KEY POINTS:
If you thought last night's Brit drama The Ruby in the Smoke (TV One, 8.30pm) was an oddly rambunctious offering in the normally grown-up slot, that might be because it was an adaptation of a children's book by Philip Pullman.
Before he hit the big time with his
superb His Dark Materials trilogy - and famously got right up the nose of some religious types for his fantasy's atheistic inclinations - Pullman had a taste for writing mock Victorian gothic ripping yarns.
His former life as a teacher and producer of reputedly sensational school productions no doubt also honed his talent for edge-of-the-seat melodrama.
The Ruby in the Smoke is the first of his four Sally Lockhart mysteries, the second, The Shadow in the North, plays next week.
And didn't good old Julie Walters simply steal the show, playing the villain of the piece, the psychopathic Mrs Holland, as Myra Hindley meets Mrs Squeers.
Obviously relishing every moment, she switched from opium addict's ministering angel or oily boarding-house keeper to potential child serial killer without even pausing to change gear. As for that business of taking out the false teeth and swishing 'em around in her tea - pure panto wicked witch.
With its labyrinthine plot, the story got a little hard to follow at times - or maybe that's my advanced age showing.
Never mind, its gleeful mix of skulduggery and skeletons in closets (or rather, buried in Mrs Holland's yard) had all the elements: a priceless jewel, wronged innocents, corrupt schemers, likely lads, thick thugs and deliciously exotic characters including a lascivious Maharajah, lurking Oriental and a black Jack Tar.
Yes, there appeared to be a large amount of revelling on the author's part in writing of an era that had no concept of the politically correct.
Much homage was also being paid to Charles Dickens, with a liberal helping of orphans and the kind of grotesques you suspect helped spawn a nation of fantastic character actors. This being Pullman, there was also a dash of moral high seriousness in the form of an eye-opening speech to Sally about Britain's nefarious opium trade and in Mrs Holland's sorry past, a poke at the double standards of an obsessively prudish society.
The weak point, however, was in casting Billie Piper as the heroine. Whereas Pullman's leading ladies tend to be shining beacons of intelligence, with more pluck than a 12-string guitar, the former pop princess' performance was purely one muted note.
It was as if Piper had decided a Victorian heroine must be demure and nothing, not even the fact that this wasn't so much period drama as a rollicking postmodern farce, was going to deflect her from the notion.
She even listed the gutsy Sally's accomplishments - the ability to speak Hindustani and fire a pistol, plus a sharp eye for accounts - as if mentioning she could do a bit of needlework.
A sorry mismatch but, happily, there were plenty of others willing to put a bit more muscle into running with the wilds of Pullman's imagination.
