The Light in the Hall review: This dark crime drama hides its contrivances and coincidences underneath a 'starless and bible black' coat

This tale of murder, a community at war with itself and the ins and outs of the water industry has barely a glint of light across the whole piece.

The corner of south-west Wales where the story unfolds is slate-grey and dismal, the skies lowering over the small fictional town of Llanemlyn. The waters of the reservoir, the focus of much of the plot, reflect the black clouds, making the surrounding hills and dense forests look as if they have been drawn in charcoal.

Meanwhile, the townsfolk wear sullen expressions, as if the denim dungarees and shapeless jackets they wear have given them a permanent sense of the blues.

And the plot is just as dark.

It involves bomb plots and eco-terrorism, big business riding roughshod over the townsfolk's wishes, miscarriages of justice and the harms parents inflict on their children when their dreams for themselves turn to ashes.

The first series of The Light in the Hall, aired in 2023 and saw a young journalist coming home to Llanemlyn after many years away to investigate the death of her best friend 18 years before.

This new series does away with almost all of the cast from the first series, focusing instead on Caryl (Sian Reese-Williams), the butcher's daughter who held vital clues in the first instalment which has inspired her to throw away her cleaver and apron and become a trainee journalist, fighting the good fight for the little guy.

It's an idealistic position, endorsed by the script-writers who give Caryl an opportunity at the local paper as long as, the editor tells her, “she brings in a big story”.

Of course, as any fool knows, journalism is that simple – you need a big story, one will land in your lap.

In this instance, it's convicted killer Rhys Owen (Mark Lewis-Jones, one of the busiest actors in the world) who has returned home to look after his ailing dad and is protesting his innocence.

Rhys, you see, apparently killed his cousin Llyr when a bomb aimed at stopping the expansion of the deep, dark reservoir accidentally – or not – exploded early.

And so Caryl digs deeper, an effort made considerably easier by the fact that everyone in Llanemlyn is either related to each other, works with each other or is having a bunk up with each other.

Life in a small town, eh?

So Caryl's journalism lecturer Eve (Nia Roberts) is the mum of a protestor against another expansion to the reservoir. Eve also happens to be the girlfriend of Llyr when he died, who is the father of the protester.

Her daughter, Mabli (Maeve Courtier-Lilley) is involved with another of the anti-reservoir lor, Hari (Tom Rhys Harries) who also happens to be enjoying a quick knee-trembler in an alleyway with Eve.

All of which is further complicated by the fact that the reservoir tycoon Robert (Robert Glenister) is Eve's dad, and therefore Mabli's grandad, and Hari's dad is the local copper Gareth (Matthew Gravelle).

Phew.

Secrets are revealed, old enmities surface and hidden cracks in the community are suddenly thrown into sharp relief as some folks welcome the chance to move out of their decrepit houses to make way for the bigger reservoir while others resent the fact their land is being swallowed up to provide water for people in faraway cities.

For a small Welsh market town, it's a frightfully heady brew, and one in which coincidences threaten to derail your confidence in the plot.

That they don't, entirely, is mostly down to that drab, noirish atmosphere, all bruised and brooding, as if the film-makers had taken a leaf out of Welsh bard Dylan Thomas's book and made everything “starless and bible black”.

You spot things in shadows and lurk in corners with the camera and you can almost feel the drizzle on your nose.

By them time you emerge, blinking, into the light you can just about forget the contrivances and coincidences and plot holes.

Now where's the light switch? It's like Blackpool Illuminations in here.