How Barbieland Makes Sense

Full disclosure: I haven’t seen the movie Barbie. Reading the plot synopsis on Wikipedia has ensured that I’m not going to willingly do that. That said, a defense of it has occurred to me which is kind of interesting. (If you haven’t, Barbie (the movie) rejects the idea that the sexes are complementary and meant to work with each other; Barbieland is an idyllic place where women rule and men are subjugated, and the film involves various things where the sexes are antagonistic towards each other, with an uprising of the Kens and their eventual re-subjugation.)

Barbieland is a young girl’s idea of playing with barbies before she’s old enough to know what boys are for.

I mean, even really young children get that to make new children you need a mommy and a daddy, but there is stage in development—frequently around 7 or 8 years old—where children start to figure out sex differences and it’s more than they can handle so they tend to oversimplify to make it manageable. This is an aspect of the classic “girls are annoying/boys are icky” phase.

The Barbie movie’s setting and plot does make a certain sort of sense if it’s meant to be a representation of this childish beginning-of-understanding of the world. It’s not, in general, good to represent childish mistakes in art without at least pointing to what the correction of that mistake is. And it’s a bit concerning that (apparently) many adult women found that this childish misunderstanding of the world resonated with them. That said, I’m not going to draw any conclusions because I haven’t seen the movie or talked in depth with anyone who actually liked it. (The one adult I’ve talked with who watched it said that the first half was very funny and it fell apart in the second half, which isn’t the kind of reaction I would find concerning, if the summary is accurate to the movie.)

Anyway, it’s just a stray thought that occurred to me; I offer it as a possible explanation because it makes the world seem a little less bleak.

The Basil Rathbone Hound of the Baskervilles

I grew up with Jeremy Brett as the quintessential Sherlock Holmes and I still think that he is—especially his early portrayals of Holmes. In my youth, though, I met people who held that Basil Rathbone was the quintessential Holmes. Eventually this intrigued me enough to look into it.

Basil Rathbone played Holmes fourteen times, though (from what I’ve read) only the first two were big(ish) budget movies which attempted to the faithful to the Conan Doyle stories. The first, and by some accounts, the greatest, of the Basil Rathbone Holmes movies was The Hound of the Baskervilles. So I bought a copy and watched it.

I can definitely see the attraction to Basil Rathbone’s portrayal of Holmes. It doesn’t have Jeremy Brett’s energy and intensity, but he probably looks the part a little more than Jeremy Brett did and he does portray Holmes’ intelligence and confidence as well as Brett did.

The movie itself was curious. There were a few parts which were more faithful to the original story than in the Jeremy Brett version, but for the most part it was considerably less faithful. I think that the unfaithful parts were primarily about making the movie shorter—it had a running time of only an hour and twenty minutes. (The Jeremy Brett version was a full twenty five minutes longer.)

The section with the escaped convict was shortened; we heard nothing about the escaped convict before we saw him and he was discovered almost immediately, as was the connection between Barryman and the convict. In the novel, this formed a considerable part of the initial mystery which Watson investigated. They also omitted Watson’s investigations of the figure who turned out to be Holmes; they had Holmes show up as a peddler trying to sell odds and ends and then leave a note for Watson to come to his hut. Oh, and they also omitted Laura Lyons and completely left out the question of the murder of Sir Charles Baskerville. (I think that this omission is why they added Stapleton trying to shoot Sir Henry with a revolver in London; it gave Holmes a reason to go to Baskerville Hall that wasn’t investigating Sir Charles’ death.)

Also curious was the choice to turns Stapleton’s “sister” into his actual sister. And they had her marry Sir Henry Baskerville. It’s tempting to think that this was meant to make the story more exciting by introducing an uncomplicated romance into the story, but I think that it may have been more about trying to shorten the story. By making turning the relationship into an uncomplicated romance they needed to spend considerably less time on it.

By contrast, I think that the change from exposing Sir Henry to danger from fog to exposing Sir Henry to danger from a broken carriage wheel (and Holmes and Watson arriving late) was really just about saving money. In 1939, it would have been expensive to create a convincing amount of fog. Not impossible, of course; dry ice was commercially manufactured in the US starting in 1925 and putting dry ice into water is a decent way of producing a fair amount of fog. (There are others, and I couldn’t easily find the history of them to know when they were first produced.)

I suspect that cost savings is also why they didn’t get a particularly large dog nor did they put any kind of glowing material on him. (I actually wonder whether they put glowing material on the dog in the Jeremy Brett version; the effect looks a bit weird and it’s possible that it was applied in post-production.)

I’m at a loss to explain why, after Sir Henry Baskerville was mauled by the hound and Holmes and Watson shot the hound, they then had Holmes get imprisoned in the hound’s cave, Stapleton go to Sir Henry and tell Watson Holmes wanted him, then Stapleton try to poison Sir Henry only for Holmes to show up and knock the glass out of Sir Henry’s hand. The speech that Dr. Mortimer gave about how Sherlock Holmes is the greatest Englishman and every man, woman, and child in England sleeps better knowing that Sherlock Holmes is watching over them—that’s not quite the speech, but it’s of that ilk. Anyway, The reason for that speech also escapes me.

For all that, it’s an enjoyable movie.

The timing of it is interesting to consider. It came out in March of 1939, which places it shortly before the start of World War 2 and almost two years before America would enter the war. The Great Depression was in many ways over (at least by economic metrics) though people did not think of the hard times as having past. It had been thirty-seven years since The Hound of the Baskervilles had been published and twelve years since the final Holmes short story was published (The Adventure of Schoscombe Old Place). This, too, may have had an influence on all of the changes. When a thing is sufficiently new, people are more inclined to variation for the sake of it; if you want the original it’s reasonably fresh itself. When enough time passes, faithfulness to the original becomes more valued.

I don’t want to overstate that; true fans of a work will always look for faithfulness in movie adaptations and when things come out of copyright there are always very loose adaptations because that’s easier than writing original stories. For all that, though, I think that there is something to what I said, and the timing of the Basil Rathbone version had some influence on how much of it was changed.

That said, it is interesting to note that—according to Wikipedia—this was the first Holmes film to be set in Victorian times, rather than to be made contemporaneous.

Unfortunately, I don’t have the grand conclusion that I feel like I should have at this point. It’s an interesting film; mostly at this point for historical reasons. I can’t imagine preferring this to the Jeremy Brett version. On the other hand, it probably did help to increase Sherlock Holmes’ popularity; it’s possible for movies to help readership of a book among people who never saw the film. I certainly recommend it if you’re interested in the history of film, detective fiction, or both.

Mystery Novel Cover Iconography

The cover art for mystery novels is interesting. Unlike many other popular genres, whose covers feature images depicting the characters in the book doing something which might possibly happen in the book (that part is, admittedly, less common), the covers of mystery novels are frequently iconography. Consider the cover to this Barnes & Noble complete Sherlock Holmes (bought twenty some-odd years ago):

The most prominent is Holmes himself, of course, in his iconic deerstalker cap, inverness coat, and with the curved pipe made iconic for him by William Gillette.

There is also London Bridge, which so far as I know never featured in a Holmes story. Well, not the London Bridge, but a London bridge. That’s actually Tower Bridge. It’s a newer bridge, downstream of London Bridge. It still never featured in a Holmes story, so far as I know, but it is very iconic of London.

There are the buildings of late Victorian London with the smoke coming out of their chimneys and also a street lamp. Also the great Clock Tower (renamed in 2012 to Elizabeth Tower), with the clock popularly known as Big Ben. I don’t believe that it ever featured in a Sherlock Holmes story, either. Like Tower Bridge, though, it is symbolic of London, and Holmes is inextricably bound up with London.

There are also a few symbols of Holmes himself—the curved pipe above the tea pot and the violin. These are quite straight forward.

Then there are symbols of some of the mysteries, or at least of mysteries in general. Starting in the lower left we have an old fashioned key. Certainly keys have fit into Sherlock Holmes stories, though they also work as symbols of detective fiction in general—the detective is always seeking the clue which is the key to the mystery. On the lower right we have a diamond, presumably the blue carbuncle, though it might be a more generic diamond symbolizing the wealth for which people commit crimes.

A little higher we have a silver tea pot—certainly the British in Sherlock Holmes’ time drank a lot of tea. I don’t recall a tea pot being crucial in a Holmes story, though I feel like I might just be forgetful, here. They can easily fit into issues of poisoning, though.

Then we have a smoking gun. What could be more iconic of a murder mystery than a smoking gun? Well, a knife dripping blood, perhaps, but it’s close. There were many Holmes stories featuring guns, though of course the Problem of Thor Bridge comes to mind.

In the top left we have footprints—oh, what can be more iconic of a golden age mystery than footprints? Holmes certainly identified more than his fair share of footprints in the stories.

And then, in the top right, we have Holmes’ powerful magnifying lens. Or, more colloquially, his magnifying glass. What an icon of Sherlock Holmes!

He used a powerful magnifying lens a few times in the stories, of course. Even if he didn’t, it would be such a great symbol, though. A magnifying glass represents sight, as well as focus. One of the great themes of Holmes instructing Watson in his methods is, “you saw, but you did not observe.” There was something similar in a Poirot story, though I can’t find it at the moment. Poirot was remarking that it is not enough to see the facts, you must understand them, or else the pigeons would be the greatest detectives since they see everything that goes on.

The magnifying glass does also symbolize powerful vision, since it makes details greater, but I think that the focus is of greater symbolic importance since the intrinsic tradeoff of the magnifying glass is that you see some things more clearly at the expense of seeing other things not at all. When you look through a magnifying glass, you have a very narrow field of view. It is thus imperative that you look at the right things. And it is that quality of judgement which is really the epitome of the detective, or at least of the most interesting kind of detective. There are the Dr. Thorndykes of the world who do their chemical analyses and present the findings, or even the Encyclopedia Browns of the world who just know an enormous number of facts which occasionally come in handy. But the greatest detectives are those who can see what other men see and understand it where they don’t. And few things represent that as well as does a magnifying glass, since any man can use it, but few know where to look with it.

I Don’t Get the Argument For Agnosticism From Lack of Popularity

I suspect that this is, in part, an aspect of temperament—I’ve always been fine being alone and unusual—but I really don’t get the argument for agnosticism from lack of popularity. It’s usually a gussied up version of “people don’t all agree and there’s no way to check.” This is, of course, only ever selectively applied.

No one ever says, “there are different ideas of the shape of the world. Some people believe it’s a globe, some that it’s flat, and some that it’s shaped like a velociraptor. The only way to know for sure is to go to space and look, and no one’s flying into space right now and I couldn’t afford the tickets even if they were.”

There are proofs that the earth is a globe available to us here on earth, of course, but there are proofs for God available to us here on earth. The people who apply this kind of argument reject the idea of following arguments because not everyone does, which, if applied consistently, would eliminate quite a lot of knowledge.

Do you believe vaccines work? Guess what, there are people who don’t. Do you think that astrology is bogus? There are people who believe in it. Do you think that the earth orbits the sun? There are people who don’t.

I think that the real answer to this lies in who the person considers part of his society and who he rejects; the people to whom this argument appeals cannot bear of the idea of standing apart from his society, so he falls back on only believing whatever is common to everyone that he considers part of his society.

Which brings me back to temperament; I just don’t get the appeal of that.

Star Trek: Discovery Has Some Bad Writing

A friend of mine gave me this link for the first episode of the current (and final) season of Star Trek: Discovery. It starts partway into the episode, but I don’t think that matters. It’s also almost irrelevant who all of the characters are to the plot, which you can take as a bad sign but can also be a criteria of writing that an episode allows new viewers to come on without having to do a lot of reading first.

What really struck me about the episode was the degree to which the writers made decisions which moved the plot forward right before they needed it. Very little was set up beforehand, so everything felt contrived. And stupid.

The episode is mostly a chase for a McGuffin and so the bad guys need to get away a lot. I mean, they don’t need to, per say, but the episode wanted to go with the high-tension constant-near-miss type of chase, so the bad guys had to be always within sight so we could have chases and fast-moving CGI on screen. This meant that the bad guys had to get away a lot, and this was never accomplished through good planning on the bad guy’s part, or superior skill on the bad guy’s part, or really much of anything that the bad guys did right or the good guys did wrong. It was always just a random plot contrivance.

When the bad guys roll some kind of explosive at Captain Burnham, does she move? No. Does she have the ship transport her somewhere else (they have instant teleportation since this is set 800 years later than TNG)? No. She just watches until it cuts a hole in the ship straight through to outer space and sucks Burnham out. Which isn’t a problem because her CGI space suit instantly deploys from her uniform. She then rockets over to the bad guys’ ship (it’s small and nearby, there are only two of them), then magnetizes her boots onto the ship’s hull and stands on it as it goes to warp. She calmly starts using her hand phaser to disable the ship’s engines, which are on the outside for some reason, though nothing ever comes of this because another star trek vessel (who was sent to go on the mission with Burnham’s ship) shows up and puts the ship in a tractor beam. While both are at warp speed.

