There’s a certain magic that happens when two powerhouse actors are cast at the heart of a new television drama. ITV’s latest crime thriller, Gone, fully leans into this formula, pitting David Morrissey and Eve Myles against each other in a tightly wound mystery set against the rarefied backdrop of a private school in Bristol. The series, which began airing in March 2026, is already causing a stir—not just for its cast, but for the way it toys with our expectations of what a crime drama can be.
Morrissey takes on the role of Michael Polly, a stern, granite-faced headmaster whose life is defined by discipline and routine. He rules over St Bartholomew’s, a prestigious institution that seems to reflect his own rigid sensibilities. Living on the school grounds with his wife, Sarah—a music teacher—and their adult daughter, Alana, who also teaches at the school, Michael appears to have built his entire world within the walls of this academic fortress. Yet, as the series opens, cracks begin to show.
Sarah’s sudden disappearance shatters the family’s carefully constructed life. But if you’re expecting an outpouring of emotion from Michael, you’ll be left wanting. As reported by The Killing Times, his reaction is “astonishingly muted.” In fact, when Detective Sergeant Annie Cassidy (Eve Myles) arrives to investigate, Michael’s primary concern seems to be the state of his carpets rather than the fate of his wife. According to The Independent, his first response to the news that a body has been found is to reprimand Annie for tracking mud into his home. It’s a detail that’s both darkly comic and deeply unsettling, setting the tone for a series where nothing is quite as it seems.
DS Annie Cassidy, played with understated brilliance by Myles, is the perfect foil to Michael’s emotional reserve. She’s practical, observant, and relentless in her pursuit of the truth. As The Killing Times notes, Myles “excels in roles that are grounded and quietly persistent,” and her portrayal of Cassidy is no exception. She quickly zeroes in on Michael’s lack of visible distress, placing him firmly at the top of her suspect list. But is his coldness a sign of guilt, or just the product of a lifetime spent suppressing emotion?
Gone is inspired by the real-life detective work chronicled in Julie Mackay and Robert Murphy’s 2024 book, To Hunt a Killer. This connection lends the series a sense of authenticity, grounding its more dramatic moments in the routines and frustrations of actual police work. The show’s creator, George Kay, is no stranger to true crime, having previously penned The Long Shadow, a drama praised for its nuanced exploration of the Yorkshire Ripper case. Here, Kay once again steers clear of sensationalism, focusing instead on the psychological toll of crime—on both investigators and those caught in the web of suspicion.
The first episode is a slow burn, meticulously setting the stage rather than rushing headlong into action. The camera lingers on the rituals of school life—a rugby match, a ferocious cello performance, the daily assembly—each one hinting at the secrets simmering beneath the surface. As The Guardian observes, “Every hideously tense second is weighted with the sense that something Profound and/or Awful is about to rear up from the bracken and thwack us in our preconceptions.” The show delights in subverting expectations, inviting viewers to question their own snap judgments about Michael and those around him.
Family dynamics are at the heart of the story. Alana, the Pollys’ daughter, is increasingly distraught as her mother’s absence stretches from hours into days. In a quietly devastating scene, she asks her father if he and Sarah had argued before the disappearance. Michael’s reply is chilling in its detachment: “We didn’t argue. We never do.” The silence that follows is as telling as any confession.
As the investigation deepens, Annie Cassidy finds herself sidelined, demoted from lead detective to family liaison officer. The implication—that this is somehow now “man’s work”—is left hanging, a subtle nod to the institutional pressures and gender dynamics that pervade both the police force and the school itself. Yet Annie remains undeterred, her outsider status giving her a unique vantage point from which to observe the Pollys’ tangled relationships.
By the end of the first episode, the stakes are raised dramatically with the discovery of a body. Suspicion tightens around Michael, whose emotional reserve now appears almost pathological. But Gone refuses to make things easy for its audience. As The Independent points out, “the question of whether or not Michael Polly killed his wife feels almost incidental.” The real intrigue lies in the ambiguity of his character. Is he a monster, or simply a man trapped by the expectations of his role?
The show’s cleverness lies in its willingness to let uncertainty linger. Towards the end of the second episode, Michael is seen alone in a shed on the school grounds, finally breaking down in tears. Are these tears of grief, guilt, or simply the release of long-suppressed emotion? The answer is left tantalizingly unclear. As The Guardian aptly puts it, “Gone makes us work for our supper. Clues arrive at the table slowly and from unexpected angles.”
The supporting cast adds further layers of complexity. Schoolboy Dylan Sedgewick, a rugby star with a troubled streak, seems burdened by secrets of his own. A cold case involving a missing teenager resurfaces, intertwining with the current investigation and hinting at the possibility of deeper rot within the school community. Even the school’s teenagers, notes The Independent, “seem slightly haunted,” as if the institution’s stifling atmosphere has seeped into every corner of their lives.
Visually, Gone is handsomely shot, with lingering aerial views of dense, well-heeled woodland and the imposing school buildings. The tone is more quietly intriguing than pulse-pounding—a deliberate choice that allows the drama to unfold at its own pace. The show’s six-episode structure promises a gradual revelation of secrets, with each installment peeling back another layer of the mystery.
Ultimately, Gone is less about solving a crime than about exploring the emotional fallout of suspicion and loss. It’s a story about masculinity, institutional power, and the corrosive effects of secrets kept too long. With Morrissey and Myles at the helm, the series is as much a character study as a whodunit—one that dares viewers to look past the obvious and question their own assumptions.
As the series gathers momentum, viewers are left to wonder: Is Michael Polly guilty, or simply the product of a system that values control above all else? With every episode, Gone draws us deeper into its web, reminding us that in the world of crime drama, nothing is ever as straightforward as it seems.