We are often told: The Brits know how to make a good TV series. And it's true. Think of the top British shows: exciting, imaginative, different. And then along comes "Vincent" to prove that when they want to they can make as big a mess of a crime series as anyone else. "Vincent" manages to get it all wrong. Ray Winstone plays the character with all the lack of finesse he can muster. Fat, sleepy, unshaven with an almost incomprehensible accent, he batters his way through a messy and unsatisfactory script. He has staff, who appear to be bemused by him and the story, and all wishing they could get a decent job. There is plenty of violence, and lots of bad language, just to prove we're not in the namby-pamby 1950s. You've just got to have lots of swearing, otherwise nobody would watch. In the second episode of the first series, a rich criminal (the sort who owns night-clubs and a band of thugs) does everything to prevent an investigation into the murder of a man. He tries desperately to persuade Vincent not to carry out any investigation. He sends three thugs armed with base-ball bats to beat Vincent, either to death or just into hospital, nobody says. Vincent escapes. So the criminal wrecks the house of Vincent's ex-wife. Never mind. At the end, all Vincent wants is to be left alone. The criminal is really only a caring father. And what about his ex-wife's house? Is the rich man asked to pay for the damage? Of course not. Somehow nobody cares. Least of all the viewer.