Which is fine, but apparently the warp bubble is in danger of collapsing for some reason and so Burnham spends a minute or so yelling at the captain of the other ship to disengage while she continues to phaser random stuff on the hull of the bad guys’ ship to no discernable effect.

Then she finally yells at the other captain enough and he terminates the tractor beam and everyone comes out of warp for some reason and Captain Burnham gets off of the bad guys’ ship for some reason and the bad guys deploy warp decoys and warp out, and now it will take too long to track them all down so Captain Burnham has to bring in an old smuggler friend because it takes a thief to catch a thief. Fair enough, though it loses some of the punch when he picks out the correct warp signature in about five seconds.

Then they go to Tatoine where they get to have a speeder bike chase with the bad guys who they narrowly missed (by actually plausible timing) and then somehow the bad guys are on their ship which is flying through the atmosphere and the speeder bikes are keeping up. The bad guys are headed for a tunnel system which will allow them to come out someplace else and then they can go to space and warp out without being detected because the star fleet ships (the same two as before) can only track a ship which is in visual range of the camera, I guess. They say it breathlessly so we’re supposed to not notice. Why no more ships have been assigned to this super important mission (which is revealed to be hundreds of years old) is also not explained.

Then someone identifies the tunnel that they’re going to use because there’s an explosive charge on it and Captain Burnham is against shooting it because there’s a 30% chance of it causing an avalanche which would kill lots of innocent people somewhere and the other Captain thinks it’s the only way and orders his ship to do it and things are fine but then the bad guys use a photon torpedo to trigger an avalanche and Burnham blames the other captain, saying, “you gave them an idea” as if the bad guys aren’t the ones who planted an explosive charge on the tunnel.

Then the avalanche happens and for minutes heads over across a flat plain towards the Tatoine settlement that they had been speeder biking away from for the last several minutes and now are speeder biking towards and all of these innocent people will be killed unless both star ships shove their noses into the ground and merge their shields and oh man is it really stupid.

I can’t say for sure whether there’s some possible way for an avalanche (of rocks and dust, not snow) to travel at full speed along a plain to a place so far away that the mountains look small, but it certainly isn’t plausible. Moreover, with the absurdly advanced technology of Burnham’s ship, it’s a bit ridiculous that putting both ships in the way is the only possible way to save the settlement. They don’t even try phasering the avalanche, they just state it won’t work. But, dramatically, it really should work. It really just feels like they need something to happen so damn it, this is the way things work this minute.

And then, after this ridiculous maneuver where both ships slam their noses into the ground for no obvious reason and the merged shields hold and the settlement is saved, as the dust settles the bad guys warp out and oh well, the ships couldn’t track them because… we’re not told.

And then Captain Burnham and her smuggler friend just sit around for a while and talk about old times as if the episode is over and we’re in a post-credits sequence. It makes no sense why there’s zero urgency to do anything about the McGuffin anymore. Including from the guy in charge of the centuries-old super-secret code double-red mission who’s been laser-focused on the galaxy-shattering consequences of getting the McGuffin before the bad guys do and who has emphasized that lethal force is authorized because it’s this damn important.

Characters’ motivations last only as long as the scene they’re in requires, technology only works whenever the plot wants it to, Bad Guys who will blithely kill (or at least endanger) thousands of innocent people set their weapons to stun when shooting our heroes, Captain Burnham has the priorities of a 1980s Sunday morning cartoon super hero, which wouldn’t be bad if it wasn’t done with no humility and everyone likes her anyway despite her being basically an anti-social narcissistic egomaniac. And also being a soldier on a mission.

The thing is, 1980s cartoon superheroes had the priorities they did because they were essentially reactive. Life was going on and then a super-villain endangered innocent people and so they went and protected those innocent people. That’s good and morally coherent.

This can be complicated by introducing other factors, like a much bigger threat to far more people that the superhero needs to stop, and so he may not have time to rescue just one person. That can make for painful dilemmas where the hero needs the maturity to recognize that no everything is given to everyone and maybe saving that one person wasn’t given to you even though, if you forsook what was actually given to you, you could have done it. Captain Burnham just ignores the bigger issues whenever she doesn’t feel like paying attention to them, which is extremely immature and irresponsible.

It’s good to stop and smell the flowers, but not when you’re rushing a transplant organ to a recipient and it needs to get there within the hour or the organ will die and then the recipient will too.

It’s weird to me how utterly bad this writing is. It would not have been hard to make the script a thousand fold tighter than the plot-hole-ridden contrived mess it was.

Also, and this is related to the entire series, they’ve cranked the technology level up so high that location barely matters anymore. People hold conversations with other people around the universe in realtime, people can find and bring aboard people from far-off planets in minutes—basically, location barely imposes any restraints anymore. And the result is that nothing feel real. It takes on an almost dreamlike quality to it which is not pleasant. (It’s also responsible for the plot being lace, since without limitations it’s impossible to have logically consistent problems.)

It’s really cool for people to be able to teleport around like Q, but the problem with the rule of cool is that you have to be careful with it or you’ll get frostbite.

Delicate Things Don’t Work Well as Inter-Generational Traditions

I recently saw a story going around about a grandmother who wanted to pass on the sets of fancy plates which she inherited from her parents and her children rejecting them as to her children they were just fancy display items in a case near the dinner table but not actually involved with dinner. There’s a lot of commentary on this, but I think apart from whatever side one wants to take it does highlight the problem that fragile things don’t work well as inter-generational traditions.

I learned this myself with some cherished toys from my childhood which my parents had saved for my children. They were called Construx—they’re somewhere inbetween Legos and Erector Sets but was better than either. The problem, though, is that they’re no longer made—they haven’t been for decades—and so they are irreplaceable. The other problem is that they’re delicate, especially now that the plastic is thirty years older and spent that time in an oxygen-rich atmosphere. This might not have been a problem if I’d only had one child, or if I had all of my children as triplets, but with them being more spaced out than that, I couldn’t really give them to an older child to play with without them being accessible to the younger ones, and that would have resulted in breaking quite a few pieces.

So the result is that my children barely played with them.

It’s a pity, but I also don’t see what else I could have done. It would have been very sad to have little children accidentally destroy them, and since they’ve got different personalities than I do they probably wouldn’t have enjoyed them nearly as much as I did, anyway. I’ll probably have more fun pulling them out and playing with them myself after my children are grown.

Fancy dinner plates have the same kind of problem. It’s way too easy to break them by dropping them—sometimes moreso than normal plates because they are often particularly thin—but it’s also way too easy to damage them through simple use. I’ve encountered fancy plates which would easily be scratched by knives and even some whose delicate gilting could be rubbed off by overly vigorous cleaning.

Fancy dinner plates also suffer from the problem of their virtues only being appreciated by generations now gone.

As far as I can tell, fancy plates were a kind of luxury good that became popular among the middle class during the Victorian period, when the newly growing middle class wanted to ape the aristocracy and did so with fancy clothes and fancy plates which were, because of the same economic developments which produced the middle class, now expensive but affordable. Expensive but affordable is a sweet spot as far as signifiers of social status goes. The latter makes them possible and the former keeps them from being so common that they lose all status.

Fancy plates are, of course, pretty in themselves, but they’re actually not great at showing that off since their function is to be covered with food. (Fancy wine glasses do a better job since they can be seen even when filled with wine.) And their function as signifiers of wealth and importance are basically over since economic progress has made similarly pretty things cheap and easily accessible to everyone.

There are things which you can pass onto your children, but if they’re delicate things they need to be replaceable things; things which cannot be broken cannot be used. (There is an exception, of course, for purely decorative things such as paintings, since their use does not put them in jeopardy.) But it’s far more reliable to pass on things which cannot be broken, such as knowledge, skills, and wisdom.

My oldest son ended up reading the Dragonlance Chronicles in different copies than I did, since my omnibus volume had a weak binding and would not easily fit into his backpack to bring to school for reading during free time. It would have been cool if he’d read it from the same physical copy as me, but it’s far more important that he read the same story—which has enabled us to discuss it together.

Ultimately, physical things like plates don’t really last and it’s a mistake to look to them to do so. Sometimes you get lucky and they do, but ultimately things only last when put into a museum and preserved, and not many things are worth of being in a museum. So, pick wisely.

Feelings and Facts Can Be the Same Conversation

Conversations about feelings have something of a low reputation and not entirely undeservedly. People who are bad at emotional regulation will talk about little else besides feelings and generally in a very unproductive way. Further, self-control is an important skill which has been rightly lauded by religions and philosophical systems alike. If you want to do something which takes precision, such as building a bridge or disinfecting surgical equipment, “facts not feels” will lead to more success.

All of this is true, and I very much prefer conversations about facts, even if personal facts, to conversations about feelings. But all this misses something.

Conversations about facts and conversations about feelings can be the same conversation in different languages.

The reason for this is that emotions are, in their essence, a kind of sense perception. They’re not a bodily sense perception like sight, smell, etc. but they are a kind of sense perception. Fear is the perception of danger. Anger is the perception of injustice. Gratitude is the perception of received benefit. And so on.

Feelings can be mistaken, of course, but so can bodily senses. We can think we felt something small touch us but when we look there’s nothing there. We can think we heard somebody say something but when we ask them what it was they said that they didn’t make a sound. There’s an entire field of making things that we see incorrectly called “optical illusions.” Our emotions are not infallible, but neither are any of our other senses. All of life requires the humility to acknowledge our fallibility.

When you consider a discussion of feelings in this light, as long as the discussion is between two people with enough humility to admit they could be mistaken, a discussion of feelings is really a discussion of the things that the feelings are perceptions of. If an object caused high amplitude sound waves in the air, among non-narcissists, “a high-energy sound was just produced” and “I heard a loud noise” is saying essentially the same thing. It is true that the latter involves the first person singular pronoun, but that’s merely giving you the added information of what instrument registered the high-energy sound. This can actually be quite useful because every instrument has its strengths and weaknesses and knowing which instrument produced the measurement described allows the other person to calibrate accordingly.

This is true of feelings, too. “In the last month, you washed the dishes three quarters of one time and swept the floors one quarter of one time” and “I’m feeling alone with the housework” differ somewhat in their precision, but they are describing the same thing. (And before you get any ideas, I do most of the housework in my house.)

It is possible, then, when someone initiates a conversation about feelings, to have an actual conversation with them. That won’t work if they have no humility, but no conversations really work with the proud, since pride tends towards solipsism and conversation requires acknowledging the existence of the other person. But most people have at least some humility, and it just takes practice to recognize it in people who are talking about their feelings. In some cases people will even talk about their feelings in order to present their observations more gently; to continue with the above example, they would consider the recitation of facts about the frequency of housework to be likely to come across like a personal attack, whereas if they instead focus the conversation on their feelings they expect it to come across like less of a personal attack. This can work very badly when done with someone else whose conversational style takes facts as non-aggressive and discussions of feelings as nebulous and dire. (This kind of mismatch can happen between anyone, though it is most stereotypically between two people where one has a higher-than-average number of X chromosomes and the other a higher-than-average number of Y chromosomes. (Bear in mind that, across the entire population, the average number of X chromosomes is, roughly, 1.5 and the average number of Y chromosomes is, roughly, 0.5))

The good news is that, like all differences in language, it is possible to become “bi-lingual.” It takes practice and discipline, not to mention humility, but a person who tends to either communication style can learn to understand the other one, and even learn to communicate in that style. It’s ideal if both people learn it, of course, but if one isn’t strong enough to do it it will still work pretty well if the stronger one learns how to do it and condescends to the weaker one. (I mean condescend in the etymological sense, “to come down to be with”.)

What Should Christians Make of AI?

In this video, I answer a viewer’s question about what Christians should make of AI. (It’s really the same thing that everyone should make of AI.

Basically, there are two senses of AI:

  1. Like us
  2. Something that does what we would do by intelligence.

All AI that exists is AI in sense 2, not in sense 1, though sense 1 wouldn’t be a massive problem if it did exist.

Riding With Death Was a Weird Movie

I recently watched the Mystery Science Theater 3000 episode featuring the movie Riding With Death. Many of the movies featured on MST3K are weird, but this one was particularly strange. It was a made-for-TV movie created by editing together two unrelated episodes of the short-lived TV show Gemini Man.

