We open, bright red Pulp Fiction-y letters tell us, on “Day Nine”. Not “Day One”! Intrigued? You betcha! We are in Los Tríos, Mexico – watching a woman watch the Mexican military police await delivery of nine bodies, to store in an isolated facility’s morgue. Which is fortuitous, because this is the beginning of a new thriller by Anthony Horowitz, called Nine Bodies in a Mexican Morgue (the title fits brilliantly). The series was originally developed for the short-form platform Quibi; but I thank whoever realised that this perfect piece of trash deserved a larger canvas and broader distribution, and gave it 45 minutes per episode (and, ultimately, to the BBC).
I don’t know that anything has given me greater or purer joy this year. Nine Bodies in a Mexican Morgue is unabashed nonsense, without a trace of cynicism or guile in a world stuffed to bursting with both. I offer my undying allegiance to its Agatha Christie-meets-Lost shenanigans.
