Turks & Caicos

Bill Nighy


Turks & Caicos is the second of the Johnny Worricker trilogy of TV movies made by Carnival Films (of Downton Abbey fame) for the BBC and boasting the sort of cast that was still rare at small screen level in 2014. Christopher Walken and Winona Ryder are the properly big names, though Dylan Baker, Helena Bonham Carter, Rupert Graves and Ewen Bremner (returning from the first movie) are hardly kitty litter. Ralph Fiennes, though present and correct, is only on screen for a few seconds and so doesn’t really count.

For those coming in cold, there is absolutely no need to have watched the first one (Page Eight) to enjoy the second. All you need to know, and it’s easy to work out within seconds, is that Bill Nighy’s Johnny Worricker (now posing under the ho-ho nom de guerre of Tom Elliot, poetry lovers) is an ex-spy who is hiding out in the paradisical British Protectorate of the Turks & Caicos Islands, having fled the UK after dynamiting his career.

Whether the laconic, supersmart Worricker really did just “take the first flight” he saw on the departures board at Heathrow, as he claims, or has some agenda is never really established, but the tentacles of extraordinary rendition continue to exert a strong grip, with the island full of wealthy businesmen who have all profited hugely from the off-the-books, over-the-odds shady deals they’ve been able to do with the US government thanks to the “war on terror”.

Returnees will remember that Page Eight came at the subject from a different direction – how the US had co-opted allies into playing along with illegal rendition on black sites, with writer/director Hare making the point obliquely that, to avoid the charge of being a vassal state, countries often carry out the US’s wishes with more enthusiasm than is strictly required.

Winona Ryder and Bill Nighy
Winona Ryder and Bill Nighy



Here Hare is much more interested in the interface between the US government and private companies, who made a bundle out of rendition, and since seediness is the charge, business associates Gary Bethwaite (Dylan Baker), Dido Parsons (Zach Grenier) and Frank Church (James Naughton) all have the complacent, badly dressed look of New Jersey mobsters who’ve accidentally gone legit. And as if we hadn’t twigged that they are not good guys, Hare throws in a sexual subplot involving all three and their company PR, the appropriately named Melanie Fall (Ryder).

Melanie Fall is meant to be a damaged character and Winona Ryder goes at her with eyes wide and all the bonkers lights flashing. She’s madly brilliant at it, even though you kind of wonder how much of what Ryder is doing is acting. Even more fun is watching every scene where Nighy and Walken interact, both of them masters of supremely mannered delivery, with each one obviously trying to make the other one corpse by ladling on ever increasing amounts of whatever it is that they do. Vastly enjoyable.

Walken gets the best speech, a remarkably prescient one for 2014, which inveighs against America’s endless wars and their cost and warns that people back home are “sore… it’s dusk in America,” a sentiment picked up months down the line by Donald Trump.

Even though the sunny Turks and Caicos settings mean it threatens to turn into an episode of the cosy BBC whodunit series Death in Paradise at any minute, it’s a more satisying film than Page Eight, clicking along like a precision watch and with a politics that seem more grounded in the consensual neoliberal stasis of the day. Along with Worricker’s James Bond-alike ability to set female loins aflame, these mark out Turks & Caicos as a film from what now seems like another era.

The last of the trilogy, Salting the Battlefield, would follow later in the year. And my review of that will be along shortly too.




Turks & Caicos, the second of the Johnny Worricker trilogy – Watch it/buy it at Amazon

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© Steve Morrissey 2021







Page Eight

Rachel Weisz and Bill Nighy


From the instant Page Eight starts we know where we are. The camera focuses on Bill Nighy’s face. He lights a cigarette and, as jazz music sulks away on the soundtrack, he strides out into the night. Johnny Worricker (Nighy) is another of Raymond Chandler’s white knights tilting at baddies out on the mean streets and we’re in a noirish thriller set in a world of duplicity.

Personally, I’ll watch anything with Nighy in it, his gangling deadpan generally improving everything it’s inserted into. But there are two other “watch anything they’re in” presences in Page Eight. Michael Gambon (not in it nearly long enough), “the Great Gambon” as Ralph Richardson called him, and Judy Davis, both of whom play Worricker’s superiors at whatever branch of the British intelligence services he works at. If Nighy is Michael Caine in The Ipcress File, think of Gambon and Davis in the Nigel Green and Guy Doleman roles, if that isn’t too oblique.

It is a great cast all the way through in fact. Rachel Weisz, Felicity Jones, Tom Hughes, Ralph Fiennes, Ewen Bremner.

Judy Davis
Judy Davis as Worricker’s boss



Corruption in high places is its motor, the telltale evidence first spotted by the eagle-eyed Johnny – far smarter than he ever lets on – on page eight of a top-secret document about the British government’s knowledge of the US’s use of extraordinary rendition and torture on black sites.

Writer/director David Hare’s abiding concern with the workings (or failings) of public institutions is to the fore, and this being shot in 2011, the financial meltdown of 2008 and the threat of homegrown terrorism are part of the socio-cultural tapestry. Johnny, though one of the “elite”, is one of the good guys. How quaint 2011 now seems.

Hare feeds other stories into this main one detailing how Johnny winkles out the truth about the British government’s enabling compliance in the rendition, and they’re all “Johnny’s relationship with X” in nature – Johnny’s relationship with his estranged artist daughter (Felicity Jones), with the Prime Minister (Fiennes), an alum of the same Oxbridge college, with his mysterious activist neighbour (Weisz), with his ex wife (Alice Krige), who is now married to his oldest chum and boss (Gambon). “We share a wife,” Johnny says drily at one point à propos a plot detail which suggests more than it delivers.

Worricker is the classic spy who cares too much and is so engrossed in his work that he can’t switch off. This leads to him constantly being accused by anyone he’s close to of being duplicitous when in fact it’s everyone else in his crazy mixed-up world who’s dealing from the bottom of the pack.

Some aspects of Hare’s plot now seem a touch politically naive, but in any case it’s not altogether clear what Hare thinks he’s making here – an angry political thriller or one of those cosy TV detective dramas like Inspector Morse, with Oxbridge locations, little antique shops set in picturesque towns with crooked streets, and featuring droves of top-notch character actors.

It’s not going to shock, in other words, and its final reveals, as the bad guy is revealed, are all too depressingly familiar. Some things flat-out don’t work, in particular Johnny’s relationship with his too-keen neighbour, which hits all sorts of bum notes, in spite of Rachel Weisz as the mysterious Nancy Pierpan, the 20 year age gap now looking a bit of a stretch in a post #MeToo world. But as an opener to two more Worricker films (Turks & Caicos and Salting the Battlefield, both from 2014), it’s an enjoyable and even relaxing whodunit. And who doesn’t want to watch Nighy in action?




Page Eight – Watch it/buy it at Amazon

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© Steve Morrissey 2021