Gemini Man was, according to Wikipedia, a replacement show for a previous show called The Invisible Man, except with cheaper special effects. made in 1976, Gemini Man centers around the federal agent Sam Casey, who in an accident while diving to retrieve something or other from a disabled nuclear submarine was cause in the blast of an explosion and turned invisible from the radiation. Fortunately, scientists were able to turn him visible again through the use of a “DNA Stabilizer.” It’s a temporary effect, though, and he can become instantly invisible by turning it off. He can safely do this for up to fifteen minutes per day (cumulative) before being invisible will kill him. Conveniently for him, the writers, and the special effects department, it’s not just his body but anything he’s wearing that turns invisible—I think it’s got to be something he’s touching (except the ground) when he turns invisible, since he can pick up a gun and it remains visible. The government agency he’s working for is a weird kind of high tech general do-goodery kind of government agency called Intersect. It’s reminiscent of the various shadowy government agencies that would be behind Michael Knight in Knight Rider and behind Stringfellow Hawk in Airwolf, except that it seems a bit less shadowy—the main Intersect building has a large “INTERSECT” logo above its doorway.

The studio show ten episodes of Gemini Man but it was canceled after the first five aired. Based on the two I saw, I can’t say that I’m surprised. It looks to be in a similar genre to shows like Knight Rider and Airwolf, or even The Incredible Hulk: highly episodic shows about a mildly super-powered hero who fights bad guys and rights wrongs throughout America. In the case of Airwolf and Knight Rider the mild super-power comes from having a high-tech means of transportation; in The Incredible Hulk it comes from being about twice as strong as a bodybuilder (they really toned down the strength of The Hulk in that show when compared to the comic books). In Casey’s case, it comes from being able to become invisible for short stretches of time. As super-powers go, you could do worse. During one of the host segments Crow’s short time spent as the superhero Turkey Volume Guessing Man—a man who can accurate guess the volume of turkeys which would fill any three-dimensional space—demonstrates this. That said, you could also do a heck of a lot better. Being invisible makes it harder for people to shoot you, lets you sucker-punch people better, and allows you to listen in to other people’s private conversations more conveniently. That’s mostly what Casey uses his powers for, and the action is typically resolved through Casey being above average at throwing a punch despite not having all that much mass behind it. Also, he’s apparently a very skilled driver.

All good things to have in a government agent, of course, but not very interesting in themselves. Invisibility is, by its nature, not visually impressive, and guns floating in the air pretty much have to look corny. So the result is going to depend almost entirely on the charisma of the characters. Ben Murphy, who plays Casey, is charismatic enough, but the character he’s given to work with isn’t. Casey seems to kind of enjoy being able to turn invisible, but that’s about the extent to which his character is affected by nearly dying and gaining a power that makes no sense which could kill him if his wristwatch ever runs out of battery.

I should mention that I don’t mean “a power that makes no sense” as a nit-picky criticism. In a show like this it’s fine to go with “there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreampt of in your philosophy.” The characters do need to have a sense of wonder and mystery, though. Also, some apprehension is in order. If you don’t understand a thing and it seems to contradict what you do know, you should be aware that it could have “sharp edges.” Casey, by contrast, is easygoing and unaffected, he barely has a care in the world.

Then we come to the movie, which I really would love to hear an explanation for the existence of. Presumably it was a cynical cash-grab where there was a need for a TV movie for some slot and some entertainment hook where something about it—invisibility or trucking, for example—was hot for a few minutes and it takes a lot less time to edit together a TV movie from two fifty minute TV episodes than it does to cast and shoot something original. But it’s really weird how the two episodes were from opposite ends of the show’s short run. They were episode 1 and 10, in fact, and their plots were unrelated.

In the plot for the first episode, a scientist has supposedly invented a chemical additive to gasoline which can cause cars to get two or three times the miles-per-gallon they get with ordinary gasoline, and the big bad oil companies are trying to steal the formula and destroy it to protect their profits. Except it turns out that the additive is unstable and a powerful explosive which can be set off through fairly mild shock (such as dropping it from a foot or two). The scientist has embezzled the $10M in research money that INTERSECT gave him and has set up a plan to destroy the sample and pretend to be killed in the blast, blaming it on the greedy oil companies. This is supposed to happen while he’s riding with the sample in the back of a large moving van which Casey is driving to transport the two gallons of additive over to the department of transportation for evaluation, which has to happen by the end of the business day for some reason that’s never explained because there’s no possible explanation for it.

The scientist has several henchmen working for him and they smuggle him out while pretending to put some extra lab equipment into the truck at his facility and add a radio to the room in the back of the truck where he supposedly is. Then they get on their way for what should be about a thirty mile trip that takes many hours on highways through the mountains and when the bumps in the road don’t set off the fuel additive the scientist (who’s following by helicopter to stay within radio range so he can keep pretending to be in the truck) has one of his henchmen sabotage Casey’s brakes at a stop that he makes for no apparent reason. Along the way Casey meets another trucker nicknamed “Buffalo Bill” on the CB radio, rescues him from some highjackers, and then gets saved by Buffalo Bill who uses his truck to help Casey to stop as he’s coming down from the mountains. There’s also an “exciting” scene where Casey manages to navigate some hair-pin turns at sixty miles an hour due to his superb driving skills. Then the scientist decides that Casey as figured out that he’s not in the truck (which Casey has) and starts shooting at the truck with a sub machine gun from the helicopter. Casey drives the truck to a nearby empty field and gets out before the truck explodes, then subdues the scientist and his henchmen who landed to examine the wreckage.

If you’re wondering what Casey being able to turn invisible with the press of a button on his wristwatch has to do with any of this, the answer is not very much. Mostly it’s helpful for some fistfights and to prevent the guys with guns shooting him as he approaches. Not nothing, but it would have been very easy to work the plot to accomplish this without being invisible.

The second half of the movie is made up on a condensed version of the tenth episode of the series, where Casey runs into Buffalo Bill during an assignment. It turns out that Buffalo Bill has given up truck driving to try to live out his dream of being a racecar mechanic, and the arch villain of the series owns a race car which he personally works on and Bill just happens to have been hired by him. Bill’s girlfriend, “cupcake,” is a secret agent for the archvillain who was assigned to seduce the mechanic, for some reason never explained, and, well, let’s just say that with Casey’s help INTERSECT manages to capture the arch-villain and Buffalo Bill gets the singing career in a truck stop he’s always wanted. (It turns out that Buffalo Bill was played by a real-life country singer.)

I don’t know that I’ve done justice to how disjoint the two sections of the movie feel, or to how easily you could edit out all of the scenes of invisibility while losing very little. Not nothing, but very little.

Also, much of the first half of the movie is CB radio dialog because Casey (who goes by “Easy Rider”) and Buffalo Bill. I found this weird until I looked it up and found out that the hit novelty song Convoy was big on the charts in 1975.

While the TV series ran in 1976, the movie was edited together and released in 1981, by the way, so I suspect it would have felt a bit dated. And speaking of dates, it was set in the not-too-distant future, specifically 1983. I wonder if that was to make the “DNA stabilizer” seem very slightly more plausible.

Also, it’s incredibly jarring that Casey just happens to run into Buffalo Bill who’s made a career change right after Casey’s vacation. In the original filming, this would have felt so much more natural with eight other episodes coming in between. It’s also very strange to get a long-running arch-villain introduced two thirds of the way through a movie.

TV movies were sometimes quite good; I can only wonder what it would have been like in 1981 to have seen the absurdity that was Riding With Death. It made for a pretty good MST3K episode, though.

Murder She Wrote: It’s A Dog’s Life

On the fourth day of November in the year of our Lord 1983, the fourth episode of Murder, She Wrote aired. Titled It’s a Dog’s Life, it’s set in Tennessee, or at least some Tennessee-like place. (Last week’s episode was Hooray for Homicide.)

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It’s set on a horse farm, specifically, as an establishing shot of horses frolicking on rolling fields, well… establishes. We also get an establishing shot of a grand house where I assume most of the action will take place.

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Though I am a mite suspicious, given this camera angle, that the house is not in fact all that big and is just wide but narrow. Not that it matters; uneducated actors play professors, so there’s no reason that houses can’t play mansions.

We then get an establishing shot of some stables which I believe are actually big and ominous music plays. A figure clad all in black, including wearing black gloves, sneaks up and feeds a horse named Sawdust some kind of pill.

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Sawdust eats it as ominous music plays.

When the horse has completely finished eating the pill, the camera cuts to inside the house and a string quartet is playing classic music as a large, expensive party takes place.

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There are so many servants that two maids just stand around. They’ve spent something like four different shots establishing that there is a lot of money here, so that will, presumably, be important.

As the camera pans around we see that most of the people are in fox-hunting clothes. We then meet some characters. First is Trish and Anthony.

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Then comes in her brother, Spence.

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He tells Anthony that the family is sorry that his wife couldn’t make it.

Both Trish and Spence speak their lines like they hate each other, which is impressively poor manners in front of guests, especially for the South. We then get another relative who walks up and asks if they’re having a good fight.

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Her name is, apparently, “Echo,” or at least her nickname is. She’s Trish’s niece, not sure whether Spence is her father, but I can guess how much hair spray she uses a day. Boy is it ever the 80s. She and Trish are extremely catty at each other then Spence asks for peace, if not for his sake, than for the sake of his father. At this, Trish leaves.

We then meet another of Spence’s sisters.

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Her name is Morgana, and she’s very fond of her astral projectionist. Spence is appropriately rude, by which I mean he makes a gratuitous and unnecessarily mean-spirited comment which is carefully calculated to accomplish nothing whatever, then he walks off.

And then we come to the main characters.

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His name is Denton and he’s a famous lady’s man about whom Jessica has been warned. They move on and Denton introduces a friend of his—the owner of a nearby horse farm, and Denton’s old drinking buddy. His name is Tom Cassidy.

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His small talk explains why Jessica is here—she’s visiting her cousin, Abby, who works on Denton’s horse farm. It also comes up that he owns a neighboring 600 acres, which is described as small, though in a tongue-in-cheek way. Tom leaves to get Jessica a refill on her coffee, and we meet Jessica’s cousin.

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They make a little small talk; she tells Denton, in an English accent, to not be “an old lech.” Tom returns and interrupts the banter by saying “how about a toast?” Before he can propose one, though, Spence interrupts from across the room to say that a toast is a marvelous idea.

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I find the blocking of this shot interesting. The characters are in a line to be easily seen by the camera, but it makes no sense at all as a grouping of people who had been talking to each other, and not much more as a group of people who hate each other’s company and are standing next to each other in embarrassed silence for no reason.

He proposes a toast to his father, on his 80th birthday, and many more. Morgana adds a note of affection. Denton rudely takes no notice and merely looks about and asks, “where’s that damn dog of mine?” That damn dog of his is a beagle named Teddy, who comes running from across the house. Spence and his siblings look crestfallen. I guess we can see where Denton’s children got their bad manners from. Oddly, no one else in the crowd seems to have noticed any of this, despite everyone having spoken in a loud, clear voice, to be heard.

Then a man comes in and announces, Ladies and Gentlemen: to horse.

Outside as people are getting on, Trish walks up to her horse with a champagne glass in land, takes a sip, then throws the partially full glass on the ground and mounts her horse. Abby runs over, grabs the bridle, and says, “Trish, you shouldn’t be riding in your condition. It’s dangerous to the horse.”

Trish merely tells her to go away and kiss up to Father while she has the chance. “The day he goes, Honey, so do you.”

Denton calls out to Jessica and Abby, telling him that he’s picked out their horses for them. Jessica thinks that Sawdust is for her, but he tells her that Sawdust is only fit for him; he hasn’t broken out of a trot for years (the horse). He then presses a button and tells Barnes, a security guard, that they’re ready to go and he should open the gates. Barnes, who is sitting in a room filled with monitors and controls, obliged by pressing the Gate 1 button (there are four) which opens the main gates, which we can see on video camera from two different angles.

We then get scenes of the fox hunt over beautiful countryside with swelling music. At one point Denton tells Abby, who is riding next to him, to go on because it can’t be much fun to ride next to an old slowpoke like him. Right after he says this, Trish comes up right next to Denton spurring her horse into a gallop with loud cries, which alarms Sawdust, causing him to bolt. Denton tries to reign sawdust in, but to no effect. Sawdust eventually runs at a bench in front of a hedge and jumps over it. Denton does his best during this, shouting “Tally Ho!”

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The camera then cuts away during the landing.

Many people run up, deeply concerned, because this kind of thing can be easily fatal to an eighty year old man.

As, indeed, it proves to be. We cut to Denton lying dead on the ground and a moment later we screen wipe to a police deputy covering the corpse with his jacket.

After a bit of mourning, Jessica, Abby, and Tom go talk to the Sheriff, who says that it was a terrible accident but Denton led a full life. Jessica says that she thinks that Denton didn’t want to take the jump and Tom agrees, saying that Denton was under Doctor’s Orders to take it easy.

