Do you want to be disturbed? Of course you do.

You want visceral, primal fear involving love, abandonment and death. Everybody does. It's what people get from horror movies, thriller novels and, occasionally, TV. We have a powerful emotional attachment to the thrill of being made afraid by fiction. Often, the closer the fiction is to our own lives, the more powerful the experience.

I shall illustrate by telling you a wee story.

A number of years ago, while on a visit to Dublin, I was in a bar waiting to meet an old friend of mine. In the days of my youth, the bar was a literary dive. Mediocre poets falling asleep over their 14th pint. That sort of thing.

A slight, tiny figure, even in absurdly high heels, she looked up at the strapping fella and asked, "So what do you do?" The lad, his elbow on the counter, mustered a certain sangfroid, gazed down at her and said, gruffly, "I'm a butcher." The young woman shivered, visibly, her eyes widened and she squealed, "Ooooh, Jayzus!"

It was the best distillation of the thrill of fear I've ever seen.

Durham County (Global, 10 p.m.) is a six-part Canadian crime drama of the highest quality and it sure is disturbing. (It aired on pay-TV to much praise last year.) In fact, the opening few minutes are deeply, excruciatingly sinister, as the viewer is required to observe a brutal slaying. Slowly, it gets worse, as viewers realize that they are sharing their perspective with someone else, who chooses to do nothing.

From there, Durham County unfolds rapidly and efficiently. The storytelling is more in the style of sophisticated British thrillers than U.S.-style crime dramas. We meet Mike Sweeney (Hugh Dillon), a brooding, damaged and secretive homicide detective who is moving with his wife Audrey (Helene Joy) and daughters Sadie (Laurence Leboeuf) and Maddie (Cecily Austin) to an apparently pleasant suburban community. Soon we learn that Audrey is recovering from cancer and that Mike has a secret he cannot divulge.

And then there's the neighbour. He's Ray Prager (Justin Louis), a tense, muscled-up braggart with whom Mike has a tricky history. Louis, a veteran of many mediocre U.S. and Canadian productions, does his best work ever here, exuding male rage and petty rancour. Ray is a horror show unto himself. Cunning and aware that his surface charm can make women abandon their wariness, he's all coiled anger on a short fuse.

Quickly, Mike has to do his professional detective work and deal with the appalling actions of a serial killer.

While he goes about his business, it appears that a woman from his past is trying to contact him and, simultaneously, the highly charged tension between Mike and Ray means that they embark on a collision course.

Durham County is visually striking and the controlling image is that of the huge hydro pylons that loom over the homes and gardens of suburbia. Eventually, the image is used too much. The layers of emotional contamination in suburbia are revealed and the neuroses laid bare, so we don't need the emphasis on those looming pylons.

Dillon is outstanding as Sweeney. In fact, he will probably be the next great Canadian acting star, as he also has the lead role in Flashpoint, a CTV/CBS drama that will be airing in July.

Here he's obliged to signal all the complex feelings of a superficially cold, disappointed and troubled man who has made many mistakes and yet longs for the warmth and comfort of family. He's utterly compelling.

Durham County is written by Laurie Finstad-Knizhnik, directed by Adrienne Mitchell and Holly Dale, and executive produced by Janis Lundman and Adrienne Mitchell and Michael Prupas. What makes it different, often scintillating, is the predominantly female perspective on male rage and hurt.

This is one must-see, smart drama. Sombre at times but loaded with all the chills you need.