In much the same way that movies like Murder on the Orient Express (1974/2017) draw in audiences with their roster of famous names, this humorous take on the murder mystery first captured my attention on account of the sheer wealth of British comedic talent it had attracted. But, like, is it any good?

The setup, as perhaps befits a modern take on the classic murder mystery, sees a coach tour visiting the scenes of the settings of novels by bestselling crime writer David van der Clane (Griff Rhys Jones) — whose books have titles like I Just Died in Your Psalms Tonight and Axe Me No Questions I’ll Tell You Who Dies — where, at each stop, a member of the party is killed in the manner of the novel in question. Naturally, one of the people on the tour must be the killer…but which one, and, perhaps more importantly, how well-clued are proceedings?

The suspects/victims are the expected motley crew: an acidulated wheelchair-bound pensioner (Nina Wadia) and her put-upon carer (Kimberley Nixon), an uptight couple in a strained marriage (Matthew Cottle and Katy Cavanagh), a doctor (Nigel Havers) and his brother (Kevin Eldon) who suffers from memory loss, a trio of female pensioners who get a lot of the best lines…

“I’ll have you know this country was built by people exactly like me…”

“What? Post-menopausal killjoys with an attitude problem? I doubt it, love. They’d have burned you as a witch.”

…and an oddball loner (Mark Heap) who is reluctant to give up his bag even for a moment; holding it all together is bus driver Terry (Johnny Vegas) and tour organiser Gemma (Sian Gibson), who needs to make a success of things due to her own dire financial straits. And so the tour must go on, even as the numbers are depleted…

Aspects of this work very well indeed. Some jokes are superb — like Peggy (Una Stubbs) detailing the difficulties Marge (Susie Blake) has with her water works while tolling church bells drown out the gruesome details (“…she had to redo her kitchen because of it.”), with some being aided by wonderful delivery by some very gifted people (“Oh, yes, yes, that. Sorry…um, no.”) — a few early clues and red herrings are sprinkled in from the off (the first murder weapon, say), the trope of no-one being able to account for themselves at each death is well-observed, and the police are, naturally, disinterested. It’s also not excruciatingly twee, either, which is the risk anything with this sort of tonal shift runs; indeed, the third death walks the line between shock and dark comedy very neatly.

Not all of it works, however. Far too many scenes are given over to an ominously-scored watcher following the group when it couldn’t be more bloody obvious who it is and why they’re there, which is especially frustrating when this feeds into a cul-de-sac in the plot which only extends matters so that this fills the mandated running time. This aspect isn’t fooling anyone, and I can see no other reason for including it. In fact, the entire final third is incredibly thin, with a succession of extended jokes which fail to land, and a series of revelations motivated by nothing more than the need to wrap things up because the end is coming. Equally, the way the activities of Gemma’s stalker ex-boyfriend Ben (Javone Prince) are treated as punchlines — when he’s in fact behaving appallingly — feel like something out of a 1970s sitcom which no channel will air any more.

And then the reveal of the killer, which comes out of nowhere: the motive is dropped in last-minute, doesn’t really hold up to scrutiny (rot13: V xabj vg’f yvtugyl pbzrqvp, ohg jub jbhyq fraq GRA pbzcyrgr abiryf gb na ntrag?), and the killer captured because they start confessing rather than because of anything that was fed into proceedings earlier. Then there’s a chase, which equally pads things out, and then we’re done…except, well, I won’t deny that the final line is wonderful, and almost worth watching this all the way through for. Indeed, this is made more palatable throughout because of screenwriter Jason Cook’s ability to come up with zingers in the most unlikely of situations.

Interestingly, this spawned two direct sequels — Death on the Tyne (2018) and Dial M for Middlesborough (2019) — as well as a series Murder, They Hope (2021-22), but this first entry has Diminishing Returns written all over it. It’s taken me six years to become aware of it, and I bring it to your attention only to let you know that you can easily pass this by if you’re looking for anything approaching a rigorous, intelligent, or trenchant take on the murder mystery. UK viewers can find this on the BBC iPlayer — it’s an easy watch, even if it does get by on the charm of a cast who have all done far better elsewhere, but difficult to recommend beyond passing a mindless 90 minutes which could be spent reading this sort of thing but, like, good.