The vet is standing next to the Sheriff and Jessica asks if there’s a test he can perform on the horse. He understandably has no idea what Jessica is talking about, so Abby explains that a calm old horse like Sawdust doesn’t suddenly go wild. The Sheriff asks if Jessica is suggesting foul play and instead of answer we cut to Denton’s children getting into a police car (presumably to drive them home) and then we then cut to the cottage where Abby is staying.

Jessica is looking over papers saying to Abby, “I was so certain that there was something wrong with that horse. I feel so foolish. But, tests don’t lie.”

Abby asks, “Don’t they?” She points out that it was hours before they found the horse and there are drugs which leave no trace. Jessica acts like Abby is just being emotional, but of course she’s right. In fact, we know she’s right since we saw somebody give Sawdust a pill shortly before the hunt. This is an interesting choice, both in the showing us and in having Jessica act contrary to what we know to be true. She was wrong when she felt foolish, but we know that she’s now being foolish. Perhaps this is meant to make Jessica relatable by “not being too perfect”? Another possible explanation is putting the investigation on hold in order to get the episode to last the approximately 47 minutes it needs to.

Abby then goes on about what a great man Denton was, but underneath it all he was unhappy because of his selfish relatives.

Which brings up an uncomfortable issue: if Denton’s children are all awful, why didn’t he raise them better? I know that children are their own people and make their own decisions. Great sinners can be the children of great saints, and great saints can be the children of great sinners. That said, being raised well helps and being raised badly does make being a saint harder, and if all of a man’s children are terrible, it’s only fair to ask whether he raised them in a way that made being good, hard.

Anyway, there’s a bit of odd dialog which implies that Abby was in love with Denton and Jessica offers to stay with her for a few days. Abby asks her to stay until the will is read.

Which is necessary to keep Jessica around for the investigation, of course, but it’s really weird. Why would Abby be sticking around for the reading of the will?

We then cut to the day of the reading of the will, or maybe it’s the hour. The exact amount of time that’s passed isn’t specified, and all we get by way of that is an establishing shot of the front door with a black wreath on it.

Spence and Trish fight a bit, but they do establish that “Boswell,” presumably the family lawyer, is expected any minute. After some more bickering, he comes.

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Denton’s will is done on video. This was quite a new technology in 1983. The first VHS player came to the United States in the summer of 1977 and they would become popular pretty quickly, but consumer video cameras that recorded onto VHS took longer. The first consumer ones actually came out in 1983. A rich man like Denton could afford to rent professional video equipment to make his will, but the thing would have felt very cutting edge at the time. Boswell describes it as “cutting edge will technology.”

Denton starts out by saying that it’s all legal as hell, so don’t get any ideas. This sets the tone. He then has a hate message for each of his children and grand daughter (it turns out that Morgana is Echo’s mother). That parting spite finished, he gets down to brass tacks.

He gives a shotgun that Tom admired to Tom (his old drinking buddy) and there are cash gifts to each of the servants with something extra for the guard. All of the paintings in the house go to the national gallery. He then says, gleefully, “that’s right, Children, a fast three million in oils now on the way to Washington.” Bosley looks remarkably smug at this.

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There’s so much wrong here, but I don’t think that we’re supposed to notice.

Anyway, the rest of his estate comes to about fifteen millions dollars and, except for a modest family trust, goes to his dog, Teddy. Denton’s descendants are upset at this but Boswell assures them that they won’t be able to break the will and if Teddy dies of anything but natural causes, the entire fortune (including the family trust) goes to the SPCA.

And on that bombshell, we go to commercial break.

When we get back, Jessica is on the phone with Ethan, telling him she’ll be gone for a few more days, and adds that Abby is convinced that somebody murdered Denton. And Jessica is afraid that she just might be right.

We then move to a scene where Abby has a pointless fight with Trish, but it is at least established that Teddy is her employer and as such only Marcus Bosley can fire her, and she’s not going anywhere until she finds out who killed Denton.

Interestingly, Morgana warns Abby to be careful of Trish. She does it with some astrological mumbo jumbo, though, so Abby takes no notice. (I say mumbo jumbo because really doubt that the writers got the astrology right, quite apart from my belief that there is nothing to astrology.)

Then there’s yelling, a horse runs out, and Spence is in a horse stall defending himself from Teddy. The scene shifts to the vet examining Teddy and holding up a test tube of clear liquid and saying, “giving this stuff to a dog is like giving loco weed to a horse,” though when asked he didn’t find any in Sawdust. The vest asks who Teddy bit, since he found blood on his collar. The Sheriff then pulls up with a man in the passenger seat who identifies Teddy as his assailant.

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In the next scene Marcus Boswell is on the phone with Abby, telling her that Teddy has been released on his own recognizance and she can pick him up from the Sheriff at any time.

Jessica and Abby talk about the situation and Jessica thinks that they need to talk to Marcus to get more information. The shot of them waiting in his office is interesting, especially with how large and posh the office is.

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To drive the point home, Jessica remarks that Marcus has done very well working for the Langley estate.

After a minute, Marcus and another lawyer come out. The lawyer says that he could drive a freight train through “that loophole” and Marcus replies that his clients need to consider the costs; it could be a long and bloody battle. Then Morgana walks out of Marcus’ office and says goodbye.

To highlight just how much of a suspect Marcus is, as Jessica and Abby enter the office, his secretary tells him, in an exasperated tone, that it’s his broker and it’s the third time he’s called today. That could, of course, mean anything—and in real life would most likely mean that the broker was trying very hard to sell something to Marcus. In Murder, She Wrote, though, it almost certainly means that Marcus is in financial trouble.

Marcus’ office is even more impressive than his waiting room:

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They get down to business. Jessica asks about whether the man who Teddy bit has filed a lawsuit and Marcus says that while he’s made noises, he hasn’t yet and Marcus intends to head him off (whatever that means). They then switch subjects to the will, and the fancy lawyer’s supposed loophole is the question of “sound mind.” Not Denton’s mind, but the dog’s. If a court rules Teddy mentally incompetent…

He doesn’t finish his sentence and I can’t imagine what the end of it might be. You don’t need to be of sound mind to inherit under a will. If Teddy was ruled not of sound mind, he’d require a guardian appointed for him. But he’s a dog, so he needs a guardian anyway. This could only be an issue of the dog literally, rather than figuratively, inherited the money. But that would be nonsense. Animals can’t own property. I assumed that what Denton meant was that a trust was set up with Marcus as the administrator for the benefit of Teddy. That would certainly be, in colloquial English, Teddy inheriting, but it would make legal sense and the fact that Teddy requires a guardian would be irrelevant. I can’t believe that the episode is trying to claim that a dog has literally inherited money and land. You don’t need a loophole, that would be simply impossible. You can only give your property, in your will, to some kind of legal entity capable of owning it. (It can be a fictional person, as in the case of giving it to a corporation, but it has to be some kind of legal person.) I wouldn’t bring this up except that they’re actually making a plot point of it having been done in an impossible way.

Anyway, Marcus says that Denton’s descendants won’t win, but it might take long years and a lot of legal feels to win the battle. He leaves off how much this would benefit him and also explain away the missing money he’d embezzled. (I’m just guessing about that last part, of course.)

He’s interrupted by yet another call from his broker, who insists on speaking to him. Why his secretary seems to work for the broker and not for her employer is not explained. Anyway, he takes the call and after some embarrassing half-phrases, he promises his broker that he’ll send a check today and even put a stamp on the envelope this time.

After hanging up, Marcus tells the women to never, ever buy stock touted by Spencer Langley. His only consolation is that Spencer bought more of it than Marcus did.

This can, in no way, explain why his broker needs a check. No matter how badly a stock does, you’ve paid all of the money when you bought it and can only recoup some money, even if far less, after its sale. Between the purchase and the sale, you do not use money for anything. The only possible way for stock transactions to need cash quickly is if you sold futures and need to buy the stock to cover the future. There’s no way that’s what happened, though.

Jessica only picks up that Spencer is in debt, and Marcus replies, “right up to his Adam’s apple.”

This is not even slightly how stocks work. The only way for a stock doing badly to sink you into debt is… well, there is no direct way. You simply have to take on the debt separately. But you can take on debt in order to buy stock, which you intend to pay off and get profits from when you sell the stock at a higher price. But in that case it would be your banker, not your broker, who is calling you demanding money.

I’m really not sure which is more ridiculous: a dog literally inheriting property or a broker calling demanding money because a stock you bought is doing badly.

Oh well.

We then get a shot of the moon at night to establish that it’s nighttime. Since all pictures of the moon are basically the same, I’ll use one that I took instead of a screenshot. It’s not exactly the same, but you get the idea, and I only use screenshots when they’re necessary for my commentary on the episode:

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We then cut to Barnes, the security guard, sitting in front of his collection of monitors. I wonder if the idea is that he lives here in the cave of security cameras on twenty four hour duty. No wonder he got something extra from Denton’s will.

He then hears a sound and the door and goes to open it. It’s Teddy. Barnes says something about “like clockwork,” implying that Teddy always comes to be with Barnes at this time. “I guess you know you’re safe in here,” Barnes explains.

He then notices Trish’s car pulled up to the front gate. He comments that she shouldn’t be allowed to drive. On the security camera she stumbles out of her car and buzzes for Barnes to open the gate. He presses the button and as the gate begins to open she falls down with her head between the gates that just opened.

Barnes puts Teddy down saying that he needs to go check that she’s OK. He leaves, with Teddy remaining behind on his chair.

When Barnes gets near, the gates start to close. Barnes runs to try to save her but he’s too late. The gates crush her head (off camera, of course). We then cut back to Teddy in the guard room, partially standing on the console, wagging his tail.

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And on that bombshell, we go to commercial break. (I think that the implication is that Teddy pressed the button and killed Trish.)

When we get back from commercial break, we’re outside by the gate while a bunch of police cars are in the area, presumably investigating. Inside the guard room, someone is dusting for fingerprints on the gate button.

Then in a large room with the Sheriff and the family gathered, Morgana says that she saw her sister’s ghost rising from her earthly form and crying like a morning dove. We get some other backstory about her aura thriving on moonlight and such-like, but we also learn that her bedroom has the only clear view of the gate, and she looked out because she heard a car’s horn.

The doorbell rings and it’s Marcus. He’s come as soon as he heard, for some reason.

Then the Sheriff’s deputy comes in and tells him that they found a print on the gate button, but not a fingerprint—a paw print.

Given that they found it by dusting, blowing away the dust and then using tape to pick up the dust which remained after being blown away, I guess we’re supposed to believe that the digital pads on a dog’s paws leave oil residue? I can’t easily find out whether dogs even have oil pores in their digital pads (they do have sweat pores) but my experience of dog feet is that they are very, very dry. I really doubt that they have sufficient skin oil as to leave enough residue to be able to lift a paw print. It’s not impossible, so far as I know, but it’s still a bit… far fetched. And even so would leave entirely open the possibility that someone used Teddy’s paw to press the gate button so as to leave no fingerprints. It can’t be supposed that Teddy understood that pressing the button would hurt Trish as a human could.

Anyway, there’s some arguing and bickering over how this gets rid of the will—I guess everyone has forgotten that if Teddy dies of anything but natural causes, all of Denton’s money goes to the SPCA. Though I don’t see how that would come into play since the dog would likely just be put into prison for life—even if he got sentenced to death, it takes so long to work through the appeals and so on that he would die of natural causes anyway.

I can’t believe I’m actually thinking that through. Why is this episode demanding that we take a dog seriously as a human being?

Anyway, Marcus shouts, “Sheriff, you cannot possibly believe that a dog is capable of murder!” At that, Abby says, “of course not. He’d have to be trained.” Then everyone stairs at her since she’s an animal trainer.

The scene shifts to Jessica going down to the front gate. She runs into Tom driving up in an old blue pickup truck. He asks how the family is doing then says he came as soon as he heard on the police band on his CB radio. He then drives on up to see what he can do to help.

Jessica wanders on down and meets Will, who’s trying to get the victim’s coat into a large plastic bag. Jessica offers to help and examines the coat in the process. Will gratefully accepts the help because he feels that the coat requires a “lady’s touch” to fold.

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As you can see, the deputy is a young man and Jessica comes on with a matronly tone. This part actually feels quite realistic. Also, Jessica’s examination shows that the coat is quite new but the seams are split, just like her “car coat.”

After a bit of small talk, Jessica then walks around, examining the ground. After that she goes and interviews Barnes in the security room.

He left Teddy alone and the door automatically locks when it’s closed. He’s got the only key, and Teddy was left alone in the room. When he asks Jessica if she really thinks that Teddy pushed the button, she replies that she’s quite sure of it. She asks if he heard anything unusual while he was on his way to the gate and he replies no, just the usual. Crickets and a night bird calling.

She then asks the way to Morgana’s room.

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Morgana’s room does, indeed, have a decent view of the gate. While Jessica is looking, we also hear some music which suggests that this is an important clue.

