Alfie Moore: The Naked Stun

Here's another dip into the casebook of Sergeant Alfie Moore, a burly, "institutionally sarcastic" policeman whose decades on the force have given him the sort of anecdotes most standups would kill for. The story of his months on the trail of a flasher, back when Moore was an idealistic rookie, develops patiently and gets good mileage out of the gulf between US cop dramas and life on the beat in Scunthorpe.

Moore's an accomplished raconteur, spinning his yarn like the Radio 4 regular he is. It’s shot through with wry wit and adorned with some nicely written motifs: the inspector he's trying to please but who only dishes out bollockings; police jargon and its incongruity with real-life danger; the compulsive confessor who hampers the investigation at every turn. Though light on big laughs, it’s well-researched and insightful, throwing up moments of farce that present the world of modern policing in all its illogical, bureaucratic dreariness.

Occasionally Moore caves to the urge to court cheaper laughs. A few contrived jokes—a play on “bag for life”, an outdated German porn gag—aren't worth the effort, while a sex scene involving a uniform fetishist plays out with apologetic reluctance. But these are blips en route to a good point: Moore’s had enough of “minor” sex crimes being trivialised, and calls for his fellow officers to realise that the local perv, if laughed off and left alone, can become a real monster. As for us, though, he's happy to let us giggle at the image of a sex pest in a shower cap.

Today he plays to a polite crowd who, even during the story's taser-wielding climax, could perhaps do with 50,000 volts up the backside. But this competent hour—closing on an even-handed defence of by-the-book policework—doesn't quite have that sort of firepower.