On why I love Richard Castle

One of the ways that the newborn bonding milk producing hormonal rush takes you is that you develop odd crushes on people on the TV.

With the Star it was Gordon Ramsey. No, you don’t know why either.

With the Comet it was Richard Castle. Who, helpfully, is quite fictional. Not Nathan Fillion, the man who plays him. Fillion’s roles seem to be quite distinct, and while that may be the mark of a good actor, you are sure he will be pleased to hear that it makes it very unclear who you would be fixating on so you didn’t.

Anyway. Castle is the lead character on an American detective show called Castle. He’s a mystery writer who wangles himself the right to shadow a detective, Kate Beckett, and her team around. Indefinitely. Which seems unlikely, but hey. It’s a conceit.

He is, well, actually now that the hormones have worn off it has to be said that you find him somewhat irritating. With the detectives he is boundlessly, irritatingly immature. With his family he is still quite twinkly, but also wise, which seems unlikely. You daresay the family scenes are there to show that he has hidden depths, but you find the shift between styles too extreme. Possibly Fillion’s ability to show diverse personalities is not working in the show writers’ favour here. Not that you are particularly sure which aspect you prefer. The homebody is warmer, but the detective is funnier.

So why are you still watching? Mainly because you still definitely would, and also because unlike many ‘amateur helps the police’ storylines, the police get a pretty good showing.

A lot of the times in these sorts of things, the police go blundering about pedestrianly, not really getting close to the answer, and then the amateur swoops in and solves the whole case from start to finish by the power of their total awesomeness. In Castle, however, Kate Beckett is no mere foil, and yet no aberration herself. She is simply a professional at the top of her game. While Castle often does provide the insight that provides the final piece to the puzzle, which is fair enough because otherwise what is the point of the series, you enjoy the way that the rest of the time he is quite genuinely being led around by Beckett, and how she is the driving force behind all the investigations, and most of the deductions too.

Of course, she’s also the love interest. You gather. You are only on season two in the UK. This just makes it particularly nice that as a woman, nay, the totty in someone else’s show, she also gets to be the strong, competent one.

Or does she? Last week’s episode ended with Beckett’s apartment blowing up, after shots of her taking a shower and answering the telephone to Castle, who had just figured out that the bad guy they were hunting wasn’t dead after all and… BOOOOM! Ooooops, too late.

It could be an emphatic way of writing Becket out of the series. But you suspect not. You are not going to be caught that way twice in one episode. Not after a new and slightly unsympathetic character had been revealed as a loving mother to a small child, a fact underlined by a short chat about it between the two leads, scant seconds before walking into what Castle and Beckett suddenly realised was… A TRAAAAAP! Only to emerge, unscathed, moments later. Although not before your blood pressure had shot through the roof. Mothers to small children, are, in your opinion, to be protected.

No. You think it is much more likely that Beckett had reached the conclusion that the killer was still on the loose a lot earlier than Castle and was sheltering in a nearby hotel at the time of the explosion.

Which is a deeply satisfying little plot device.

They really should have named the show Beckett.

From Wikipedia Commons by Gage Skidmore