It feels appropriate that the slight drop in temperature and the oncoming onslaught of rain should coincide with the release of Ludwig’s second season. The BBC show, about a puzzle whizz (David Mitchell) solving the mystery of his detective twin brother’s disappearance while also solving many a murder along the way, is an autumnal comfort watch. It is best enjoyed like a mug of milky tea, sipped down easily and without much thought. Ah, tastes like nothing at all – but it’s comforting all the same.
How you feel about Ludwig series two will depend on how you felt about Ludwig series one, not to mention your mileage for cosy crime more generally. Think Richard Osman novels and that Netflix film about sheep detectives; it’s a little precious and a lot twee. Apparently a lot of us are partial to that particular flavour of telly given the first season of Ludwig was the Beeb’s most-watched new scripted series of 2024.
Mitchell is back as bumbling brainiac John. After having been found out to be impersonating his detective brother David at the end of last season, John is very conveniently allowed back into the Cambridge police fold after signing an NDA promising never to reveal how he duped the authorities into believing he was his sibling for several months. “Sorry about all that… again,” he says sheepishly to DCS Carol Shaw (Dorothy Atkinson) in episode one.
This time around John can be himself, operating in his new official capacity as “crime scene consultant”, a title that allows him not only to swan around solving weekly murders with his partner DI Russell (Dipo Ola) – but also to continue his investigation into the disappearance of his brother, which came to a head last season with the discovery of a storage unit bursting with secret documents, the murder of police IT tech Holly Pinder, and the framing of John’s sister-in-law, Lucy (Anna Maxwell Martin).
If that all sounds a bit serious, don’t worry, Ludwig remains as light as ever. The murders, though they are plenty, are still bloodless – cases lifted from a Cluedo board, like the elderly woman killed with scissors in the theatre booth. We’re not here for murky morals and tortured backstories; we’re here for neat and satisfactory conclusions, which are delivered at the end of every episode by Mitchell’s amateur sleuth as he unmasks the murderer of the week in a dramatic denouement that is barely plausible but just believable enough that you think maybe you could’ve worked it out yourself. (You couldn’t.)
One thing the show has going for it is its cast. Fresh off his well-deserved win on season two of Last One Laughing, Mitchell is watchable as always, elevating a predictable script with impeccable comedic timing and all-around lovely vibes. Sometimes you wish the actor would pierce that placid exterior and snap à la Mark in that one Peep Show Thanksgiving episode – but the sooner you accept that Ludwig is not that type of series, the sooner you can begin to enjoy it for what it is. Martin, meanwhile, brings her pitch-perfect Motherland neurosis and plastered-on grin back to the role of Lucy, with Sian Clifford and Mark Bonnar entering the picture as a suspicious MP and jaded journalist respectively.
If I were tasked with solving the crime of why Ludwig remains middling despite its obvious merits, I would charge producers with time-wasting. Cosy crime has its place, but does that place warrant a whole hour per episode (no ad breaks)? I’m not so sure. In fact, it feels as though the bloated duration works directly against the show’s inherent appeal. By the time you reach the 40-minute mark of any given episode, the timidity begins to grate. To use the tea metaphor from earlier, the cuppa has gone cold, and you’re left hungry for something with more bite, more substance… a chocolate digestive maybe, but certainly not more tea.