Israel Centeno
Gripping, intense, and superbly written, The Tunnel is a series that leaves no loose ends. This British-French remake of the acclaimed Bron/Broen—the Swedish-Danish production that redefined Nordic noir—retains its own identity while staying true to the essence of the original. Its script is impeccably crafted, with well-drawn characters and an atmosphere that captures a world in transit, a postmodern world on the brink of collapse.
From the outset, the series presents a compelling premise: a murder in the Channel Tunnel, right on the border between France and the United Kingdom, forces two radically different detectives to work together. Karl Roebuck, the British detective played by Stephen Dillane, is the epitome of irreverent charm—a family man with a chaotic and transgressive approach to both life and the job. His French counterpart, Elise Wassermann, portrayed brilliantly by Clémence Poésy, is an exceptionally intelligent but socially awkward detective, whose way of interacting with the world suggests that she is on the autism spectrum.
The relationship between these two characters is the true heart of The Tunnel. Their dynamic not only reflects the linguistic and cultural barriers between the British and the French but also encapsulates the broader challenges of human communication. Elise, utterly incapable of lying and obsessively analytical, is an immovable force. Karl, with his sarcasm and pragmatism, is a man constantly in motion. The contrast is fascinating, and over time, their relationship evolves from mutual distrust to a profound and touching partnership.
One of The Tunnel’s greatest achievements is Elise’s character development. Her personal history—marked by the childhood death of her twin sister—adds a layer of vulnerability to her outward coldness. In the first season, her interactions with others seem almost robotic, yet as the series progresses, it becomes clear that her inability to express emotions does not mean she lacks them. Her tenderness towards Karl’s son, her genuine concern for his family, and the quiet bonds she forms with her colleagues reveal that Elise is far from indifferent—she is deeply compassionate.
Beyond her professional relationships, Elise also surprises with her ability to sustain a romantic relationship. What begins as a one-night stand with a hotel bartender unexpectedly develops into a long-term connection that endures across seasons. At first, no one would believe such a relationship could last, yet it does. Elise, despite her struggles with emotional connection, demonstrates genuine care for her partner, feeling anxiety when he is arrested and standing by him with a steadfast sense of justice. This subplot is handled with the same level of detail and authenticity as the rest of the series, reinforcing her character’s complexity.
Yet The Tunnel is more than just a character study. It is a masterfully executed thriller that tackles some of the most pressing issues in contemporary Europe: terrorism, human trafficking, labour exploitation, corruption, and ideological radicalisation. Beneath these themes, there is also an implicit but undeniable thread concerning migration and demographic shifts. While the series does not address these issues head-on, they are present in the way characters navigate between two worlds, in the conflicts that arise along borders, and in the broader sense of Europe as a place in constant transformation.
Despite its modern setting, The Tunnel also allows for connections to Europe’s past, particularly through Karl’s character. As the son of a communist, Karl represents a generation that grew up in the ideological struggles of the Cold War, rebelling against his father by becoming a police officer. This generational tension is echoed in his own relationship with his eldest son, who, in a radically different context, also finds himself at odds with his father. The series thus traces an arc from the political struggles of the 20th century to the dilemmas faced by Millennials and Generation Z, showing how history repeats itself in new forms.
Visually, The Tunnel is stunning. The series shifts between the cold, muted tones of Calais and the misty Kent coastline, creating a contrast that reinforces its theme of blurred borders. The cinematography is imbued with a melancholic tension, perfectly complementing a narrative that teeters between despair and redemption.
But beyond its excellence as a thriller, The Tunnel dares to present a character who may, in some ways, foreshadow the future of humanity. Elise is not just a product of her time—she embodies a growing trend in modern society. Statistics suggest an increasing number of people experience social difficulties or are identified as being on the autism spectrum. What was once rare is now common. Elise, with her relentless logic, emotional detachment, and unyielding moral code, could well be a glimpse of the human being to come—a vision of a future where traditional modes of social interaction give way to a different kind of intelligence, one shaped by structure, rationality, and an alternative approach to empathy.
Ultimately, The Tunnel is a work of the highest calibre, both in its technical execution and thematic depth. It functions as a first-rate thriller, a psychological drama, and a sharp critique of contemporary Europe. Its story captivates, its characters fascinate, and its reflection of reality unsettles. For those seeking a series that seamlessly blends intelligence, emotion, and gripping suspense, The Tunnel is an impeccable choice.