Jessica then joins Abby in the kitchen for tea. (When stressed, the English always go for tea.) When Marcus comes in to fetch ice because everyone in the main room needs a drink, Jessica notices that he has a nasty grease mark on his trousers. It’s important to the plot because we get the kind of closeup necessary in 1980s televsion to make sure we can see the clue even if there’s interference in the signal.

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He says that he had a flat tire on the way over and he supposed that he got some grease off of the jack. A jack is a device for lifting the car up so that one can put the wheel on and take it off, which a human could not possibly do if the weight of the car is still on the tire. They look something like this:

(Not shown is a bar that goes through the hole and is used to give the mechanical advantage necessary to turn the screw.)

There is no realistic way those grease marks came from a jack. Given that this episode has several impossible things already, I’d have figured that this was yet one more unrealistic thing, but the fact that they gave us a close-up suggests that it’s meant to be a clue and not a plot hole.

Jessica then asks where he got it and how long he stopped. He figured about half a mile away and he stopped for about twenty minutes. Jessica asks if that means that anyone who left the house would have had to pass by him.

Marcus says that Jessica is right, but that no one passed by him. Abby says that that means that the killer had to be someone in the house, and Marcus concurs.

After he leaves, Jessica asks Abby how one would go about training a dog to press a button. The answer is endless repetition, and the command could be anything. A voice, snapping your fingers, a whistle—at that Jessica perks up. A whistle was just the kind of thing she had in mind.

Some bickering later, Jessica is forced to explain her theory to everyone, including the Sheriff. Basically, it’s that someone impersonated Trish—whoever got out of the car never spoke on the intercom. At this point Trish was inside the car. After a minute the person impersonating Trish got up, dragged Trish (who was drunk or unconscious) to the spot where her head was in the way of the gate, then gave Teddy the signal over the intercom.

The Sheriff then asks if a whistle like the one he’s holding would do it. When Jessica says that it’s possible, the Sheriff asks if anyone in the house has the initials A.B.F. and Abby replies “Abigail Benton Freestone.” The Sheriff adds that they found the whistle down by the driveway.

The scene then shifts to the Sheriff’s office, where both Abby and Teddy are in jail.

I really don’t know what, if anything, we’re expected to take seriously anymore.

We cut from Abby bemoaning her fate to Teddy to Jessica being angry at the Sheriff. After she insults him and complains at him, he says that the inquest is on Friday and until then Teddy is going to be held as an accessory after the fact. Which is not what he would be. An accessory after the fact is somebody who did not take part in the crime but did take part in trying to help the person who committed the crime to evade justice. Even if you ignore the fact that Teddy is a dog, that’s not what he did. He took part in the commission of the crime, which would make him an plain old accessory. At this point I’m starting to wonder if they’re just getting things wrong on purpose. I guess we should count our blessings that on the fox hunt they rode the horses and followed the hounds, rather than riding the hounds and having the horses follow the scent trail.

In the next scene Jessica is given a lift back to the house by Marcus. She has him drop her off about a half mile away from the house, saying that she needs some exercise. He drives off and she looks at his tire tracks.

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I’m going to guess that the issue is that both tires are bald, or else both tires are the same size, meaning that Marcus did not, in fact, have a flat tire recently. It’s a bit of a problem for this clue to show us that because we’re only seeing the marks of two tires (kind of next to each other, from when the car was turning slightly to get back onto the road). The flat could have been on the other side of the car, which stayed on the road and whose tracks we don’t see. Marcus never said which tire went flat. However, the fact that they’re showing this to us pretty much means that the flat tire had to be disproved. Things are not looking good for Marcus; we’ve had two close-ups on clues related to him.

As Jessica is looking around, the nice young deputy Will shows up and asks her what’s up. He asks if she’s looking for something and she said just a hunch. She asks if he has one of the Sheriff’s new metal detectors and he says that he can get it. She’s looking for a bicycle clip. A plain, ordinary bicycle clip. He doesn’t know what she means and she says that he’ll know it when he sees it.

Later on Jessica is mounted on a horse when Echo comes up. She asks where Jessica is going, and she says that she’s going to see a man about a dog bite. (Jessica asks about Spencer, whose horse is missing.)

We cut to Potts operating a chainsaw while his arm bandage is on a shotgun. Jessica rides up the horse then sneaks up and steals Potts’ arm bandage. When she gets back to her horse it’s actually Spencer’s horse, he took the liberty of putting her horse in the stable. He then calls Potts.

Potts and Spencer interrogate Jessica at gunpoint. Potts is in favor of killing her and hiding the body, but she talks him out of it, saying that his little scheme of fraud will hardly be noticed once she reveals who killed Trish. There’s a bit of bickering, but then we cut to a court house. Well, some kind of building in which court is in session. It feels more like a gymnasium.

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I’m not sure what it’s supposed to actually be. When the deputy brings in a speaker on a long wire, the judge—or whoever he is—asks what’s going on and Jessica says that this is part of her presentation. I suppose that this is actually supposed to be an inquest, and I must confess that I need to do more research on them to get a sense of whether this set makes any sense. It doesn’t feel like it, and from the rest of this episode I would guess that it doesn’t.

The judge indicates that the proceeding is going to begin with Mrs. Fletcher acting as an amicus curiae. He then says that, for the yahoos in the back, that’s a friend of the court.

Jessica get up, makes an introductory remark, and then says that to keep this short she’s only going to call one witness: Teddy.

Sure. Whatever. I don’t see any way to care at this point that an Amicus Curiae presenter (they’re more normally written briefs, but this is TV) would have no right to call witnesses. She’s calling a dog as a witness and everyone is OK with it, so I guess we’re just in clown world.

Teddy is carried in by a deputy and put in the chair next to the small table. Jessica then has the deputy blow on the whistle that was found by the gate. No one hears it but Teddy because it’s an ultrasonic whistle. She then has the deputy go into the other room and blow the whistle over the speaker. After he says that he blue the whistle, Jessica notes that Teddy didn’t react, because the whistle is above the range of the speaker. She actually says “any loudspeaker” which is probably wrong, but it probably would be above the range of a speaker system used in a security system, even back in the 1980s when they were all analog. (Most modern digital systems have a hard cutoff at either 22.05 or 24KHz, while according to Wikipedia most dog whistles are in the 23-54KHz range, so for most dog whistles it would be impossible to record or transmit them over normal digital systems. I only bring this up because it relates to adapting this kind of idea to modern stories.)

Jessica then explains that it was Marcus—he desperately needed the money years of litigation would bring him. He persuaded Trish to drug Denton’s horse by lying to her about whether she would inherit under Denton’s will. Trish was, of course, furious when she found out the truth, but he had prepared for this and trained Teddy long in advance.

She then starts interrogating him. Does he own a bicycle, does he ride out by the Langley manor, etc. When he denies having ridden by the Langley manner on the night of Trish’s death, Jessica then confronts him with the bicycle clip. While he quite reasonably points out that the bicycle clip could have belonged to anyone, she counters with her observation of the characteristic grease stains of a bicycle chain being on his pants that night. When he claims it came from changing a tire as he said that night, she counters that all four of his tires had identical tread, while a spare tire should have had deep, new tread. She then suggests settling the matter by looking in his trunk.

Before he can answer, she calls out to Will to “go ahead, please” and places the gate button next to Teddy. When a mockingbird whistle plays over the loudspeaker, Teddy presses the button several times, then goes over to Marcus and looks to him for a treat.

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Jessica in fact asks him, “why don’t you feed him his treat? Just like you did when you trained him to help you murder Trish.” Marcus looks around and seeing no way out sinks into a chair, crying, his face in his hands.

Back at the Langley manner Jessica and Abby are talking. Abby confesses that she doesn’t understand why Marcus did it and Jessica points out the obvious that he would have found a hundred ways to bleed off as much money as he needed from Teddy.

Then Tom drives up and takes Teddy, while Abby and Jessica say that Teddy will be very happy in his new home. After a bit of small talk in which he promises to do absolutely nothing for Denton’s children, he drives off with Teddy in the back of his pickup truck and we go to credits.

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What an episode.

I have no idea what to make of this—is it supposed to be a parody? It’s early enough in the first season that they may well have tried several different kinds of episodes to see what felt right or hit it off with fans. If this wasn’t meant to be a campy parody-type episode, a lá the 1960s Batman series starring Adam West, then this was a really stupid episode. If it was supposed to be a campy parody, it wasn’t very funny.

I really don’t know what to say about it.

If we ignore all of the asinine stuff about the dog actually inheriting the money directly, being charged with murder, etc. we do have the skeleton of a decent murder mystery. The family lawyer needed money and convinced one of the millionaire’s heirs to murder him, then when she found out she wasn’t inheriting, he murdered her. That’s pretty solid. Training a dog to do it isn’t wonderful, but it does have a bit of a golden-age “clever twist” feel to it.

Unfortunately, the dog training doesn’t really make sense in this story. For one thing, how on earth did Boswell train Toby to scratch on the door every night? He’d have to be there to do it, and are we really to believe that the security guard didn’t notice Boswell there giving Toby treats every time he scratched on the door? For another, dog training isn’t a context-independent thing. When you train a dog to a command in a place, it mostly only responds to the command in that place. This is why police dogs get trained to a command in about twenty different contexts—that’s what’s necessary to get them to respond to a command in any context. And the specificity of pressing a specific button out of a collection of buttons—that’s doable, but it would basically require training Toby in the security guard’s office. All of which might possibly be a stretch of the imagination if Boswell lived on the grounds and had constant access to the contexts necessary to train Toby. As somebody who did not have regular access either to Toby or to the grounds? That’s just not how dog training works.

Of course, I don’t know why I’m bothering with that because this is an episode where a dog inherits money and is arrested for murder.

Ultimately, I’m inclined to write this episode off as an early episode where the writers hadn’t decided on the tone for Murder, She Wrote yet. It had some nice visuals and the hint of a decent mystery, but if this was what Murder, She Wrote was generally like, well, I don’t think I’d be writing these reviews, forty years later.

Next week we go to Virginia for Lovers and Other Killers.

Travelin’ Man

There’s a song by Ricky Nelson which was on a mix tape that my mother used to play for me when I was a child. Called Travelin’ Man, it’s got fairly simple lyrics but it’s an interesting song:

In case you don’t have time to listen, here are the lyrics:

I’m a travelin’ man and I’ve made a lot of stops
All over the world
And in every port I own the heart
Of at least one lovely girl

I’ve a pretty señorita waiting for me
Down in old Mexico
If you’re ever in Alaska stop and see
My cute little Eskimo

Oh, my sweet Fraulein down in Berlin town
Makes my heart start to yearn
And my China doll down in old Hong Kong
Waits for my return

Pretty Polynesian baby over the sea
I remember the night
When we walked in the sands of the Waikiki
And I held you, oh so tight

(It repeats the last two verses and then has a coda where he repeats that he’s a travelin’ man, whoa a travelin’ man, etc.)

Ricky’s performance is interesting, as he imbues the vocals with a tinge of boasting and a tinge of sadness which seems very appropriate. The boasting is appropriate to the natural virtue of being attractive. The sadness is appropriate to the moral vice of being deceptive and unfaithful.

The character in the song is going to greatly disappoint all but one of these women, and since they’re waiting for him they’re not just going to be disappointed, they’re going to waste possible years of their life in finding their real vocation. This could easily result in not having as many children or not getting as good a father for their children as they could.

And in practice, we know that he’s going to disappoint all of them, of course, because he’s not the kind of man to make a good husband to anyone.

All of this does serve as an interesting kind of observation on just how powerful romantic attraction can be. It’s often easier, in art, to highlight the magnitude of something by illustrating how terrible it can be, rather than how great it can be, and this song makes subtle use of that.

The World’s Fastest Indian

The Critical Drinker recently put an interesting review of a movie his Dad recommended to him twenty years ago and he finally watched a few weeks ago:

Indian, here, refers to an Indian brand motorcycle. If you didn’t watch the review I linked above, the tl;dw is that it’s the story of Burt Monro who is a New Zealand retired farmer, motorcycle salesman, farmer, and motorcycle racer (he did various things to earn his living) who now, in his sixties, spends much of his time tinkering on his old Indian motorcycle. He dreams of traveling to the Bonneville salt flats and setting a world record, eventually saves up barely enough money to try, goes, and eventually succeeds. (It’s based on a true story.)

In the Drinker’s review, there’s an interesting quote (salty language warning):

The story of a little guy with big dreams given a once-in-a-lifetime shot at glory is the stuff of cinema legend at this point and it’s been done so many times that it’s easy to become cynical about movies like World’s Fastest Indian. What, prey tell, is the angle? You might ask. What makes it stand out from the crowd? How does it subvert the tropes of the genre? The answer, quite simply, is that it doesn’t. And fuck you for asking. Because it doesn’t need to. Because not every movie needs to reinvent the wheel just to get your attention.

