Boxing Day evening has become a strong slot to kick off dark BBC drama, with two excellent Agatha Christie adaptations being shown in recent years that have relished in the kind of misdeeds that suit the post-gift comedown. This year we had a break from the golden era of crime for something contemporary: Jessie Burton’s bestselling novel The Miniaturist, published in 2014, adapted for the screen by John Brownlow. Still firmly in the realm of mystery, this was not about murder, but offered a very intriguing set of puzzles to be solved – although the answer were, perhaps, less suited to the screen than the page. So far so good – coming of age stories that feature a forbidding, even spooky, element have long been popular territory, from Du Maurier’s classic Rebecca to Guillermo Del Toro’s extravagant Crimson Peak. The element of the supernatural in the case of The Miniaturist springs from the doll’s house that bridegroom Johannes Brandt (Alex Hassell) gives Petronella as a wedding present. Soon small items of furniture begin to arrive via messenger; then dolls that are obviously representations of members of the household. And then secrets are revealed: a set of keys, a crib, a hidden pregnancy. All via the skill of the Miniaturist. How could this pale craftswoman, glimpsed wandering beside the canals, know so much about the Brandt family? If, like me, you find dolls houses innately creepy, then the idea of all this sounds rewardingly sinister. But although I was intrigued by this element, I didn’t find it as powerful as I thought I might. The dolls’ house itself, sitting in the corner of Nella’s room with a curtain blocking it from view, never quite commanded my attention, and there wasn’t a great deal of time spent on the small figures. What could have been genuinely scary stayed simply as a curiosity – what really commanded the attention in this adaptation was Marin Brandt, and her attempts to secure power. Even though there are many similarities between those adaptations, Garai’s performances are worlds away from each other. In one, she had to be all sweetness to secure any power, literally selling herself as an escape from unhappiness. In The Miniaturist, she keeps out all hint of emotion, never smiles, never shows weakness, and turns on anyone who dares to disagree with her. At least, until she crumbles and rots, just like the sugar in the warehouse, and then falls apart completely, and Petronella must step up to the task of saving the Brandts, if that’s possible. What a brilliant actor Garai is, to inhabit these very different roles so well, and the sudden death of Marin left me feeling a bit bereft. The plot wound up, and we saw Nella, alone, suddenly thrust into power herself and determined to make good use of it, although you have to wonder how long she would manage to hold on to the reins in a world so firmly set against her. Considering there were so many strong elements to The Miniaturist I was surprised to find that I felt dissatisfied once the credits had rolled. I would be tempted to put it down the usual problems that come with adapting novels – there’s simply not enough time to put everything on screen. But, in this case, I think maybe there are elements that might just better suit a novel anyway. The story relies on the idea that the miniaturist has seen things that were there all the time but nobody else was paying attention to – Marin’s pregnancy, for instance. I can see how, on the page, that might make a lot more sense, with the novelist being able to hint at things, moments, asides, that build to create an agreement that those revelations were always close to make a satisfying denouement. On the screen, in this version, I’m not sure I could believe that. For that reason, I now want to seek out the novel and read it for myself, just so I can see if those clues are present in the pages, or if the dolls themselves are used in a more effective fashion there. The Miniaturist was solid entertainment that held me, and I loved the performances throughout, and the way it looked. But I want to search for more detail to make this story really shine, and I wonder if I might find it in the intricate, up-close world of the novel instead.