Every season, the Drama After Dark team gathers ‘round the (still virtual) conference room table to watch the latest and greatest in all things drama. With fall finally fast approaching, I’m excited to cover MASTERPIECE’s newest offering: Guilt. Do I know very much about the plot yet? No. But it has Mark Bonnar and his annoyingly hot face, so let’s just say I’m looking forward to it. Check in each week for a recap following the show on Sunday evenings!
Guilt opens up with some '80s synth accompanying a car driving on a nearly empty freeway, or whatever they call them over there in the U.K. — her majesty’s roadway? I’m not googling it. I’ll say it now: if those vibes don’t sound immaculate to YOU, we might not get along.
Anyway, it only gets better inside the car, where two brothers who I will be calling Softie and Cheekbones (come on, you know which one is Mark Bonnar, and you know I had to call ‘em out. They’re friggin architectural!) debate the relative merits of the wedding they just finished attending.
Softie: It was so sweet! I liked the butterfly release, ‘twas romantic.
Cheekbones: It was hypocritical — imagine spending all that money on insects and then having a cash bar, the cheapskates.
Reader, it should be noted that despite the cash bar, Cheekbones has procured for himself an entire bottle of wine, which he is drinking, and upon hitting a bump, spilling on himself, in the car. And all over his tuxedo, too!
Softie: You’re so weird; who from our hometown actually owns a tux in the first place?
Cheekbones: Cool people, bro. Cool, successful people. Anyway, weddings with cash bars are criminal, and the worst thing we’ll encounter today.
Just to prove him wrong, the universe promptly puts a person in the road, who Softie, distracted by his brother’s complaining and the bells and whistles of Cheekbones’ fancy car, notices too late, and hits.
Now as you might expect, immediately we have a conflict, because Softie wants to call an ambulance, (on Cheekbones’ phone, because Softie is out of network, natch) and Cheekbones wants to hightail it out of there and pretend it never happened.
Cheekbones: Oh, they’re probably fine…
Softie: Are you kidding me? We have to check!
So check he does, which he almost immediately regrets. The person? Dead. No pulse!
Cheekbones elects to check his brother’s work, but not, it must be said, very carefully. On returning to the car, they have it out — Softie, who’s driving, is uninsured, and probably high. Cheekbones, who let Softie drive, is definitely liable due to the above reasons, and will thus probably lose his job as a lawyer (of course he’s a lawyer).
Cheekbones, sarcastic: But at least I’ll be able to visit you in prison any time I want!
Softie, freaked out: I grabbed his wallet — looks like his name is Walter!
Cheekbones: You did WHAT? Get rid of it and let’s go!
Softie hops out of the car, but not to chuck the wallet near the body. Oh no. Instead, he’s dragging Walter out of the street, because leaving him “wouldn’t be right.” Guy, you already killed him, maybe don’t manhandle him as well? Cheekbones freaks, because that’s disturbing a crime scene, which is itself illegal, and then gives in and decides to help his brother carry the body to his house. There, they play the worst game of ding dong ditch ever, because Softie wants to tell the family they found Walter outside. But this plan is destined to fail: the house is empty. Sensing an opportunity to pivot, they bring Walter inside, tuck him into a recliner, and snoop a bit (to be fair: what else are you gonna do?). Here’s where it gets morally interesting, because what should Cheekbones find but a bit of paperwork suggesting that Walter had an appointment with a palliative care doc: he had terminal cancer.
Softie: Oh god, he played trumpet. That makes it worse.
Me, a recovering band geek who had the misfortune of sitting in front of the trumpets: Does it though?
Cheekbones: More relevantly, he was about to die — we barely killed him. You could say we did him a favor by taking him out quickly!
And with that, a plot is formed: there aren’t any marks on the body (well, yet, but they haven’t thought of THAT), so they take off Walter’s coat and put the palliative care letter near his elbow, so maybe it’ll look like he just died in his sleep. Satisfied, Cheekbones heads for the exit, with Softie (who almost forgets his damn coat) trailing behind. Back in the car, they switch drivers, and gloomily and awkwardly drive off. Unnoticed by both brothers, the light in the window of Walter’s neighbor’s house, a window positioned perfectly for the occupant to have seen literally everything that just happened, goes out.
