Ending worthy of the journey

By GREG DIXON

It was a marvellous last scene. As the presses rolled with the story of his career, reporter Cal McCaffrey stood watching as thousands of copies of the Herald swirled on the production line above him. Then he took his ear protectors off and listened.

The immense racket he and we heard was not just the clamour of the presses churning out thousands of the latest edition - it was the sound of lives ruined and ambitions crushed. And of a short series that fulfilled its promise.

The conclusion of the BBC conspiracy drama State Of Play (last night, TV One) confirmed its place as the best political suspensor to make it on to television since, well, quite possibly ever.

Across its six parts, State Of Play succeeded in doing what all good drama should: telling a good story well, sketching, then colouring a credible cast of characters, illuminating human nature: ambition, jealousy, love, hatred ... It is rare to do these things so well and so convincingly - and up to the closing credits.

The trouble with so many thrillers, political or other, is that the writers often write themselves into a corner. Certainly the entertainment, the pleasure, of any half decent thriller is the journey. It should be intricate, snappy and economical. It should be filled with red herrings and sudden revelations.

But more often than not, a thriller's plot runs out of fizz or the final twist is unconvincing and a betrayal of the drama.

Not so with State Of Play. Writer Paul Abbott - with impressive work from director David Yates - delivered a fully rounded, satisfying thriller which found its end not in high-level conspiracy (though there was plenty) but in something smaller and more human: the overweening ambition and failure of nerve of one man, the young politician Stephen Collins (an excellent David Morrissey).

State of Play's first success was grounding itself in the real world. You could smell the authenticity of the 'Herald's office, the corridors of Westminster and in the comforting but devilish purr of the feline government spin-doctor Andrew Wilson.

Its crafting of character, too, helped by a good ensemble cast, was important. John Simm's McCaffrey was a complex and fascinating fellow. But it was probably Bill Nighy's editor Cameron Foster, a mix of hard-bitten hack and dry-witted journalistic statesman, that was the most memorable. Nighy's arch, clever performance made every second he was on screen a pleasure.

The minor characters were equally pleasing. Dominic Foy (Marc Warren), the witless link between Collins' dead researcher Sonia Baker and the nasty oil company U-Ex, was a terrific piece of writing and performance.

Foy managed to be both pivotal to the drama and a tremendously amusing comic relief: the scene when he was chased, limping in his neck brace and that horrendous fur jacket, through an airport was pure, hilarious slapstick.

And there were some nice little moments too among the high drama: Morrissey (after realising he had been set up) tapping a Sellotape holder so that it made the sound of ticking clock; the publisher fiddling with small change as he told Nighy's editor to back off the story. It all added up to a compelling and satisfying six weeks.

The only mystery left open, however, is whether there will be a second series. Well the bad news is there will be State Of Replay. American producer Scott Rudin - the guy behind the films The Addams Family and School Of Rock - has successfully talked the BBC into remaking the series as a film.

Worse, it will be condensed into two hours and, oh dear, Americanised - although along the lines of the good-but-not-great All The President's Men.

However Nighy seemed certain of another series on Bafta night in April and later told British film magazine Empire it's almost written. I do know the plot and I am not at liberty to divulge it. It's a cracker, it's wild, and if it were anybody other than Paul Abbott you would think they were insane, but you know that he'll pull it off.

Terrific news. Let's hope the source is reliable.