This is an interesting point. I think that this is related to the difference between watching movies as a reviewer and watching them as an ordinary human being. Reviewers watch a ton of movies, and moreover they watch them with an eye to evaluating them. That is, they watch the movies for the sake of the movies. Ordinary human beings watch movies for entertainment or enjoyment or to witness art—in short, as a means to something else. We watch movies for the sake of humor, or to have pretend friends for a few hours, to be inspired, to be reminded that happiness is possible, to consider human sadness, for the thrill of romance or the romance of adventure—whatever it is, we watch movies for the things that they depict. If what we want is to be inspired by seeing a man defy the world for the sake of something nobler or even if we just want to see a proud man humbled by being hit in the balls, the things that we want are timeless. Different movies will bring out different aspects of these timeless things, and some will do them better than others. Variation helps us because at times we need different help in contemplating the timeless truths, whether they’re big or small. But the variation is only helpful because the help we need in contemplating the timeless things varies. The variation is not good in itself and variation from what we need at the moment is anti-helpful.

A man who has watched a thousand movies about two a man and a woman falling in love may be desperate to be reminded that there is humor in a man being hit in the crotch with a baseball, but very few of us watch a thousand movies about two people falling in love. We watch however many we need to be reminded of what we wanted to remember, then we get on with life.

So the Critical Drinker is right. Movies don’t need to surprise people who are tired of their genre to be good. They just need to be good at their genre. If a genre has gotten less popular, that means that there will be fewer people who are interested in it, but that’s OK. Sometimes you have to wait twenty years until you’re in the mood for it a movie. The nice thing about movies is that they’ll still be there when you’re ready.

The Development of Psycho-Analysis Makes Sense if you Assume it Doesn’t Work

I recently read the transcript of Freud’s lectures explaining to a Clark University audience what Psycho-Analysis is (Five Lectures on Psycho-Analysis). One of the things that struck me was that the development of Psycho-Analysis that he outlined makes sense if you assume that Psycho-Analysis doesn’t work.

The background we need was provided by Freud in the first lecture: a description of hysteria, which was the condition he was trying to treat. Basically, it’s a catch-all for severe ideopathic symptoms in a female. That is, if there’s something really wrong in a woman and doctors can find no physical cause, that’s then called hysteria. This isn’t trivial stuff—one example Freud gave was a woman who suffered paralysis in part of her body for extended periods. But, here’s the background we need: according to Freud, instead of despairing, doctors tended to give a good, if indefinite, prognosis. That is, the symptoms often went away on their own, though on their own time frame and not a predictable one.

So before we look at Psycho-Analysis, let’s look at the properties that a scheme of treatment which doesn’t work needs to have in order for the person developing it to be able to convince himself that it works, if it’s applied to conditions which tend to eventually get better on an unpredictable time frame.

The first and most obvious property it needs to have is that it can’t be supposed to work immediately. If it was supposed to work immediately, it would be obvious that it doesn’t work. Any such scheme of treatment must, therefore, be a process. However, it cannot be a definite process, because the patient might get better before the process is finished (which would not be a disaster because it could be credited to the process working extra well, somehow, though it would sew seeds of doubt) or else they might still be ill when the definite process has finished. It must, therefore, be an indefinite process.

What sort of properties would an indefinite process need to have, given that it’s not actually doing anything? Well, it will be tremendously helpful if it consists of a series of steps, each of which does have a definite conclusion, since that will give a feeling of accomplishment. If the indefinite process were just endless repetition of the same thing (e.g. identical breathing exercises), most people will get bored. By breaking the process up into steps, the feeling of completion of each step will give a sense of accomplishment, even if the total number of steps are not known. There will be a feeling that something has happened.

It would also be helpful if at least parts of this process are enjoyable or fulfill some other human need such as companionship, sympathy, etc. People will be a lot more inclined to believe that a process is doing what they want if it’s at least doing something that they want. This one you nearly get for free, though, since it’s hard to have a human being who sees you on a recurring basis and not have this feel like some amount of companionship. As long as the process doesn’t feel entirely adversarial, most any process that involves regularly meeting another human being will check this box.

The indefinite process also needs to be able to be explained as completed whenever the patient gets better. If you were supposed to keep doing something forever and the patient gets better, that creates a big credibility problem. And remember that we’re not talking about credibility to the patient, but credibility to the practitioner. A patient can just think he got lucky and who wants to question being well too soon? But a practitioner can only get lucky so many times before he starts to think that there’s something wrong with his theory.

If the indefinite process consists of some kind of peeling back of layers, that will do a pretty good job with this, so long as there’s no way to tell how many layers there are before you hit the last layer. Each layer being peeled back will feel like an accomplishment, and whenever the patient gets better anyway, you can declare that the layer you most recently peeled back was the last layer and this explains why the patient is cured.

Another requirement for the indefinite process is that the steps involved need to be something that everyone can do. You can only remove a splinter from the skin of someone who has a splinter, but you can massage anyone who has a body. If the process is a peeling back of layers, the process needs to be something where anyone can think that they have those layers.

OK, so, given all of that, what do we see in Psycho-Analysis?

The basic premise is that the patients’ symptoms are caused by unresolved conflicts from the past which they have purposely forgotten in order to not have to deal with them (“repressed”). These must be dealt with in reverse chronological order, that is, you have to resolve the most recent first. There are various techniques for uncovering the memories so that the patient can deal with the repressed conflict but one of the chief ones is doing free association with dreams, guided by the therapist.

So, how does this correspond to what we’d expect to see in a treatment that doesn’t work for a condition which will eventually get better on its own?

Perfectly.

We have an indefinite process with distinct steps—the uncovering of each individual repressed conflict (and its resolution, though that’s often easy once it’s faced directly). This allows a feeling of accomplishment with each step. We also check the box of fulfilling some other need—regularly spending time with someone who is interested in us usually feels good. Indeed, a noted feature of psychotherapy is “transference,” which is the patient feeling for the therapist feelings that they “actually” have for someone else. Often this is sexual attraction, but it can be anything—friendship, a parent-child relationship, etc. Of course, another interpretation of this is that the patient, who is lonely in some way, is starting to believe that the therapist is meeting this need. That will certainly provide the reason to keep coming back.

We also have a peeling back of layers. Each repressed conflict must be dealt with before the next one, starting from the most recent to the oldest. This can be terminated at any time—once the symptoms stop, you conclude that you’ve finally uncovered the original repressed conflict. We also have the feature that anyone can do the work. One of the main techniques is to free associate on the substance of one’s dreams. We all dream, and anyone can say whatever comes into one’s head when thinking of some part of the dream. The analyst’s chief job in this free association is to direct it. The analyst picks up on the key parts and asks for more free association on that, as well as asking questions about the subject. Whenever that stops working, there are always more dreams and more free associations to be made. Truly, anyone can do it.

In short, I could not have predicted Psycho-Analysis merely by the assumption that it doesn’t work at treating conditions which tend to get better on their own, but nothing about it surprised me at all.

Well, that’s not quite true. I didn’t expect Freud to redefine “sexual”to mean “sensory.” Which means that a lot of his theories about things like the oedipal complex aren’t nearly as whackadoodle as they sound when you first hear them. I’m dubious that they’re true, but they’re not “had your brains surgically replaced with rat droppings” insane.

Unsustainable Things Give the Biggest Short-Term Benefits

Change in dynamic systems always brings with it opportunities, and, in particular, unsustainable opportunities. These opportunities come from the mismatch between the parts of the system adapted to the new system and the parts which have not yet adapted. And unsustainable things usually give the biggest short-term benefits, which creates an incentive for people to instigate change in order to take advantage of the huge short-term benefits available before the system has adapted.

A simple example can be seen in the inflation or deflation of a currency. Let’s take deflation since it’s less common and less likely to have negative associations. In deflation, money is removed from an economy. The same amount of economic activity can go on as long as the price of everything lowers, and indeed this is what will eventually happen as the people who still have money offer less of it to others for goods and services and out of desperation they take it. The money then flows from the people who have it to the people who don’t, prices tend to lower, and we’re eventually back to where we started but with different numbers. Instead of the average wage being one Florentine per hour, it’s now half a Florentine per hour, and instead of a loaf of bread costing one Florentine it now costs half a Florentine. (Florentine is, I hope, a made-up currency purely for the purpose of illustration. It can be paper or gold or platinum, it doesn’t matter.) So the same amount of labor buys the same amount of bread, but the numbers have changed. We’re back to a stable situation, because a human economy needs (roughly) a certain relationship between the price of labor and the price of bread in order to function. It will go back to that. But what happened along the way? A lot of things, including a lot of suffering, but the relevant part here is a lot of opportunity.

If a person foresees the coming deflation, he will do what he can to save money, knowing that it will go up in value. He will forgo luxury goods and save, while he works extra hours to amass even more money. Then when the deflation hits he finally pays himself back, with all the money he saved buying twice what it would have back when he earned it. His new riches will only last with his savings; eventually he will have to go back to work and there will be the same relationship between his labor and the things he can buy with it as before the inflation. But while it lasts, he’s living high. And people who realize this will have a motivation to try to influence government policy to create deflationary periods. If his country is on a gold standard, he will have a temptation to help revolutionaries who want to sink ships carrying other people’s gold.

(We don’t see deflation nearly as often because far more people appreciate the potential for personal short-term benefit in inflation, but that’s a discussion for another day.)

You see similar opportunities for short-term gain in social changes as you do in economic ones, though because society is more complex and also more subtle than economics, these are often better disguised. Let’s take a simple case, though. Suppose a man in the 1950s desires to insert his penis to the vaginas of many women who, unlike him, are not interested in being promiscuous. The number of promiscuous women is irrelevant to this man since promiscuous women are, by hypothesis, not the object of his desire. If you need a story to make this more plausible, suppose that he is attracted to the feeling of conquest in bedding a woman who is saving herself for marriage, or if that is too old fashioned for you, who only feels sexual attraction within the context of what she beliefs to be a long-term relationship. In stable times, this will not work. His dreams of many such penis-insertions will result in very few actual insertions, and most of those will end up being with women who deceived him while he was trying to deceive them. He may, however, have the opportunity to realize his dream during times of social change.

If the social norms protecting women who are only interested in coitus within the confines of marriage or at least a long-term relationship are shifting, some of these women will rely on the old social protections while they are no longer being afforded and will, because of that, be easily deceived. To give a concrete example, suppose that women no longer tend to stay near family members but instead are exposed to unrelated young men whose reputation they do not know. Let us suppose, for example, that public schooling as been instituted and that automotive transport has brought a large number of people together, and moreover it has become normal for teenagers to use cars to go to places where none of their family are. While people are still getting used to this new normal, some young women may rely on reputation and their family not allowing males of ill intent near them to filter out the males of ill intent, and so a pretty face coupled with charming words may well convince her that she is consummating a marriage with him that they effected (the sacrament of marriage is confected by the couple, not by any priest or officiant) while he has simply lied to her because he is a bad man.

This state of affairs will not last; young women will, fairly quickly, learn to rely on different things to vet males than applied in their old environment. But during this transition, they will have none of these things, and some will be easy prey.

It is interesting to note, though few will care because people are naturally less sympathetic to males and even less so to bad males, that the changing social norms will also result in young women who are eager to be promiscuous having a better shot at this hypothetical male who only desires to insert his genitalia into women who wouldn’t want him if they knew what he was doing. During these hypothetical changes in social norms, he will be far more easily misled into thinking that all women are shrinking violets who object to using sexual intercourse like heroin because that might as well have been the case under the previous social norm and the exceptions were easy to spot.

When everyone gets used to the new circumstances, things will return to their previous difficulty, albeit with small modifications for differences in exact circumstance. People will develop new ways of getting to know a person’s reputation, people will treat strangers as unfiltered by people they trust, etc. etc. etc. There will be no lasting benefit, but there can be huge short-term benefits.

(Bear in mind that this example was a change in social circumstances that didn’t alter people’s fundamental preferences. It’s not an example of temporary sterilization. That will still cause changes that can be taken advantage of, but it also alters people’s fundamental preferences and the changes that will be adapted to are in things affected by it but not its direct consequences.)

The example I gave above was of a social change induced by a shift in (transportation) technology, which our hypothetical cad had no real control over. Yet even there, you can imagine, if he was sufficiently far-sighted, how he could champion government funding for roads as well as mandatory public schooling.