The next day, Cheekbones comes downstairs to face the music. Are the cops there? No, but his wife is, and she’s pissed, because apparently our friend got into an actual fight with the bride last night.
Cheekbones: Is it even a fight if I know I’m right?
Long-Suffering Lady Cheekbones: Dude, we can afford to buy our own drinks! You’re the WORST. And that’s why I left early — super not interested in going home with you after THAT.
Cheekbones, internally: Well if you think that was bad, the next few episodes are gonna be rough.
Cheekbones, out loud: I really wish we’d gone home together :(
Long-Suffering Lady Cheekbones: You drove home like that? No wonder the car’s all banged up.
Cheekbones: No, Softie drove. And someone backed into the car at the wedding, that’s all.
Long-Suffering Lady Cheekbones: I bet it was your enemy, the bride.
Cheekbones: LOL you have no idea how funny that is. Oh wait, one second, I’m getting a call from Softie.
As you might expect, Softie is handling this a lot worse than his brother, and has called to commiserate. He’s also, unsurprisingly, unable to get that Cheekbones will not have a conversation about the whole “we hit and killed a trumpeter called Walter” thing in front of his wife. He agrees to meet up, which is apparently unusual (makes sense, these guys could not be more different) and heads out.
Softie, trying to connect: So, how did you sleep?
Cheekbones: Uh, great? I have super expensive fancyman pillows, guy.
Softie: We have to talk about what we did though! Don’t you feel the GUILT?
Me:
Cheekbones: I sure don’t! He was gonna die anyway, in a lot of pain, He’d probably thank us, if he was here! BTW, here’s some cash, pay your phone bill so I can stay in touch.
Softie: Ugh, I left my wallet at the wedding.
Cheekbones, and yes I am quoting directly here: “F*cking cash bar.”
Ignoring Softie’s plaintive question about what they’ll do next, Cheekbones leaves, unworried, and goes back to his normal life. Meanwhile, a newly insomniac Softie obsessively reads the obituary section until he finds Walter’s listing. Despite Softie’s ongoing unhappiness, Cheekbones sees the obituary as a good thing: there’s going to be a burial shortly, which means that no one suspects foul play! Done and dusted! Well, not quite, because just then, Softie gets a phone call, which goes a little something like this:
Mysterious Voice: Oh, is this Softie? You’re a friend of Walter’s, right? See, I’m doing the inventory of his stuff, and I have your wallet!
Softie, high key panicking: AH. I must have left that there when I was…
Mysterious Voice: Selling him records? He sure does have a lot of them!
Softie, going along with it: Yup!
Mysterious Voice: Great. Well, if you can wait until tomorrow, you can just grab it at the wake. Toodles!
Cheekbones:
Apparently assuming, probably correctly, that Softie cannot be trusted to attend the wake and retrieve his wallet alone, Cheekbones accompanies him to what I imagine will be an incredibly awkward social engagement (although hey, it could be worse: there’s very little chance the wake will have a cash bar).
Softie: Do we have to? Can’t I just ask them to mail it?
Cheekbones: No. That’d be way more noticeable. Now go in there, get your wallet, and for goodness sake:
Inside, Softie awkwardly wanders around until he’s spotted by a friendly young American gal, who, delighted to see another person under the age of 85, immediately starts to chat him up, before conscripting him into bringing canapes into the next room. Outside, in the car, Cheekbones, sick of stewing, grabs a tie and storms into the house to retrieve his brother. Perhaps it’s because he’s a lawyer, but Cheekbones does a much better job of faking an appropriately conciliatory face, until he claps eyes on Softie, who’s handing around food like he’s been hired to cater. But before he can really lay into his brother, they’re interrupted by L'Americain, Walter’s American niece from earlier.
L'Americain: Oh, this is your brother, Softie? How did you know Walter — do you work at the record store too?
