In the quaint, cobblestoned heart of Stratford-upon-Avon—where the ghost of the Bard himself seems to linger in every half-timbered facade and whispered sonnet—the unlikeliest detective duo has been brewing mischief and murder-solving magic since 2018. Shakespeare & Hathaway: Private Investigators burst onto BBC screens like a well-aimed custard pie to the face of stuffy crime dramas, blending cozy capers with Shakespearean puns sharper than a rapier. The series follows the bickering brilliance of Frank Hathaway (Mark Benton’s gruff, ex-cop with a penchant for poetry and pints) and Luella Shakespeare (Jo Joyner’s bubbly ex-hairdresser turned sleuth, whose intuition cuts through clues like a hot perm rod). Joined by the perpetually underestimated Sebastian Brudenell (Patrick Walshe McBride’s aspiring thespian sidekick, forever fumbling disguises and dramatic entrances), they’ve unraveled everything from haunted theaters to poisoned chalices across four deliriously daft seasons. But after a nail-biting hiatus that had fans pacing the Avon like anxious groundlings, the quirky quartet is back—bigger, bolder, and bloodier than ever. Series five premieres this month on U&Alibi, with BBC iPlayer hot on its heels, and early buzz from set spies and screener peeks is electric: “It’s the cozy crime fix we’ve been sonnet-starved for—out-twisting Midsomer Murders with wit that would make the Bard blush.”

Picture this: It’s a drizzly autumn morning in 2025, and production wrapped just in time for the October 8 premiere. Filming kicked off last September amid Stratford’s golden foliage, capturing the town’s timeless charm—from the creaky floors of Hathaway’s ramshackle office to the misty banks of the river where bodies have a habit of bobbing up like forgotten props. Creator Paul Matthew Thompson (honoring the late Jude Tindall’s vision) has cranked the dial on the show’s signature alchemy: heartfelt humor laced with high-stakes hijinks, all wrapped in a bow of Bardic references. “We’re not just solving crimes; we’re staging them,” Thompson quipped during a recent press junket. This season’s six episodes promise the highest body count yet—think three grisly demises per outing, up from the usual two—while keeping the tone as light as a Midsummer Night’s farce. Stakes? Sky-high. The agency’s on the brink of bankruptcy after a disastrous investment in a cursed Globe Theatre replica, forcing Frank and Lu to take on cases that drag them into the underbelly of Stratford’s glittering tourism trade. Forged first folios, Elizabethan extortion rackets, and a killer who’s quoting Macbeth mid-murder—it’s cozy crime on steroids, with twists that loop-de-loop like a poorly tied maypole.

At the core of the comeback is the electric chemistry between Joyner and Benton, a pairing that’s aged like fine cheddar: crumbly on the edges but irresistibly sharp. Mark Benton, 64 and still channeling the lovable lug from Waterloo Road and Doctor Who cameos, imbues Frank with a world-weary charm that’s equal parts hard-boiled gumshoe and hapless Hamlet. This season, Frank grapples with a midlife meltdown—his estranged daughter resurfaces, demanding a cut of the agency to fund her avant-garde puppet troupe. “Frank’s always been the straight man in a world gone wobbly,” Benton laughs. “But now? He’s juggling ghosts from his cop days and a daughter who thinks soliloquies are tax write-offs. It’s his juiciest arc yet.” Watch for a gut-punch episode where Frank goes undercover as a Renaissance fair jouster, only to skewer the wrong suspect—literally—leading to a chase through a flock of bewildered falcons.

Jo Joyner, 47, fresh off EastEnders soap opera glory and a steamy turn in The Wives, brings Luella’s irrepressible spark to fever pitch. The ex-stylist with a sixth sense for scandal is now moonlighting as a amateur cryptographer, decoding clues hidden in Shakespearean marginalia. Her personal plotline? A whirlwind romance with a suave antiques dealer who’s either her soulmate or the season’s red herring—early reactions whisper “the steamiest subplot since Romeo and Juliet… minus the poison.” Joyner’s Luella is the show’s beating heart: optimistic, outrageously attired (think tweed capes over floral frocks), and unafraid to wield a hairpin as a lockpick. “Lu’s my happy place,” Joyner shares. “She’s proof that anyone can sleuth their way out of a bad hair day. This series lets her shine—leading interrogations in tearooms, outwitting villains with vinaigrette traps. It’s empowering fluff with fangs.” Their banter? Peak perfection. Expect classics like Frank’s grumbled “To be or not to be… solvent?” met with Lu’s cheery “That is the question—and I’ve got the bob for it!”

