Coldwater cast guide: Andrew Lincoln leads ITV's new Scottish thriller

Andrew Lincoln is back on UK television, fronting a tense new ITV drama set in the Scottish countryside. Premiering on September 14, 2025, Coldwater is a six-part thriller about a family that swaps east London for a new life in rural Scotland after a shattering incident—only to discover that the neighbors they hoped would offer peace may be more dangerous than the city they left behind.

The hook is simple and sharp: John uproots his wife and kids to reset their lives. The village looks picture-postcard. But odd encounters pile up. Boundaries blur. Someone next door seems to know too much. The show leans into that unease—quiet lanes, long shadows, and the sinking feeling that starting over doesn’t wipe the slate clean.

Cast and characters: who’s who

Andrew Lincoln plays John, a father rattled by trauma and desperate to protect his family. For many, he’ll always be Rick Grimes from The Walking Dead. Others remember him as the cue-card romantic in Love Actually, or from early UK work like Teachers and Afterlife. Coldwater gives him something different: a man who wants to do the right thing but keeps finding himself out of his depth, reading the room wrong, and picking the wrong moment to fight back.

Indira Varma plays Fiona, John’s wife and the family’s main breadwinner. She’s a chef, she’s writing a culinary memoir, and she’s the practical one who keeps the lights on. Varma’s range is wide—Game of Thrones (Ellaria Sand), Luther, and more recently a standout turn in a galaxy far, far away. Here she anchors the family with grit and a calm that’s constantly tested as the neighbors’ behavior slides from quirky to predatory.

Eve Myles is Rebecca, a role that lets her switch between warmth and steel. Myles has been a force in Torchwood and carried the Welsh hit Keeping Faith; in 2025 she’s also fronting the BBC’s Wales-set drama The Guest. In Coldwater, she’s a local who can open doors—and close them—with just a look. Is she ally, warning, or something else? The show takes its time answering that.

Ewen Bremner is Tommy, the neighbor who turns unease into dread. Bremner’s face is famous from Trainspotting, and he’s built a career on characters that don’t play by the rules. He gives Tommy that jittery unpredictability—friendly one minute, intrusive the next. The tension spikes whenever he’s on screen because you never know if he’s about to help, pry, or harm.

The ensemble is loaded with Scottish talent that gives the village real texture:

• Sanjeev Kohli (Still Game, River City) as Malky—sharp-eyed, funny until he isn’t.
• Samuel Bottomley (Ackley Bridge, Ladhood) as Cameron—the kid who sees more than adults think.
• Greg Hemphill (Still Game) as Bobby—local stature, local secrets.
• Jonathan Watson (Two Doors Down) as Williams—chipper on the surface, brittle underneath.
• Lois Chimimba (Vigil, Doctor Who) as Catriona—welcoming smile, guarded questions.

Together, they sell the micro-politics of small places: who owns which patch of land, who owes whom a favor, and what happens when strangers don’t learn the rules fast enough. The casting also leans into a clash of tones—London rhythms versus rural stillness—which the show uses to keep John off balance.

Coldwater also gives Lincoln a different kind of physicality. He’s not the apocalypse-seasoned sheriff anymore. He’s a dad who second-guesses his instincts and worries his temper will make things worse. Varma counters that with Fiona’s clarity and ambition—her book project and kitchen life aren’t just backstory; they pull her into the community in ways John can’t control. Myles’s Rebecca cuts between them with a presence that’s both neighborly and opaque, while Bremner’s Tommy applies pressure at exactly the wrong moments. It’s a tight character triangle with the village as an active participant.

Production, setting, themes, and release

The series is written by David Ireland, the Belfast-born playwright behind Cyprus Avenue and Ulster American. His work is known for dark humor and moral traps, and you feel that here—the script keeps asking what good people will do when they’re cornered. Produced by Sister Pictures for ITV, the executive team includes Chris Fry, Alice Tyler, Lydia Hampson, and Jane Featherstone, with Brian Coffey and Andrew Lincoln among the producers. Sister’s track record with premium drama speaks for itself, and the build here is patient and deliberate.

Filming began in July 2024 across real Scottish locations: Dennistoun in Glasgow for urban edges; Strathaven for that open, windswept feel; and the village of Dunlop to give the show its lived-in local core. On screen, those spots help the series dodge the “picture postcard” trap. Even the prettiest views feel watchful. Back roads sit just a bit too quiet. Pubs and shops aren’t cozy—they’re rooms where silence means something.

Visually, the show leans into cool tones, rain-slick streets, and interior spaces where corners matter. It’s not flashy. The camera hangs back, like a nosey neighbor, and lets bad decisions accumulate. When things turn violent, it’s quick and messy rather than glamorous.

Coldwater explores family trauma without turning it into a plot coupon. The incident that sent John north doesn’t neatly explain away what happens next; it just puts everyone on edge. That tension bleeds into the marriage. It raises questions about how you parent when you’re afraid of your own judgment. It forces decisions about who in the village gets to be trusted—and who gets confronted.

Faith runs through the story in a light but steady way. Biblical references pop up, especially the tale of Jonah: a man trying to flee his fate and getting swallowed by it instead. The imagery isn’t heavy-handed, but it’s there—water, confinement, a second chance that comes at a cost. The show is more interested in redemption as a choice than as a miracle.

As the episodes roll out, the neighbors’ veneer cracks. There are break-ins that look like mistakes, “friendly” gestures that feel like tests, and a pattern of intimidation that escalates. The show rewards patience: what seems like gossip turns into a map of who’s pulling strings. When the kidnapping thread kicks in, the stakes shift from creepy to life-or-death without breaking the grounded tone.

About that ending: if you want to go in cold, skip this sentence. The finale pays off the slow burn with a brutal, personal showdown that exposes Tommy’s trail of violence and forces John to choose between punishment and mercy in a way that fits the show’s obsession with guilt and grace.

It’s also a series about class and territory. John’s family arrives with city habits, and that marks them. Fiona’s job gives her status and access; John’s uncertainty makes him a target. Rebecca becomes a hinge between them and the village, and every favor has a string attached. The rules are unwritten but rigid: who brings a bottle, who asks questions, who doesn’t show up to a funeral.

The six-episode run keeps the pace tight. Each hour plants something that sprouts two episodes later. The middle stretch (episodes three and four) folds in backstory without stalling the present-day dread, and the finale circles back to early throwaway lines that weren’t throwaway at all.

On the industry side, Lincoln’s return to domestic television is a headline by itself. After years leading a US juggernaut, he’s back on a UK network with a character closer to everyday life—a move that should draw both Walking Dead diehards and viewers who prefer grounded thrillers. Pairing him with Varma and Myles is savvy: three leads who can carry a scene with silence and make small gestures feel like plot turns.

For ITV, Coldwater fits snugly alongside the network’s recent run of character-first crime and mystery. It’s darker than comfort viewing but not nihilistic. Think the emotional bones of Broadchurch with the claustrophobia of a village thriller, plus a streak of black humor from Ireland’s pen. If you like slow-burn tension that pays off, this is in that lane.

Practical stuff: it’s a weekly drop on ITV, with episodes made available on the network’s streaming platform after broadcast. Six parts, no filler. Expect social chatter to spike around episodes two and five—the show sets big dominoes in those hours.

File it under: new place, old demons. Coldwater asks what it costs to move your family out of harm’s way when the real danger is the secrets you carry with you—and the neighbors who notice before you do.