Cheekbones, rude: LOL, can you imagine? No.
Softie, stepping in it immediately: The trumpet! They play the trumpet together!
Cheekbones: Wow, I was going to say I met him through you, but I guess now we’re locked in!
L'Americain: Well, all that trumpeting sounds fun — probably more fun than he had with all these old bags! Bunch of friends and neighbors mostly, I guess.
Cheekbones: Well, hope you have a good stay in the U.K.
L'Americain: Sure, yes, attending a funeral, meeting with a lawyer, packing up my dead uncle’s stuff and then flying back to the States is my idea of a great time! When did you last see my uncle btw?
Cheekbones and Softie: Ohhhhh, a long time! Ages.
L'Americain: I hope he had a good peaceful death — but I guess the lawyer will fill me in tomorrow. Anyway, nice to meet you!
As she leaves, Cheekbones steers Softie into the kitchen, and tells him he’s gotta stay. Why? Well, L'Americain is the only person who can insist on an exhumation at this point, making her a loose end. So Softie? He better stay there, be friendly, and make himself the person she’d reach out to if she needed advice, so if she ever *does* consider digging up her dear uncle Walter, Softie can persuade her not to. Look, is this a good plan on paper? Sure. But do I trust Softie to carry it out? Absolutely not!
But perhaps I misjudged Softie, because he’s actually not totally failing his task. As the wake wraps up, and he retrieves his wallet, L'Americain offers him a drink, and mentions that she barely knows her uncle. Softie demurs, calling Walter a ‘nice old dude’ and then rather skillfully distracts L’Americain by pulling out one of the records from his collection, which she’s inherited. Lucky for him, she’s also a music nut, so this gives them an opening to (quite flirtily, I might add) talk about Bowie. The flirting leads to dancing, and the dancing leads to kissing, and the kissing leads to doin’ it. I’ll be real with you, I’m now sat here wondering if maybe those weirdos from Footloose didn’t have a good point all along: dancing is dangerous.
Anyway, the next morning L’Americain clearly still likes what she’s seeing despite the cold light of day, and asks Softie if they can hang out after her appointment with the lawyer. He, like a weirdo, goes along with it, only to realize that he’s now alone, seminude, in the bed of a man he accidentally murdered. At least he’s got a breakfast tray?
Cheekbones is less amused by this news than I am, which I guess is fair: he’s the one whose butt is on the line. He’s also kind of judgey of L’Americain, which feels a bit hypocritical given that any weird grief stuff she’s doing is in fact an indirect result of his behavior. And speaking of L’Americain, she’s asking a lot of interesting questions at the lawyer’s office, like “why wasn’t there an autopsy?” and “where were all these bruises on his body?” Because, yeah: despite what the brothers thought, Walter did actually get a bit dinged up in the accident — on his legs, where they couldn’t see. Meeting back up with Softie afterwards, L’Americain is perturbed by the bruises: doesn’t he think that’s weird?
Softie: No, and why don’t you go look at the records and get distracted? You might also notice that I do a weird thing where I sometimes write my own liner notes, but I’m sure that won’t become damning evidence in some future episode, no siree!
L’Americain: Look, I just don’t get why the bruises are just on his legs. That’s weird!
Softie: Well, let’s ask my brother to help! He’s a lawyer! And a nice guy!
Hilarious, given that he’s literally firing someone at that very moment in the most unkind way possible. Anyway, being pretty morally bankrupt, Cheekbones is happy to join the cause.
Cheekbones: Look, I wouldn’t worry about this leg stuff if I were you. He fell a fair amount, you see.
Softie: Yeah, it was kind of sweet. He was so loveable!
L’Americain: Who was around the most near the end there?
Cheekbones: Uh… I think he was kind of a loner? Look, if it’d make you feel better I can talk to the first responders?
L’Americain: Oh, I don’t want to make a big deal out of this!
Cheekbones: Please, it’ll just be an off the record kinda thing. I’m pals with them, no harm in looking into it.
L’Americain: Well, ok, sure!