In practice, of course, the sorts of advocacy that people can have on social changes tend to be far more limited in effect and tend to look far more like simple bad advice. Loosen up, don’t be such a prude, you only want to treat sex like it’s not a safer form of heroin because the mean Christians are trying to control you, etc. etc. etc. These people are not, in the main, Machiavellian masterminds who are trying to create chaos to take advantage of it before they settle down. Mostly they are fools who think that the good times will last forever. In ten or fifteen years they’ll probably be writing op-eds about how great jumping off the cliff was but you don’t want to take things to their logical conclusion, you just want to keep falling forever because it’s a lot more fun. What they’re trying to do is to get the advantages of the change.

A big part of why they don’t realize that this is what they’re doing is because a lot of people never consider that human beings have two phases: childhood and adulthood. Childhood is a time of change, when human beings are easily molded. People can still change in adulthood, but nowhere nearly as easily. Accordingly, if you institute a social change in all of society, it will take far more hold in the young than in older people. The young will take it to its logical conclusions because they’re not held back by being stuck on adaptations to a previous order.

To give an example (painted with an absurdly broad brush), social norms were changed in the 1970s to where family, friends, and aquaintances no longer protected young women from the sexual advances of bad men. So for a decade or so, bad men could sexually harass women to their heart’s content and it was a cad’s paradise. But then young women who were raised without the expectation of social connections helping them adapted to the circumstance and sought the protection of law, and we had the crime of sexual harassment, as well as all sorts of corporate policies against it. And things went back to more-or-less normal.

As a brief aside, it is amusing to see people who grew up at just the right time think that the 1970s were representative of how society worked throughout all of human history up until some people agitated for legal protections. These people have clearly never watched movies from before the 1970s! Back then, important customers could get thrown out of an office for making advances on a secretary in terms sufficiently veiled that they’d never get past the initial stages of filing a sexual harassment lawsuit. Heaven help an employee who was sexually aggressive with fellow employees! This weird historical myopia is a subject for another day, but it is funny how people have managed to continuously think of their grandparents as downtrodden slaves and themselves as the first generation to be free for several generations in a row.

Anyway, the amnesiac attitude towards the developmental stages of human beings is often behind quite a bit of agitation for social change; the people doing the agitating only ever think about what things will be like when people set in the old ways partially change over, and are always shocked at what people who grow up with the changes do in order to lead human lives within the new order.

Admittedly, part of that is that people rarely adapt to change well within a single generation. They go to excess on some things and utterly miss out on others. It takes time to refine complex systems. The people having to do the adapting often suffer for it, too. Adults have fewer needs because their lives are already largely set; children have a ton of work to do in setting up their lives and will often do less of it due to the uncertainty of tumultuous times. The adults who advocate for social change thus reap more of the rewards and pay fewer of the costs, then blame the new generation for not doing as well as them. It’s a bit cheeky to burn the furniture then complain that people don’t sit down, but then most people are not philosophers.

One final note I should add is that none of the above means that social change is always and everywhere bad. Much of it is inevitable with a changing environment (such as is caused by developments in technology). Some of it is needed merely in order to fix the mistakes of the past. Indeed, as the paradox of Chesterton’s post states, you need constant change merely to be conservative. As he so rightly said, if you leave a white post alone, it will, in short order, become a dirty grey post. Only by continually repainting it white will you and future generations have a white post.

Change there must be, but it’s often best to limit it to fixing mistakes. And have a thought for the people who have to grow up in the new system because they won’t have the advantages of having grown up in the old one. Only their descendants will have that advantage, and only if the people who have to grow up in the new system don’t change it again.

I Became Medically Obese By Drinking a Glass of Water

A while ago the medical definition of obesity became a certain Body Mass Index (BMI). Thirty or higher, to be specific. And the body mass index is a remarkably crude formula. It’s just the mass (in kilograms) divided by the height (in meters) squared. Since I’m six feet tall (that’s 1.8288 meters), the cutoff for a BMI of 30 is (depending on how you round the inputs) 100 kilograms even. This morning, when I woke up, I weighted 99.9kg, classifying me as “overweight.” Then I drank a glass of water and was 100.1kg, classifying me as obese. The moral of the story is, of course: don’t drink water because it will make you fat.

If You Have To Believe It, Maybe It’s Not False

A video in which I look at the relationship of pragmatism to truth as inspired by an exchange between Chris Williamson and Jordan Peterson on the Modern Wisdom podcast. I emphasize it in the video, but to be clear: this is a reflection on something that Chris Williamson said and something that Jordan Peterson did NOT say, but might have. Their discussion was just a springing-off point, and this is not any kind of criticism of either man.

Psycho-Analysis Began in Hypnosis

In my (low-key) quest to understand how on earth Freud’s theories were ever respected, I’ve recently read Five Lectures on Psycho-Analysis. It’s definitely been interesting. (If you don’t know, this is the transcript of five lectures he gave on five consecutive days at Clark University in Worcester, Massachusetts in 1909 which were meant to give a concise summary of Psycho-Analysis.)

Something I did not realize, but which makes perfect sense in retrospect, is that Psycho-Analysis began in hypnosis. A tiny bit of background is necessary, here: In the 1800s and early 1900s, the term “hysteria” seems to refer to any idiopathic problem in women with severe physical symptoms. Basically, when a woman developed bad symptoms and called in a doctor and he could find no physical cause, the diagnosis was “hysteria,” which basically meant “I don’t know, in a woman.” At this point, since the symptoms don’t have physical causes it is assumed that they must have mental causes and so doctors of the mind would step in to try to help, supposing, of course, that the patient or her family could afford it.

Freud begins with an interesting story about a patient that a colleague of his, Dr. Breuer, was treating. It was a young woman under great stress (nursing her dying father) who started developing a bunch of really bad symptoms that sound, to my ear, like a series of small strokes. She couldn’t use her right arm or leg for a while, sometimes she couldn’t use her left side, she forgot her native language (German) and could only speak English, etc. She also developed a severe inability to drink water and survived fro several weeks on melons and other high-water foods. And here’s where it gets interesting. Dr. Breuer hypnotized her and in a hypnotic state she related the story of having gone into a companion’s room and seen the woman’s dog drinking from a glass. This disgusted her terribly but she gave no indication of it because she didn’t want to offend the woman. He then gave the young woman a glass of water, brought her out of hypnosis, and she was able to drink normally from then on.

Freud moved away from hypnosis for several reasons, but the big one seems to be that most people can’t be hypnotized, which makes it a therapeutic tool of dubious value. The particulars of how he moved away is interesting, but I’ll get to that in a little bit. Before that, I want to focus on the hypnosis.

The history of hypnosis is interesting in itself, but a bit complex, and the relevant part is really how it was more popularly perceived than by what it was intended as. In its early stages, hypnosis was seem as something very different from normal waking life and, as a result, excited an enormous amount of interest from people who desired secret knowledge of the universe’s inner secrets. There were plenty of people who wanted to believe in a hidden world that they could access if only they had the key (spurred on, I suspect, by the many discoveries of the microscope in the late 1600s and the continued discoveries as a result of better and better microscopes). Hypnotism, where a man’s mind seemed to alter to a completely different state, and in particular where it could receive commands that it would obey without remembering in a subsequent waking state, was perfect for just such a belief. Here there seemed to be another behind, behind the mind we observe, which seemed to govern the observable mind’s operation. This is the sort of stuff out of which real power is based—if you can control the real source of the mind, you can control the mind!

This context really makes Pysho-Analysis’s model of the compartmentalized mind and further its insistence on the power of the sub-conscious mind make sense.

As I said, Freud abandoned hypnotism, and the means by which he did it really should have been a tip-off to his whole theory being wrong. What led him to discard hypnotism were some experiments he became aware of in which a person who could not remember what he did under hypnosis could be induced, without any further hypnosis, to remember. Freud only took this instrumentally rather than considering that it undermined the whole idea of the powerful subconscious and went about bringing up the “repressed” memories which were (putatively) causing physical symptoms by talking with the patient without hypnotism. I suppose that the idea of this secret knowledge was too attractive to give up.

How to Balance Gratitude With Ambition

I was watching a Chris Williamson Q&A video recently and a question he was asked was how to balance gratitude with ambition (or aspiration for improvement, if you dislike the term ambition). The exact phrasing of the question was:

How do I manage the dichotomy between being grateful for how far I’ve come and wanting to become more? The dichotomy between working for my future and being present in the moment.

There are several answer to this, and the thing is, they’re all primarily religious. It’s actually kind of interesting how often hard-won, top-level secular wisdom is beginning religious education. The Jewish sabbath is exactly this. God created the heavens and the earth in six days, and on the seventh day God rested, so human beings will work for six days and rest on the seventh. (Bear in mind that rest implies contemplation, not merely sleeping.) There you go, there’s your management of the dichotomy between working and gratitude. (The Christian moving of the day of rest to Sunday is an interesting and rich topic, but all of that rich symbolism doesn’t materially affect the current subject.) To put this in secular terms, a regular 6-to-1 balance of time dedicated to work with time dedicated to contemplation will keep your balance. If you keep it regular (that is, according to a rule), it will ensure that the effects of contemplation do not wear off. And guess what: you need to impose rules on yourself to make yourself do it because human beings don’t perfectly auto-regulate. (Just don’t make the rules so rigid you can’t live; the sabbath was made for man, not man for the sabbath.)

Another answer, here, is to keep God always in mind. This will make you strive to be perfect as your Father in heaven is perfect and also make you grateful for all that He’s already given you.

Here’s where Jordan Peterson’s language of “God is the highest good” falls a bit short, since keeping the highest good in mind will stimulate ambition, but it doesn’t tend nearly so much to gratitude. For gratitude you need to keep in mind the nothingness from which you came and which you could, apart from the positive action of The Good, become again. This requires a leap of faith that the world is not evil, though. If you can do this, you’re not going to be secular for long, and the whole exercise of trying to put this into secular language will be unnecessary. If you can’t take this leap of faith that the world exists because of good, then you’ll never actually be grateful anyway. People try to use “grateful” as an intransitive verb, but it’s not. It’s a transitive verb. You don’t have to conceive of God as a person to be grateful to Him, though it helps. But if the world is just a cruel joke with no punchline which no one told, gratitude is nonsensical. But here’s the thing: if you aren’t sure whether life is a cruel joke with no punchline that no one has told, that is equally paralyzing.

To see why, consider this thought experiment: you receive a text message from a friend which says something complementary about you, but there are enough odd word choices that you think it might just be his phone unlocked in his pocket interacting with auto-correct. Try to feel grateful for this message which you think might be a real compliment and might just be random noise that accidentally looks like a message. You will find that you can’t do it.

Nevertheless, it can still be interesting to say what is true, even if it will do no one any good: the way you keep perspective is by comparing, not to one thing, but to two things. If you want to keep perspective on your achievements, you must compare them both to the fullness of what you can achieve as well as to the nothing which is the least you could have achieved. Comparing to only one will not give you a proper perspective, because neither, on its own, is the full picture. Only by looking at the full picture will you have a correct perspective on where your achievements are within it. This is as true of metaphorical photographs as it is of literal photographs.

Socially Awkward Women Have a Really Hard Time

I came across the subject of how women interact with each other socially when studying female bullying, originally with the books Queen Bees and Wannabes and Odd Girl Out. (They’re both very interesting books and I recommend them.) I’ve studied more about it since then and one of the conclusions I’ve come to is that socially awkward women have an incredibly hard time. (This probably includes, but certainly is not limited to, women on the autism spectrum.)

The background you need to know (and will probably know better than I am if you are female, in which case please bear with me) is that women tend to prefer, within social interactions, subtle interactions to explicit ones. You can tell Just So evopsych stories about women being more vulnerable and needing to not offend people to explain it if you like, but the preference for more subtle nudging than direct confrontation means that women are (as a rule) highly attuned to subtle signals. (None of this comes with any value judgement attached; like all natural substrates it is the canvas upon which moral virtues are painted—in other words, it can be used well or badly.) In general this works out, in much the same way that if you have a quiet speaker and a sensitive microphone, you get a recording at a normal volume. Or to vary the metaphor, if you have a dim light and a wide-open pupil, your eye sees clearly.

By contrast—and of course I’m painting with a broad brush—men tend to dislike subtlety in social interactions. We value openness and directness. It does need to be said that that’s not the same thing as being a bull in a china shop. You can be direct, quiet, and precise—hence Teddy Roosevelt’s famous advice to speak softly and carry a big stick.

Now, it’s fairly obvious that these two strategies don’t mesh perfectly; when the male is trying to communicate to the female this can be like shouting into a sensitive microphone, and when the female is trying to communicate to the male this can be like whispering into a mic with the gain turned really low. This often causes problems to males and females who are just starting to communicate with each other (i.e. teenagers) but women pretty quickly learn to stop looking for subtle queues from men, often with the explanation that “men are simple” or “men are dumb.” A similar phenomenon happens when a woman is first married—she’ll often be trying to figure out what’s wrong all the time until she figures out that if something’s wrong the man will say, and most of the time she can’t figure out what’s going on with him, it’s not that he’s being too subtle or she not sensitive enough, it’s that nothing (relevant) is going on. This is the classic case of the woman wondering why the man is staring off into space and trying to guess why he’s angry at her while he’s just trying to figure out whether he thinks it’s actually plausible that batman could be superman in a fight. I mean, superman has super-speed, so even if batman has cryptonite…

And, again, after a while most young wives figure out that a husband staring off into space probably doesn’t mean anything, and “men are just weird/simple/stupid/big children/different”.

