The Sweeney is about to face the ultimate indignity of being remade by Nick Love, and so this new Blu-ray edition of the first series from 1975 is timely indeed – not to cash in on the new film, but to remind us just how great a show it was.

Over the years, The Sweeney has been subject to undeserved criticism by smug media commentators – if not attacking the violence, the various –isms on display and the crude dialogue (we all know that John Thaw spent the entire series calling people slags, for instance), then they are mocking the fashions, the hairstyles and the cars, because there’s nothing more hilarious than a show made in the mid 1970s. It’s the pathetic criticism of idiots, and should be ignored. Because this is not only an iconic show of its time, but also a remarkable, powerful and dark drama series that is genuinely excellent.

The Sweeney is, of course, very much of its time. The 1970s was the decade where people stopped trusting the police, stopped believing that our law enforcers were ‘wonderful’ and started opening their eyes to the corruption, the violence and questionable behaviour of the force. This was the era of several miscarriages of justice, suspects fitted up and imprisoned for decades, and of widespread, endemic corruption – while The Sweeney was being broadcast, the real life Flying Squad was being purged of corrupt coppers who were blackmailing pornographers, holidaying with known villains and generally behaving with a contempt for the laws that they were supposed to enforce. This was also the era of Dirty Harry, Sir You Bastard and The Offence – films and novels that hacked away at the idea of the squeaky clean “evenin’ all” image of the police we knew from whitewashed series like Dixon of Dock Green and Z Cars – and of British TV’s most unvarnished period of social realism, reflecting the decade that for many felt like the hangover after the party of the 1960s. The Sweeney sits alongside the films of Pete Walker, movies like Get Carter and the whole punk movement as a howl of discontent at a world of concrete tower blocks, strikes, three day weeks and rising unemployment.

Spun off from the Armchair Cinema episode Regan, the series stars John Thaw as Jack Regan – middle aged, divorced, and cynical, he smokes, drinks and seems possessed with both self-loathing and self-belief, allowing him to not just bend the law but use any means he deems necessary to convict people. He’ll follow his instincts to the end, even when there is no evidence to back up his hunches, and use any method to bring the villains to justice. Alongside him is his long suffering assistant George Carter (Dennis Waterman), who often tries, unsuccessfully, to pull Regan back from the edge. Carter is a fascinating character – he’s the solid, good copper who, as other characters point out, is being dragged down by Regan, made more cynical and more willing to bend the rules. The relationship between the two is less chummy than you’d find in most cop show double acts – it’s clear that Carter has a love-hate relationship with his boss, passionately defending him one minute, clearly disgusted by him the next. There is an argument for saying that the series pulls back a bit – Regan is no respecter of the rules, but he’s not actually corrupt – in fact, he’s all too willing to weed out cops who are on the take. It’s a fair compromise – audiences could accept a cop who violates the odd human right, especially if it gets the guilty party, but a hero running a protection racket or in the pocket of criminal gangs would be too much.

This first series opens with a bang – Ringer sets the scene for what is to come brilliantly, and is also one of the most violent episodes. The template is laid out right away – small time villains with big ideas, surprisingly well-rounded as characters (and you also get a rare chance to see Brian Blessed giving a restrained performance); the close relationship between the police and the criminals; and the dark ending. Seen now, especially after years of edited versions on TV, it’s the violence that is most shocking – not because of the brutality, which is certainly notable, but the realism of it. This is violence that is entirely unglamorous – the fights are clumsy, hard and exhausting, and everyone comes away battered and bloody.

The rest of the episodes generally follow the same pattern - bank job, blags and petty thugs who are rarely one-dimensional while Regan battles authority (usually in the form of his very straight and unimaginative boss Haskins - Garfield Morgan), and there isn't a weak link in the lot of them. Queen’s Pawn is probably the point where Regan pushes the law to breaking point – fabricating evidence and staging a fake kidnapping to capture a killer, his obsession and bloody-mindedness are hard to watch. You almost wish the show had ended with him proven wrong, but perhaps that would’ve been another step too far.

There are lighter moments too – Thin Ice is almost like an absurdist black comedy, with Regan trying to lure a big time criminal back from European exile by stealing his beloved dog. With Brain Glover as a gormless hoodlum, it occasionally tips over into outright slapstick, which shouldn’t work. The fact that it does is a sign of how good the series was.

The final episode is also a risky one – in Abduction, Regan’s daughter is kidnapped by villains in order to get Regan to back of on an investigation. It could so easily have jumped the shark here – a series grounded in realism suddenly taking a step into melodrama. But the show remains grounded, and the performances from everyone – Thaw, Janet Key as his ex-wife – are strong and authentic. It’s also a nice end to the series, tying things in with the opening pilot (the only time we’ve previously met Mrs Regan).

The Sweeney has been badly served by TV broadcasters in recent years – sure, it’s on a lot, but at a time of day that requires cuts to the violence, the occasional nudity and the swearing, and broadcast from old recordings that don't look too good on a modern TV. This new release will come as a revelation to anyone who has only seen those versions, or perhaps not seen the series at all in years. These new Blu-rays are remarkable – the 16mm film-shot series look gorgeous, like something newly produced, and the 5.1 remix is effective too. There are several episode intros from guest stars (Dudley Sutton, Billy Murray, Wanda Ventham, Warren Mitchell, Prunella Gee) and several commentary tracks from star Waterman and various writers and directors. A nice layer of icing on an already juicy cake

.I have no hesitation in saying this is one of the best British TV series every made – essential viewing for any fan of gritty Seventies cinema, in fact. This is as essential a box set as I can think of.

Oh – and I don’t think Regan calls anyone a slag during the whole series….

DAVID FLINT

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