This little midday meeting doesn’t go unnoticed by Long-Suffering Lady Cheekbones, who’s quite curious to know why her husband is suddenly spending so much time with the brother he doesn’t really get along with.
Cheekbones: Oh, he’s upset after a funeral.
Long-Suffering Lady Cheekbones: I thought it was a lawyer thing?
Cheekbones: Yeah, that too! He’s got a lot going on! I’m his brother, I’ve gotta help him.
Later, the brothers meet up again with L’Americain so Cheekbones can tell her what the first responders said about Uncle Walter, info which I’m sure he really did ask for and definitely did not just make up. He tells her nothing looked weird, and she, probably pretty happy to let it go so she can get home, seems to take his word for it. She also tells Cheekbones the name of Walter’s solicitor, whom she pronounces flakey. But for Cheekbones’ purposes?
As Cheekbones prepares to leave, however, the doorbell rings. Long-Suffering Lady Cheekbones, who I seem to have given a perfect recap name, because she is extremely sick of Cheekbones’ nonsense, has followed him here, perhaps assuming he’s cheating.
Cheekbones: Uh, hi? This is L’Americain, Softie’s girlfriend?
L’Americain: His what?
Long-Suffering Lady Cheekbones: Look, can someone explain what the hell is happening right now?
Cheekbones: L’Americain’s uncle died. That was the funeral I mentioned, remember? I’ve just been helping her with a few things until she goes back to the states.
Long-Suffering Lady Cheekbones: Well crap. Cheekbones, you still should have just told me.
L’Americain, trying to dispel the awkwardness: Let’s have dinner later! Double date!
Long-Suffering Lady Cheekbones, genuine: Yay, sounds great!
Softie and Cheekbones, horrified: Yay, sounds great!
Dinner, unfortunately, goes well. Really well. L’Americain seems to have charmed everyone BUT Cheekbones; Long-Suffering Lady Cheekbones is even trying to get Softie to help her convince L’Americain to stay.
Cheekbones, furious that Softie seems to be considering it:
Softie: I kinda like her though?
Cheekbones: Oh MY god, seriously? Let’s do some math: you’re gonna end up in jail for 11 years, if you’re LUCKY. And you will not do well in prison! This is not a viable relationship!
He’s not wrong, not the least of which because later that night, as Long-Suffering Lady Cheekbones drunkenly walks L’Americain back to Walter’s house, she accidentally lets slip that Cheekbones is tone deaf, and thus definitely does not play trumpet. And that’s not the worst of the brothers’ problems; while the ladies chat, they notice, for the first time, a video camera on the house across the street from Walter’s, which almost certainly would have captured their crime.
One thing at a time: the next day, the boys head back to Walter’s neighborhood to solve the camera problem.
Cheekbones, knocking on the neighbor’s door: Hi. We’re friends of Walter’s, and as you can see his lawn gnome is broken. We think it might have gotten caught on your camera there — can we look at the footage?
Neighbor: Uh…
Cheekbones: Please. He loved this damn gnome.
Neighbor: Look, the camera is fake. It’s just a security thing!
Cheekbones: Ohhhhhh. Well, in that case, thanks for your help, deal with this gnome, will ya?
Softie, solemn: There’s been enough to grieve over at Walter’s without the gnome too.
Now look, I’m not usually one to quote Reagan quoting Russian proverbs, but fellas, this seems like it might have been a good time to go with the old “trust but verify” strategy, because neighbor’s camera? It’s definitely not fake. Not even a little bit. And L’Americain is also back on the case, insisting that both brothers come inside Walter’s house to see how she’s laid out the clothes Walter was wearing when he died. His pants and shoes are dirty! And he’s wearing shoes inside, which she thinks is also weird!
Cheekbones: Friendo, your uncle died from cancer, and that’s horribly sad, but you just have to let him go.
L’Americain: Something just feels a little weird… what do you know about the neighbors?
Cheekbones: Look, I have a PI friend. Want me to call him?
L’Americain: Yeah, that’d be great. But no rush: I moved my flight. I have unfinished business here.
