Saint-Pierre Review: A Gentle Canadian Cop Show with Sweet Chemistry
If all police procedurals, celebrity travel documentaries, and cooking contests vanished overnight, the television landscape would face a catastrophic collapse. These genres serve as the foundational pillars that uphold the entire industry. Given their overwhelming abundance, it is inevitable that each category spawns highly specialized niches. Consider the Canadian crime drama Saint-Pierre. Have you ever pondered what a slightly more rugged version of Death in Paradise might entail? If so, your curiosity is about to be satisfied.
Familiar Faces and Intriguing Settings
To enhance the sense of familiarity, Death in Paradise veteran Joséphine Jobert appears in Saint-Pierre, portraying deputy chief Geneviève "Arch" Archamboult. She is a Parisian police officer who, for reasons gradually unveiled, has been relocated to the tiny French territory of Saint-Pierre and Miquelon in the north Atlantic. Joining her is another somewhat troubled outsider, Allan Hawco's Royal Newfoundland Constabulary inspector Donny "Fitz" Fitzpatrick. This detective has been relegated to obscurity after aggressively investigating the corrupt activities of a politician in his previous assignment. Predictably, he grapples with a tumultuous personal life, lending him a slightly unkempt demeanor. Additionally, he suffers from seasickness, a significant inconvenience given his new posting on a small island. Upon introduction, he is seen vomiting his breakfast into a nearby rockpool, with locals showing little sympathy.
In fairness, Fitz does not make himself easily likable. He habitually begins sentences with "Where I come from ...," a tactic that fails to endear him to the local police force. Nevertheless, he is immediately thrust into crime-solving chaos. According to Wikipedia, the eight islands comprising Saint-Pierre and Miquelon host a population of approximately 5,500 residents. Based on this series, one must assume that roughly one in twenty individuals is a murderer, while many others engage in fraud, drug trafficking, religious extremism, or gangsterism. It is a stunningly beautiful yet evidently perilous locale, making it the law enforcement equivalent of a disciplinary timeout.
Formulaic Yet Engaging Crime Solving
Fitz dives headfirst into his duties. His inaugural case involves the murdered leader of a religious community, featuring a well-staged and illuminated corpse in a church. The plot thickens with intrigue surrounding a craft honey-trafficking operation—proving that no pastime is too wholesome for criminal exploitation—and a beneficiary of the victim poised to inherit everything. She maintains her innocence, but inconveniently, a firearm she purchased online is discovered at the crime scene.
The case concludes swiftly, allowing Fitz to partially prove his worth. Thus, the format is cemented: a crime-of-the-week structure, supplemented by mild character development and an underlying narrative about islander Sean Gallagher, portrayed by James Purefoy, who is clearly a villain with direct connections to the police department. The dialogue often feels painfully awkward, such as exchanges like, "Who changes their name?" "Someone with something to hide!" It is formulaic to the point of self-parody, with resolutions always tidy, typically involving a perpetrator detailing their sinister scheme, stopping just short of declaring they would have succeeded if not for meddling investigators.
The Charm of Predictability
Each episode culminates with Arch and Fitz, having solved the crime, engaging in casual banter. They spar gently over their respective mysterious pasts before experiencing an exceedingly mild disagreement. This represents the traditional conversational dance of a minor cop show, a method of gradually dispensing just enough personal information to maintain audience engagement.
Yet, Saint-Pierre is far from terrible; it is too inoffensive for that label. The lead duo shares a sweet, albeit overly familiar, chemistry—balanced precisely on the line between mutual irritation and affection, a default setting for counterintuitively effective detective pairs since television's inception. The location is both captivating and scenic, and the backstories unfold in an engaging manner.
The series shines brightest when Fitz's concealed trauma regarding his lost family begins seeping into his professional life. At these moments, one wonders if, with a bit more ambition, Saint-Pierre could pioneer a new micro-genre—perhaps "creepy-cosy crime." However, this is unlikely. Ultimately, Saint-Pierre understands its identity and place. In the realm of gentle cop shows, the television ecosystem will always accommodate one more addition.
