What if the scruffy outsider, dismissed by the elite, was the only one who could see through their lies? In an era where the divide between rich and poor is wider than ever, television’s favourite detectives are once again reminding us that class matters – and that sometimes, the underdog is the sharpest mind in the room.
When Columbo first shuffled onto television screens in the 1970s, he was more than a rumpled detective with a knack for solving impossible cases. As Lilian Mathieu observes in his analysis of the character, Columbo’s enduring appeal lies in his outsider status: a working-class figure regularly outsmarting the wealthy and powerful in their own homes. This was not just clever storytelling – it was a mirror held up to a society increasingly anxious about class divides. The 1970s marked a turning point in Western societies. Economic upheaval, the aftermath of the Vietnam War, and growing scepticism towards authority shaped a decade of cultural change. Income inequality, which had remained relatively flat since the post-war years, began to rise sharply from 1979 onwards. The gap between rich and poor widened dramatically throughout the 1980s, and Columbo’s blue-collar tenacity against elite arrogance perfectly reflected these real-world tensions.
By the 1990s and 2000s, the tone of detective stories had changed. Economic optimism, expanding higher education, and the rise of the aspirational middle class created a sense that social mobility was within reach. Television detectives of this era – think Monk, The Mentalist, or Numb3rs – were defined more by quirky personal traits than by class difference. The focus shifted away from class struggle, reflecting a time when upward mobility and individualism seemed possible for many.
Now, the pendulum is swinging back. The cost of living crisis, stagnant wages, and renewed anger at global elites have reignited class consciousness. This shift is unmistakable in the new wave of cosy crime dramas. Poker Face is a prime example – a modern-day Columbo in both structure and spirit. Natasha Lyonne’s Charlie Cale travels from town to town, uncovering murder and deception among the privileged. Like Columbo, Charlie is underestimated because of her background and appearance. Her outsider’s perspective is her greatest asset, allowing her to see what others miss and outwit the rich and powerful. Similarly, High Potential and its French original, HPI, put working-class women at the heart of their mysteries. Morgane in HPI and Morgan in High Potential are cleaners and single mothers. Their resourcefulness and resilience, shaped by their lives on the margins, allow them to outthink both criminals and authorities. Their class difference is not just a background detail – it is central to their detective work.
The resurgence of class-focused storytelling in cosy crime dramas is no accident. As inequality and social immobility once again dominate the headlines, audiences find comfort – and perhaps hope – in stories where outsiders see what insiders cannot. These detectives are not simply quirky; their backgrounds give them a unique lens on the world, one that allows them to challenge, and sometimes overturn, the established order. From Columbo to Poker Face and High Potential, the greatest trick of these working-class detectives may be to make us believe, even if only for a moment, that in a world where money seems to buy everything, someone like them can ensure the entitled elites do not get away with murder.
Claire Tavernier 