Softie is, of course, secretly pleased, much to Cheekbones’ ire. But they’re stuck together. And the PI Cheekbones mentioned? It’s none other than the guy he was firing earlier for being a drunken liability: Remington Steele Reserve.
Remington Steele Reserve: I can’t do a job right now!
Cheekbones, lying through his teeth: So about before: look, I broke you down, and you left before I could build you back up! You’re a good investigator, come take this case!
Softie: Maybe taking on a new case will show your wife you’re back in the game!
Remington Steele Reserve: I guess?
Cheekbones: Great. Wash your face and don’t you dare barf in my car.
Back at Walter’s, L’Americain obviously notices that Remington Steele Reserve isn’t even CLOSE to sober, but seems pacified by his “looking for clues” squat and his Columbo-esque jacket. After a brief look around, Cheekbones herds Remington Steele Reserve out of there, leaving L’Americain free to try and destress at an evening spin class with Long-Suffering Lady Cheekbones. In addition to a good sweat, she also finds out that Long-Suffering Lady Cheekbones thinks that a) Softie got all the heart in the family (a hilarious thing to say about not your husband) and b) the brothers don’t usually get along, and the amount of time they’re spending together is WEIRD.
It’s clearly weird for them too — the next morning, Cheekbones shows up to Walter’s to try and get Softie to break it off with L’Americain, partly because he’s worried his brother will betray him if given half a chance. TBH, that seems more like something Cheekbones would do, but what do I know? Probably unsurprisingly, this descends into a fight, ending with Cheekbones looking up to see a face in a window, staring at them. And yes, obviously, it’s the very same window from the night of the accident: the one where the light went off after they covered up a murder.
But enough of this sense of foreboding — something vaguely interesting is happening: Long-Suffering Lady Cheekbones is getting lunch with a nice woman from her spin class who happens to be a lesbian. The lunch tells us a few things: first, that Long-Suffering Lady Cheekbones really doesn’t have a lot of friends. And second, that she’s pretty charming and funny, when she’s not being caustic with her husband. Do I increasingly think that she should therefore dump his ass and enjoy her spin class and dinners out on the town in peace?
Back to the tension. Softie and L’Americain are indulging in their now normal pastime of listening to records and going through Walter’s sh*t, when L’Americain decides to put it all out there: Cheekbones didn’t know Walter, doesn’t play the trumpet, and is probably up to something. But what? I expected Softie to be pretty flustered by this direct question, but he’s not, possibly because as she asks he finds a picture labeled “My Darling Niece,” and the puzzled quirk of his brow makes it clear he’s not so sure anymore that L’Americain actually is Walter’s niece after all. So he lies. No, Cheekbones doesn’t play the trumpet; he was Walter’s lawyer on a past case, and due to confidentiality, they went full “Professor” Harold Hill and came up with a musical ruse.
Softie: Look, he’s just trying to help. I know he’s weird, but he’s all I’ve got — kind of like you and Walter, right?
L’Americain: Yup, I was the only family he had.
The vibe in the room during this convo:
And it’s only gonna get weirder from here. The next morning, Remington Steele Reserve reappears, SOBER, to apologize and ask to take another look around, much to Cheekbones’ chagrin. See, Remington Steele Reserve can’t get the thing Softie said about using this case to prove himself to his wife out of his head, so he’s now determined to solve it. He gets down to business, and immediately finds what looks like car paint on Walter’s pants. No matter what Cheekbones tries, Remington Steele Reserve can’t be convinced to hand over the evidence: he’s on the case, and determined to do everything by the book! And that’s the least of Cheekbones’ problems. Driving away, he spots the lady he saw in the window earlier, and stops to confront her.
Cheekbones: So?
Rear Window: Oh, I saw.
And with that, she goes back to gardening, cool as custard. So, that’ll be something to look forward to in future episodes! Why hasn’t Rear Window gone to the police? Who is L’Americain really? Will Long-Suffering Lady Cheekbones realize she can do better and leave her husband for the nice lady in her spin class? We’ll just have to check out episode two to find out.
