The latest installation, though, went from odd to offensive. In it, Wallander's policeman partner is killed. Wallander investigates and discovers that his partner was gay and having an affair with a cute young transvestite who turns out to be the killer.
Naturally I'm annoyed that the transvestite did it, because in my experience they're more likely to emcee bingo at the local piano bar than shiv some dude with a pointy lipstick. Still, I recognize that this is television, and heterosexual housewives can't kill everyone.
The part that really pissed me off, though, was the end. After the transvestite is thrown in jail, somebody tells Wallander something else he didn't know:
His partner was madly in love with him.
Now, if you think about this for a second, you'll realize it's ridiculous. Kenneth Branagh is nearing sixty. He's saggy and craggy and -- in this portrayal, at least -- butch as Jason Statham's left testicle. Which means his dead gay partner liked (1) lithe young men who wear pert blonde bobs, and (2) butch old cops about twelve minutes from retirement.
Which, you know, is pretty close to saying that gay dudes go for just about anything with a dick.
In my mind, that's offensive, and it's easy to see it if we draw a parallel in the heterosexual world. On Two and a Half Men, Charlie Sheen isn't going to date a Brazilian supermodel one night and then a German shotputter the next. On Moonlighting Bruce Willis didn't sweet-talk Cybill Shepherd all afternoon and date Wanda Sykes at night. On Three's Company, Jack never tried to catch a glimpse of Janet in the shower, then tossed a bucket of water on Mrs. Roper so he could see her boobs.
No, heteros have types they find attractive. News flash to PBS: gay people have types too. We like either butch or femme. We like either smart or stupid. We like either tall or short. We can cut prospective partners a little slack, but not go crazy. If, for example, a gay dude likes transvestites, he's probably not going to get a hard-on when Wilfrid Brimley walks by.
According to the folks at Wallander, though, all that really matters to us is dick.
Speaking for myself and probably a few transvestites, they can shove it anywhere it fits.
