Prime Suspect was a British procedural that aired whenever Helen Mirren felt like it for about sixteen years. She played the only woman detective in the world. I love this show very much, but I find it exhausting because no one will be her FRIEND, and I have a life-threatening condition where I need to imagine fictional characters are my friends, and I can support them by staying at home and feeling things very intensely.
A basement full of male pudding cups, all screaming:
WUT’S ALL THIS ABOUT A WOMAN INSPECTOR
I NEVER HEARD OF A WOMAN EVER IN ME PUFF, GUV
I’LL KILL ONE AS SOON AS LOOK A’IT
I NEVER SAW A WOMAN BUT IF I DID I WOULD SCREAM
Enter Jane Tennison, elegantly chain-smoking.
Yes….right…here’s what I’ll need…hm? No, she didn’t wear a size 7….I want all of these, bagged, sent over to me…pull the prints from the last twelve files and have them sent to me…I’ll need a driver to take me to Manchester….
Here is a man whose face has no shape to it. He is married. Jane Tennison has sex with him, wryly.
JANE [absently tucking hair behind her ear]: Yes, well…
Here is a second woman police officer.
A well-meaning cup of juice asks Jane if she doesn’t think she can just learn to…play the game?
The pudding cup that has been assigned to drive Jane around has stopped calling her “bitchmarm” and brings her a thing of coffee at the end of a particularly brutal and unhelpful interview.
Me, crying at home: HE’S HER FRIEND NOW
Can you locate the source of this particular transmasculine affect? If so, please write to our judges at: [address missing], and you may be eligible to win a walk-on role in the next season of DCI Bitchmarm: The Only Way Out Is Through.