay rivalled only by Edina and Patsy.

Freed from the sitcom shackles of The Upper Hand, Diana made quite an impression as the boozy old torch singer with a line on Bassey and Streisand that would storm Stars in Their Eyes.

Cop characters Bill Paterson and lovely lugubrious Liverpudlian Michael Angelis could well sustain their own spin-off series.

Next the conclusion when, like those synchronised streakers during Premiership soccer matches, All Will Be Revealed.

Watch for a sentimental sting in the tail - and not a dry eye at the denouement.

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