Crime, Again?

My husband and our house guest exclaimed over another English crime series not unlike "Vera," which we had watched for all its available seasons and were urging on our visiting friend.  So instead of watching what I have been told is a "sweet" romantic comedy starring Chris Evans we sat down to this "Broadchurch" or something like that in which a dear lad of maybe ten or twelve is murdered and his body hurled off a cliff.  Crime solving is what it is all about.  But I don't want to watch another one of these.  Are my friends and family daft?  The families, the next of kin, the local greengrocer, the postman, the police officer, his assistant, all those make up the fabric of this wee village in Scotland, I think it is, are all reasonably nice people clear enough but if they had not been endowed by the scriptwriter with the fairy dust of a murder in the neighborhood to agitate over, they would clearly be the dullest people in creation.  None of them seems capable of carrying on a conversation with even a shred of clever repartee. I'm not asking for the acerbic one liners of the Dowager Countess of Grantham, but, hey, just something to spark the remarks.  Irony is unknown to them, literary references even of the simplest sort are beyond their ken, the outside world, politics, the facts of movie stars, none of this information seems to have entered their heads, been processed and come out as part of their conversation.  They are ordinary people, I get that, but blank, and dull, and really without affect (But, come to think of it, maybe that is what ordinary people mean.) There is a young handsome reporter on the make, or so it would seem, whose plastic features are as airbrushed as his emotional repertoire.  The rest of the cast which is hardly as toothsome are rivals to him in their ordinariness.  Well, we have only watched the first of this series, and indeed were aghast to learn that the little boy's murderer will not be found for several episodes.  I am not sure I can endure such a focus on something so unbearably uninteresting.  I kept asking my husband and our friend how they identified with the drama we were watching.  We are not plumbers in a small village in the north of Great Britain, we are not a drab housewife nor her equally boring sister who seems to be second in command in the police department, nor the dreary lady who runs the newspaper where the incredibly handsome but empty young reporter hangs out, not anyone else who wanders in and out of the set and says some lines that for the obviousness would not need memorizing.  What is it?  And then they get annoyed when I ask this question.