Frankie Drake: This Bearcat Knows Her Onions
A refresher on 1920s jargon, in case you need it (like I did when I started writing this post):
“Bearcat”: a feisty woman
“To know one’s onions”: to be experienced in a particular subject
“Frankie Drake”: the coolest, most addictive detective to come around in a while
I’m a detective of detectives, always on the lookout for a good mystery series, whether in books or on the screen. Actually, for a long time I wasn’t a big mystery fan, though I appreciated the odd Nancy Drew or Murder, She Wrote. But it wasn’t until my twenties, when I picked up Sue Grafton’s A is for Alibi, that I got hooked (more on Grafton in a later post).
There are, of course, tons of different types of mysteries: hard-boiled; police procedural; legal; the “cozy” small-town, amateur detective story. Each sub-genre has its merits, but no matter what type of mystery we’re talking about, the most important element of a good mystery, across the board, is to have strong, likable characters. Characters who aren’t two-dimensional, who can’t just be swapped out for those in other stories, and whose goals, actions, and reactions shape the plot in an entertaining way. Come to think of it, that’s really the key to any good story, period.
But it’s even more important with mysteries for one simple reason: the story has to get you to care about someone who, usually for a good portion of the tale, is dead. Not only that, but mysteries can be inherently tough to follow, or even a little wacky. There are so many details, so many moving pieces, not to mention the need to keep the audience guessing, that some plots can become convoluted. If you don’t have interesting, original characters to pull you along, you may find yourself saying, “I’m glad that guy got shot. Now can you please take all the other characters down too so this painful story can end?”
Frankie Drake Mysteries has a ton going for it. It takes place in 1920s Toronto, centered on the cases of private investigator Frankie Drake (played by Lauren Lee Smith) and her partner/best friend, Trudy Clarke (Chantel Riley). Listen closely and keep Wikipedia at the ready for all the real people from the era who get fictionalized (my favorite is in the pilot, “Mother of Pearl,” when Frankie meets a young newspaperman named Ernest Hemingway). The show is light and family-friendly enough that it’s not going to give you nightmares or need to be frantically switched off if the kids wander into the room. There are no cell phones, obviously. No DNA testing. There are, on the other hand, speakeasies. The constraints of the time are what really give this show its magic, because it can’t be just another PI series.
Especially given the biggest constraint of all: women’s traditional roles.
In this universe, Frankie’s the first woman PI in Toronto, and Trudy is the first black woman investigator. Supporting characters Mary Shaw (Rebecca Liddiard) and Flo Chakowitz (Sharron Matthews) are trailblazers as well — Mary as a morality officer (the only role available in the police force to women at this time), and Flo as a pathologist at the morgue who dreams of being a doctor (a lofty, laughable goal for a woman back then). FDM embraces its world. It isn’t afraid to address the limitations of its time, especially limitations put on people who were not among the powerful set. And like most other historical fiction, the erstwhile era is used to remind the audience of how far we’ve come . . .
And make us question whether maybe, just maybe, we haven’t come as far as we like to think we have.
In FDM, whole storylines revolve around those limitations, but never in a preachy, pandering, exploitative, or derivative way. For instance, in “Out on a Limb” (S:3, E:7) the plot deals with a crooked club owner who makes “unwanted advances” on his showgirls, with the understanding that in order to work for him, they have to submit to him. He even attempts to rape Frankie herself, who’s gone undercover at the club. The emotion of the story focuses not only on how preyed-upon women feel embarrassed, ashamed, and scared, but also on two other fronts: 1) how women are stronger when they support one another, trust one another, and talk to one another, and 2) why some don’t speak up when they know what’s going on, or when they’re victims themselves.
These women who don’t speak up might be called complicit today, labelled as “part of the problem,” but FDM goes deeper. It’d be easy to accuse them of complicity, but the fact is, they’re just trying to survive in a world where they don’t make the rules, just like most women. Just like most any decent person, actually. Even the owner’s secretary in the episode, a woman who knows exactly what goes on at the club yet stays loyal to the owner, is shown not as an accomplice, but as another type of victim. One of the recurring themes in FDM is that the only true villains are 1) those who commit a crime and 2) those who are or have become powerful, yet abuse that power or don’t bother to channel that power into exacting real change.
“Out on a Limb” is just one of the most recent episodes that knocked me out with its writing and acting. The follow-up episode, “Ward of the Roses,” is another, and as an extra treat, it was a Trudy-centric story. We even get a song, which normally makes me groan in the middle of a story, but the few times actress Chantel Riley has crooned on the show, it’s been nothing short of lovely. In this episode, Trudy and friends of hers drive a tale of two Torontos: that of the struggling but hardworking immigrant community, including Chinatown, and that of the rich developers and shady politicians ready to steamroll over anyone who stands in their way.
Here’s the thing, though: as thoughtful as the writing is on every episode, examining issues from different sides and always questioning, not dictating, and as often as you may walk away from an episode with a new perspective to bat around with friends or family, the stories are just good! The episodes are fun, the characters are likable and relatable, and the mysteries (usually) keep you guessing (and the ones where you pretty much figure it out on your own are just such a delight to watch anyway, you don’t care).
One might say it’s the bees’ knees.
Frankie Drake is available to stream on: PBS Passport, Amazon Prime’s PBS Masterpiece Channel, Apple TV, YouTube, Google Play, or Vudu (charges may apply), or keep an eye out for it on cable, as it occasionally likes to pop up on local PBS stations or the Ovation network. If you’re in Canada, catch it on CBC.
Have a favorite Frankie Drake episode or another recommendation of types of mysteries you love? Share in the comments!
Clarissa J. Markiewicz is the author of Christmas In Whimsy — a heartwarming, fun novel readers compare to Hallmark Christmas movies, and recipient of Readers’ Favorite 5-star Seal — and the genre-bending new-age mystery The Paramour Pawn.
