Following the massive critical and popular success of the BBC’s (and, of course, Andrew Davies’) adaptation of the Charles Dickens novel Bleak House in 2006, they tried to repeat the feat with Oliver Twist. Perhaps it’s because people are so used to the exclamation mark/musical version, or perhaps it’s because it’s simply not as good a book in the first place – whatever the reason, Oliver Twist didn’t have quite the same impact, despite some good performances. This year, it’s back to Andrew Davies, and one of Dickens’ (slightly) lesser known novels – the story of Little Dorrit, and her dealings with the mysterious Clennam family.

You know that a production is proud of its whole cast – its strength and depth – when it lists them all in alphabetical order at the beginning of an episode. This says “we have such a plethora of talent available that we simply couldn’t choose who to put at the top of the billing!” In the case of Little Dorrit – as with pretty much all BBC costume dramas – the implied boast is justified, as the cast includes, among many other names and/or faces you would recognise, Amanda Redman, Eve Myles, Andy Serkis, Freema Agyeman, Sue Johnstone, Tom Courtenay, Annette Crosby, Maxine Peake, James Fleet, Ruth Jones, Mackenzie Crook, and Matthew Macfadyen in one of the lead roles of Arthur Clennam. In fact, one of the few names you may not recognise – Claire Foy – belongs to the young actress playing the titular role of Little Dorrit. With a cast that impressive, Andrew Davies on board, and some American money in the bank, you’re expecting something pretty special.

Perhaps it is too early to really judge, but on the evidence of the first episode it appears that this production has some way to go before the word ‘special’ can be rightfully attributed to it. The first thing of note, for example, was a truly woeful CGI scene of the Victorian London skyline, which then cut to the most stage-setty London street scene I have seen on television in a long time. It was all done with good intentions – the grime, the dust, the worn shop signs – but it all came off rather forced and obvious. The prop and set people did a painstaking job, only for it to appear utterly fake and theme park-ish.

That wonderful cast, however, came to the rescue. Tom Courtenay especially, in the admittedly brilliant role of William Dorrit, “Little” Amy Dorrit’s father, is wonderful to watch. But then he has been nominated for two Oscars. He plays the “father of the Marshalsea” (a debtors’ prison) as if William were some old Shakespearean actor, full of ideas above his station, self-importance, and above all a complete reluctance to accept that he is only recognised as the “father” of the prison because he has been there the longest, never able to raise enough cash to get out, despite guilting any unsuspecting visitors into giving him a few shillings before they leave. Judy Parfitt, as Arthur Clennam’s imposing, domineering, and all-round rather scary mother, has another great role to get her teeth into, and she puts in a wonderful turn.

At the moment, the plotlines seem disparate and random – one involving a hammy, moustache-twirling, thickly French-accented Andy Serkis feels especially disconnected – but if we’ve learned anything about Dickens from previous adaptations, it’s that he loves slowly dragging the threads together. Already, the lives of the Dorrits and the Clennams have been intertwined by Little Dorrit becoming a favourite of Mrs Clennam’s, and Arthur being suspicious as to why, seeing as though she is usually so cold and pious.

There are enough good performances here to mean that it is certainly worth sticking with – despite the shaky sets, and Hammer Horror-esque camera-work used whenever the Clennam family secret is mentioned – and you always know that with Dickens the least you are going to get is a rollicking good story.