I saw Lewis driving a bus today. In Shropshire. Lewis the detective: not cuddly, man-next-door-watering-his-lawn, slightly bewildered Lewis of Oxford, the down-trodden sidekick of Inspector Morse; the Lewis who manned-up and got a promotion and his own TV series after Morse sprang his mortal coil; the Lewis who now has his own sidekick, a more wooden version of Boris Karloff. Not that Lewis.
I’m talking about the Lewis from a much tougher place than leafy Oxford. A much tougher time than the pampered Occidental turn-of-the-millenium. I’m talking about Lewis from the future, from Detroit/Delta City. I’m talking about the cuddly, girl-next-door-hanging-her-smalls-on-the-line, slightly embattled sidekick to Robocop, the mechanised policeman from Paul Verhoeven’s classic dystopian future nightmare, circa 1987.