Rounding out the trio, Patrick Walshe McBride’s Sebastian steals scenes as the eager intern whose disguises are as convincing as a pantomime dame. This season, he finally lands a West End understudy gig, only for it to clash with a case involving a sabotaged Hamlet production where the prince drops dead for real mid-“To be or naught.” McBride, a Dracula alum with comic timing honed in Father Brown, delivers lines like “Alas, poor Yorick—I knew him, but not that well” with such earnest goofiness that you’ll snort your tea. The dynamic elevates the show beyond mere whodunits; it’s a love letter to ensemble comedy, where every fumble furthers the plot.

What sets series five ablaze is its audacious plotlines, each a standalone gem laced with literary lunacy. Episode one, “The Witches’ Brew,” opens with a coven of yoga witches brewing more than herbal teas—poisoned potions at a wellness retreat gone wicked. Frank and Lu infiltrate as “enlightened elders,” leading to a hallucinatory sequence where suspects spout Macbeth prophecies while chasing each other through a hedge maze. Twists abound: the victim was no innocent; she was a blackmailer peddling cursed amulets. By the cliffhanger, Sebastian’s botched love potion (meant for a witness) sparks a village-wide infatuation epidemic—cue chaotic couplings and a dawn raid on a thatched-roof brothel.

Mid-season ramps up with “Sonnet of Secrets,” a locked-room mystery in a facsimile of Anne Hathaway’s cottage. A rare sonnet manuscript vanishes, and the curator croaks clutching a quill dipped in arsenic. Luella’s decryption skills reveal a code pointing to a ring of academic forgers, but the real shocker? Frank’s old police rival is pulling strings from the shadows, forcing a mentor-mentee betrayal that hits harder than a catapulted cannonball. Then there’s “Othello’s Shadow,” where jealousy festers in a theater troupe: the Moorish lead is strangled with his own prop scarf, and Lu suspects the understudy’s got green-eyes for the spotlight. Disguises galore—Sebastian as a Moorish merchant, Frank as a grumpy critic—culminate in a finale farce at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, complete with trapdoors and tumbling scenery.

Critics who’ve glimpsed advance cuts are swooning. “Out-twists Midsomer with half the gore and twice the guffaws,” raves one trade review. “A cozy crime sensation that’s shockingly addictive—Shakespeare would approve.” Fans echo the hype on social scrolls: #ShakesAndHathBack trends with memes of Frank’s scowl captioned “When the clue’s a red herring… and so is your lunch.” The show’s secret sauce? Its unapologetic embrace of the absurd. In a genre bloated with brooding Line of Duty clones, Shakespeare & Hathaway opts for levity: murders amid morris dances, suspects quoting The Tempest while tampering with teacups. Visually, it’s a feast—dappled sunlight on Tudor beams, costume designer Annie Hardinge’s frocks popping like sonnets in iambic pentameter. The score, a whimsical weave of lute and lounge jazz, underscores every pratfall.

Yet beneath the whimsy lurks timely bite. Series five nods to modern woes: the gig economy’s grind (the agency’s GoFundMe woes), eco-sabotage in “The Forest of Arden Arsonist,” and even a sly swipe at influencer culture with a TikTok tarot reader turned toxic. It’s why the show resonates—cozy escapism with clever commentary, proving Stratford’s sleuths can tackle togas and trolls alike.

As the curtain rises on this triumphant return, one thing’s clear: Frank, Lu, and Sebastian aren’t just back; they’re bard-er than before. With stakes that soar, bodies that pile (politely), and twists that tangle like a poorly knotted cravat, Shakespeare & Hathaway reclaims its throne as cozy crime royalty. Whether you’re a die-hard devotee or a newbie nabbing clues, this season’s a soliloquy worth savoring. To sleuth or not to sleuth? Oh, do—by Jove, it’s marvelous. The Avon awaits; grab your deerstalker and dive in.