I’ve always thought I’d be a fabulous detective. I suspect it’s a side effect of the endless true crime stuff I watch – but I reckon I’ve an eye for the details, you know. A good sixth sense. The ability to spot that small, inconsequential something that turns out to be oh-so consequential after all.
It is, of course, complete bollocks. Much like playing Back 4 Blood won’t prep you for a real-world zombie apocalypse, bingeing true crime documentaries hasn’t taught me much that I can apply to real-life bar one exception (shout “Fire!” and not “Help!” if you’re at risk as that’s more likely to attract assistance; you’re welcome), and that became abundantly clear when I stepped into Singapore’s shadowy underbelly and into the shoes of Amira Darma, a freshly-minted private investigator who, as it so often goes, ends up embroiled in something she hadn’t quite been expecting.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, the titular Chinatown Detective Agency does exactly what it says on the tin, with a peri-futuristic glimpse of a neon-soaked Singapore serving as the striking backdrop to a sea of crooked business people and shady politicians. An ex-cop, Amira’s funnelled some early cases from collegial ex-colleague, but from there she builds her own client roster of the damned and the desperate and everything in-between.
