Dept. Q, Netflix Review – Danish Crime Thriller Finds a New Home in Edinburgh

Netflix’s latest foray into crime drama, Dept. Q, is a fascinating hybrid — at once gritty, stylish, and oddly cosmopolitan. Adapted from Mercy, the first novel in Jussi Adler-Olsen’s bestselling Danish series, the show relocates the narrative from Copenhagen to Edinburgh. It’s an ambitious move that immediately raises questions about authenticity, tone, and audience reception. Can a series rooted in the bleak rhythms of Nordic noir successfully translate to Scotland’s tartan noir tradition?

The creative reins are held by American writer-director Scott Frank, best known for The Queen’s Gambit and Logan. Frank has shown a knack for fusing atmosphere with psychological tension, and in Dept. Q he attempts something similar: weaving together Danish source material, Scottish locations, and an English lead actor in Matthew Goode. The result is intriguing, sometimes uneven, but undeniably watchable.

Matthew Goode as Carl Morck

At the heart of the series is Goode’s portrayal of Detective Chief Inspector Carl Morck, a character who both embodies and subverts the archetypal “troubled detective.” Goode, often associated with urbane elegance in Downton Abbey and The Crown, pivots sharply here. His Morck is a man scarred by violence — the series begins with a harrowing ambush in which Morck and his partner, DI Hardy (Jamie Sives), are attacked by a masked gunman. Hardy is grievously wounded, and the trauma hangs over Morck like a permanent shadow.

From the outset, Morck is abrasive, insubordinate, and deeply antisocial. He breaks rules with abandon, antagonises colleagues, and treats superiors with contempt. In lesser hands, this could slip into cliché — the “maverick cop” trope seen countless times. But Goode injects the role with a biting wit and brittle vulnerability that keeps the character compelling. He’s caustic, yes, but he’s also recognisably human, a man numbed by guilt and struggling to function in a world that demands conformity.

Adding to Morck’s idiosyncrasy is his mode of transport: a battered maroon Ford Sierra. It’s the kind of detail that might feel contrived, but the car becomes an extension of his character — out of step with its surroundings, unpredictable, and stubbornly unfashionable. Goode himself joked in an interview that the car would sometimes restart after being switched off, requiring him to “give it a kick.” It’s an almost comic note in an otherwise brooding tale, a reminder that noir thrives on texture as much as tone.

Edinburgh as Noir Canvas

One of the show’s greatest strengths is its setting. Edinburgh, with its medieval closes, Georgian elegance, and looming volcanic landscape, proves an inspired stand-in for Nordic gloom. The city’s gothic architecture and unpredictable weather give Dept. Q a visual richness that rivals its Danish counterpart. Scott Frank leans heavily on chiaroscuro imagery: golden light flickering through pub windows, rain-slick cobblestones reflecting neon, and shadows that seem to breathe.

Scotland’s broader “tartan noir” tradition — embodied in writers like Ian Rankin and Val McDermid — provides fertile ground. In that sense, Dept. Q feels less like a transplant and more like a cultural bridge, marrying Danish bleakness with Scottish grit. The fusion works best in the quieter moments, when Morck stalks through foggy streets or exchanges terse dialogue in police offices steeped in wood and whisky fumes.

Supporting Cast and Storytelling

While Goode dominates, the supporting cast adds texture. Jamie Sives as DI Hardy, though sidelined by his injuries early on, provides a poignant counterpoint to Morck’s abrasive solitude. Hardy’s presence reminds viewers of what Morck has lost — not just a colleague but the last tether to camaraderie.

The plotting retains Adler-Olsen’s signature blend of mystery and social critique. Cold cases, institutional failures, and buried traumas converge, echoing the themes of Scandinavian noir. Yet Frank adapts them with a Scottish inflection: corruption in local politics, sectarian tensions, and the undercurrents of class division all seep into the narrative.

Where the series occasionally falters is pacing. Episodes swing between taut, suspenseful interrogations and slower stretches that risk indulgence. Some viewers may find Morck’s relentless hostility grating, especially without the balance of a more prominent sidekick figure. Still, the overall rhythm builds toward a satisfying crescendo, rewarding patience with both emotional heft and narrative payoff.

The Noir Tradition Reimagined

Dept. Q belongs firmly in the lineage of iconic misfit detectives — from Inspector Morse’s melancholic intellect to Saga Norén’s blunt brilliance in The Bridge. But whereas those characters were defined by subtle eccentricities, Morck leans into physicality. He’s not just a thinker but a bruiser, shockingly adept at violence when pushed. This makes the series feel more visceral, more dangerous, and occasionally more pulpy than its Nordic cousins.

The fusion of noir traditions — Danish, Scottish, and American — makes Dept. Q a curious beast. At times it feels slightly overdetermined, as if the show is trying too hard to prove its global pedigree. But when it works, it delivers a haunting, atmospheric thrill ride.

Verdict

Netflix’s Dept. Q is a bold experiment in cultural adaptation, carried by Matthew Goode’s commanding, jagged performance. It may not fully escape the clichés of the crime genre, but its lush Edinburgh setting, bruised protagonist, and noir sensibility make it hard to look away. For fans of The Talented Mr. Ripley or The Night Manager, it offers a similar cocktail of glamour, menace, and moral ambiguity.

Not flawless, but captivating — Dept. Q proves that noir, like crime itself, respects no borders.