Shetland Season 10 Review: Cold Crimes, Colder Souls

TL;DR

It’s still raining, everyone’s still emotionally constipated, and somehow this frosty misery machine still works.

Shetland Season 10 is cold, slow, joyless, and stubbornly brilliant.

It doesn’t care if you’re entertained. It cares if you’re paying attention. It doesn’t want your affection. It wants your patience. And if you give it that, it rewards you with quiet dread, moral rot, and some of the most consistent crime TV still breathing.

Misery never looked so confident.

If Shetland Season 10 makes you crave bleak isolation, moral decay, and people who hate joy, lean into it properly.

Buy the Barbour Men’s Bedale Wax Jacket on Amazon and dress like you’ve emotionally shut down since 2003. Cold wind, colder soul. Same vibe.

Let’s get this out of the way.

Shetland is now on Season 10, which means two things are guaranteed:

1. Someone is dead in a place that looks like a postcard.

2. Everyone alive reacts as if happiness was outlawed in 1998.

And yet here we are. Still watching. Still hooked. Still weirdly comforted by the idea that at least our lives aren’t this grey.

Yes Officer, I’m Rooting for the Wrong People Again

CRIMENET rule number one: if a show wants me to admire the police, it better work hard.

Season 10 does not. Instead, it accidentally does something better: it makes the criminals feel human and the cops feel like emotionally bankrupt HR managers with badges.

The suspects are angry, desperate, messy, and occasionally understandable. The police are calm, professional, morally upright, and about as fun as a damp spreadsheet. If the show thinks I’m siding with authority figures who look like they file complaints about laughter, it’s mistaken.

We root for the cracks. Always.

Nothing Happens Fast, Including Your Pulse

This season moves at the speed of tectonic plates having a nap.

Things happen, technically. Clues emerge. Conversations occur. But if you’re expecting urgency, twists, or anything resembling adrenaline, you’re watching the wrong channel.

This is crime drama for people who think patience is a personality trait. Episodes feel like one long, polite interrogation of your attention span.

And somehow, against all logic, it works. Like a glacier. Boring to look at. Devastating if you stand in its way.

Emotionally Damaged Professionals in Sensible Coats

There are no bad performances here. Not one.

There are, however, a lot of faces that suggest a deep hatred of mornings, afternoons, evenings, and existence itself.

The cast delivers restrained, serious, professional acting. Nobody shouts. Nobody chews scenery. Nobody smiles unless required by law. It’s all very British, very controlled, and very good.

You don’t love these people. You respect them from a safe distance, like a moody neighbour who sharpens knives in silence.

Every Line Delivered Like It Costs £5

Dialogue in Season 10 is clipped, efficient, and emotionally withheld like classified documents.

Nobody explains their feelings. Nobody gives speeches. Conversations feel like verbal chess games played by people who actively dislike chess.

When someone finally snaps, it’s shocking not because it’s dramatic, but because you forgot these characters were capable of raising their voice above “disappointed librarian.”

It’s sharp writing. It’s also allergic to warmth.

Welcome to Paradise, Please Feel Bad Immediately

The Shetland Isles remain the real lead character.

Wind howls. Seas glower. Houses stare back at you like they know what you did. Every wide shot screams: “You should not have come here, and you will not leave unchanged.”

It’s gorgeous in the way a funeral in 4K is gorgeous. You admire it while feeling vaguely unwell.

Watching Shetland requires patience, stamina, and something strong.

Enter the Stanley Classic Legendary Vacuum Insulated Bottle.

Keeps your coffee hot longer than the plot advances.

Filmed Like Happiness Was Cut from the Budget

Season 10 refuses spectacle. The camera doesn’t show off. The editing doesn’t rush. The direction assumes you’re an adult who can sit still and cope.

This is television that looks you in the eye and says, “If you’re bored, that’s your problem.”

It’s a flex. A deeply unwelcoming one.

Sad Violins for Sad People Doing Sad Things

The music whispers rather than sings. It lurks. It broods. It occasionally reminds you that despair has a melody.

No big cues. No emotional manipulation. Just low-grade unease, like a storm that never quite breaks.

Everyone’s Guilty, Some Just Have Better Manners

Season 10 continues the show’s proud tradition of refusing moral clarity.

There are no heroes here. Just people doing their jobs badly, emotionally speaking. Crime isn’t sensationalized, justice isn’t celebrated, and closure is treated like a myth invented by Americans.

It’s refreshingly cynical. Almost comforting.

One Episode at a Time or Seek Medical Advice

Binging this season is possible, but not advisable unless you enjoy staring into the middle distance afterward.

This is slow, heavy television meant to be absorbed, not inhaled. Watch one. Reflect. Question your life choices. Repeat.

Ten Seasons In and Still Allergic to Smiling

Most shows collapse by Season 6. Shetland just tightens its jaw and keeps going.

Season 10 proves the formula hasn’t rotted. It hasn’t evolved much either, but that’s the point. This show survives by not changing, like a rock battered by waves that simply refuses to erode.

Finished Season 10 and feeling emotionally hollow? Excellent.

Light the Yankee Candle – Midsummer’s Night and let your living room smell like regret, rain, and unresolved trauma. Closure sold separately.

FAQ

Is Shetland Season 10 worth watching now? Yes, if you enjoy crime drama that actively resents enthusiasm.

Is it too slow? Only if you believe stories should hurry.

Do the cops look heroic this season? No. They look tired. Correctly so.

Is it still good without the old lead? Different energy, same bleak soul.

Will this cheer me up? Absolutely not. And that’s the appeal.