All well and good for women interacting with males.

But for the most part, it seems that women can’t learn to make these allowances for other women.

And this causes enormous problems for women who need them.

I’m speaking, of course, of socially awkward women. They don’t give off appropriate subtle queues, especially the positive ones, which often causes other women to take offense. This probably needs some explanation.

Often, the way women communicate that they have been offended is to somewhat reduce the amount of positive signals they’re giving, or to still give them but to make them less enthusiastic. Since the other woman is hyper-vigilant and analyzes her behavior in great detail to see where she might have given offense, she’ll probably figure this out and take action to repair the relationship. If the woman does not do this analysis and take that action, this communicates her disinclination to a close relationship, i.e. is an insult. Hence the offense.

A socially awkward woman may or may not notice the subtle variations in the other woman’s positive signals, but if she does she’ll have no idea how to respond and so the other woman is highly likely to take offense when she gets it wrong.

There’s also a pretty good chance that the socially awkward woman will have no idea how to respond properly to when her female friends try to do collaborative emotional processing with her, making the experience unsatisfying for them if they don’t interpret her actions as being judgmental or all negative and taking offense when this doesn’t seem right.

All of this will cause female friendships to be very stressful for the socially awkward woman, and in all likelihood, short-lived.

None of these problems apply to friendships with males, though, so there’s a pretty good chance that you’ll find socially awkward women having mostly male friends. This has its own pitfalls, of course, because a woman who shares a man’s interests and likes talking to him about them is extraordinarily attractive to males who are looking for a wife. There’s the further issue that women of marriageable age usually won’t talk (extensively) to males of marriageable age unless they’re open to romantic interest because they’re very sensitive to whether there’s interest and careful to not encourage it. Again, I’m painting with a very broad brush and there are tons of exceptions to that—especially in contexts which are not purely social, such as workplaces. But the point is, there’s a real danger in her friendships with males that the male will develop romantic interest in the socially awkward woman and if she’s not interested that will kill the friendship.

So we come back to the title of this post. Life is really hard for socially awkward women, and I think they deserve more sympathy than they often get.

Testing Computer Programs

My oldest son, who does yet know how to program, told me a great joke about programmers testing the programs they’ve written:

A programmer writes the implementation of a bartender. He then goes into the bar and orders one beer. He then orders two beers. He orders 256 beers. He order 257 beers. He order 9,999 beers. He orders 0.1 beers. He orders zero beers. He orders -1 beers. Everything works properly.

A customer walks in and asks where the bathroom is. The bar catches fire.

It’s funny ’cause it’s true.

It’s easy, when you design a tool, to test that it works for the purpose the tool exists for. What it’s very easy to miss is all of the other possible uses of the tool. To take a simple example: when you’re making a screwdriver, it’s obvious to test the thing for driving screws. It’s less obvious to test it as a pry bar, a chisel, an awl, or a tape dispenser.

This disparity is inherent in the nature of making tools versus using them. Tools are made by tool-makers. The best tool makers use their own tools, but they are only one person. Each person has his way of solving a problem, and he tends to stick to that way because he’s gotten good at it. When he goes to make a tool, he makes it work well for how he will use it, and often adds features for variations on how he can think to use it to solve the problems he’s making the tool to solve. If he’s fortunate enough to have the resources to talk to other people who will use the tool, he’ll ask them and probably get some good ideas on alternative ways to use it. But he can’t talk to everyone, and he especially can’t talk to the people who haven’t even considered using the tool he hasn’t made yet.

That last group is especially difficult, since there’s no way to know what they will need. But they will come, because once the tool exists, people who have problems where this new tool will at least partially solve their problem will start using it to do so, since they’re better off with it than they were before, even though the tool was never meant to do that.

This isn’t much of a problem with simple tools like a screwdriver, since it doesn’t really have any subtleties to it. This can be a big problem with complex tools, and especially with software. When it comes to software design, you can talk to a bunch of people, but mostly you have to deal with this through trial-and-error, with people reporting “bugs” and you going, “why on earth would you do that?” and then you figure it out and (probably) make changes to make that use case work.

The flip side is a big more generally practical, though: when considering tools, you will usually have the most success with them if you use them for what they were designed to do. The more you are using the tool for some other purpose, the more likely you are to run into problems with it and discover bugs.

For me this comes up a lot when picking software libraries. Naive programmers will look at a library and ask, “can I use this to do what I want?” With more experience, you learn to ask, “was this library designed to do what I want to do?” Code re-use is a great thing, as is not re-inventing the wheel, but this needs to be balanced out against whether the tool was designed for the use for which you want to use it, or whether you’re going to be constantly fighting it. You can use the fact that a car’s differential means that its drive wheels will spin in the mud to dig holes, but that will stop working when car manufacturers come out with limited-slip differentials because they’re making cars for transportation, not digging holes.

That’s not to say that one should never be creative in one’s use of a tool. Certainly there are books which work better for propping up a table than they do for being read. Just be careful with it.

Murder, She Wrote: Hooray for Homicide

On the twenty eighth day in October of the year of our Lord 1984, the third episode of Murder, She Wrote aired. Titled Hooray for Homicide, it is mostly set in Los Angeles but begins in Cabot Cove. (Last week’s episode was Birds of a Feather.)

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After a few scenes of waves breaking on the rocks and an establishing shot of Jessica’s house, we then see a figure rocking in a rocking chair, looking out the window. A stealthy figure holding a rope in its hands creeps up behind the rocking chair and the music turns ominous.

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Suddenly, the figure throws the rope around the neck of the figure and begins to strangle it. The music hits hard and then the camera angle shifts so we can see who the murder is, and it’s Jessica! The figure is only a few pillows, a sheet, and a hat.

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She considers for a moment, then is disappointed and shake’s her head. Walking back to her kitchen, she calls out that she’s decided to go back to the bayonet because it’s cleaner. The camera pans enough and reveals Ethan working on the pipes under Jessica’s sink. Jessica then sits down at her table and types on her typewriter. She’s not at it long before the phone rings. It’s someone named Agnes, who tells her that one of her books is being talked about on television. Jessica, accordingly, turns the TV on and watches. A producer is being interviewed about his newest movie, a film adaptation of Jessica’s book The Corpse Danced at Midnight. When asked if this will be another hit, the producer says that the movie will have everything that young audiences want: music, sex, and violence. When asked if it’s too much violence—he names a scene where a psychotic killer uses a flame thrower on a group of brake dancers—Jessica can take no more and rushes to the phone to call her publisher, saying that she’s going to put a stop to this nonsense even if she has to fly out to Hollywood. We jump cut, of course, to an airplane landing on a runway.

This is an interesting approach to starting the episode. It takes about three minutes and gives us a bit of Jessica in Cabot Cove and also Jessica as a mystery writer. We didn’t get any of that in last week’s episode, so it’s nice to refresh it, even though we’re going to spend the remaining 44 minutes in Hollywood. I also suspect it was necessary because the main thrust of the episode is Jessica’s old fashioned small-town values vs. the modern world. It’s a nice theme, even if in most episodes Jessica doesn’t have old fashioned or small-town values.

Jessica’s first stop in Hollywood is at her lawyer’s office. They are Carr, Strindberg & Roth. The lawyer to whom she’s speaking is Mr. Strindberg and he tells her that the film is box office magic.

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It’s a combination of Porky’s, Halloween, and Flashdance. His advice is that she should follow it up quickly. She’s not very receptive to this advice and just wants to know what her legal rights to stop the producer are. He’s got no idea because he only makes deals, he doesn’t remember what deals he made in the past, so he’ll assign someone to dig up her contract and they’ll be in touch.

I love the idea that their filing system is so bad that they cannot readily find active contracts.

Jessica accepts this flimsy excuse to move the plot along and goes to the movie studio itself. As she’s arguing with the guard at the gate who won’t let her in without a pass, a Miss Marta Quintessa, who is coming into the lot, overhears the argument and tells the guard to put Mrs. Fletcher down as her guest. Amidst Jessica’s thanks we find out that Marta is the costume designer for The Corpse Danced at Midnight.

The scene then shifts to the dressing room of the lead actress.

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Her name is Eve Crystal. The producer, Jerry Lydecker, is there to confront her about lying to him and not telling him that she canceled her lessons with her drama coach. She meant to tell him, honest. He tells her that he knows that she’s seeing some guy, and he wants her to stop. He lays great emphasis on how important he is to her career and how she’ll have no time for anyone else when she’s a big star.

Then we go to Marta Quintessa telling Jessica how much she loved her book…

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…and how little she loved the screenplay. When Jessica said that she never saw it, Marta gives her a spare copy which she has in her large purse.

Then the scene shifts to introduce the screenwriter.

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He asks why Jerry doesn’t return his calls and Jerry replies that it’s nothing personal, he doesn’t return anyone’s calls. After appreciating that line, the screenwriter gets to why he’s there: the contract came through and the points that he was supposed to get for writing the screenplay on the cheap weren’t in it. (Points are a percentage of profits.) What happened?

Lydecker explains how he wasn’t worth the points because of his backstory: he had an oscar nomination when he was twenty five but is an aging wunderkind who burned out on booze and pills by the time he was thirty. The screenwriter admits to being a recovering alcoholic, but he’s also a damn good screenwriter. Lydecker counters that he had to do a page-one rewrite, and the screenwriter counters that it was to remove every line that required acting talent so he could cast his playmate as the star. At this, Lydecker tells him to get off studio grounds. As he leaves, the screenwriter tells him “Remember: the picture’s not over till the credits roll.”

At this point I think that we can tell that Lydecker is going to get killed as we’ve already got two potential suspects set up. The scene with the screenwriter is a bit… weird. Normally, a screenwriter doesn’t write a screenplay before he has a contract. It is possible to write a spec script, of course—”spec” is short for “speculation” and means that the screenwriter writes it and then tries to sell it. But the key part, there, is that they sell it. Before the movie company does anything with it. A movie company never starts filming before they have a contract which secures the right to use a screenplay. They need this to protect themselves. It would not be hard for a screenwriter to find a lawyer to take on the copyright infringement lawsuit that would result from filming a movie based on someone’s screenplay without an agreement to let them do it. It would be trivial to register the copyright ahead of time, too, in which case there are presumptive triple damages. Trying to use copyrighted material without an agreement which permits this is so dumb no one in Hollywood even considers trying to do it. So yeah, the screenwriter has a grievance, but it makes no sense. And it’s not like it would have been hard to come up with a real grievance. People get shafted all the time in Hollywood.

Anyway, Marta and Jessica walk onto the tail end of the scene and after some painfully insincere pleasantries from Marta to Lydecker, she introduces Jessica. Jessica asks to talk to him and they make an appointment for after lunch.

Jessica then sneaks into the sound stage where filming is going to happen and sees the director coaching Eve about the scene they’re about to do.

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She’s not sure why her character’s boyfriend wants to have sex in a cemetery. The director explains that it’s an act of defiance. His friends have just been brutally murdered and he wants to defy death with an act of joy. As far as people pretending that smut is art goes, that’s top notch.

Also, yes, that is John Astin who played Gomez in The Adams Family.

The male lead comes in, also in a bathrobe. Unlike Eve, he has no questions so they clear the set for the nude scene and start filming.

Jessica leaves, incredulous, and we go to her meeting with Lydecker, who is arguing that nudity is necessary for the story. It reveals Jenny’s character. Jessica objects that in her story, “Jenny” was “Johnny,” the ten year old son of a Presbyterian minister.

Some arguing later, Lydecker reveals that he bought the rights to the book, not for the book itself or because it was a best-seller, but just for the title. To be fair to him, it’s a great title. A much better title to a murder mystery than to a horror film, I think it needs to be said, but a great title. Anyway, Lydecker points out that he bought all of the rights and can do whatever he wants. Jessica then tells him she’ll do whatever she has to do in order to stop the picture from being made, though of course her phrasing is such that the police will take it to have been a threat to kill him.

Incidentally, Jessica uses an interesting phrase to say that she doesn’t accept the situation: “Just because the Almighty gave people a taste for lobsters doesn’t mean that He gave lobsters a taste for being boiled alive.” It almost sounds like an old Downeast (a slang term for Maine) saying, but it’s just too wordy. Angela Lansbury does yeoman’s work making it sound natural, but let’s just say that when you google this phrase, the only things which turn up are quotations from this episode.

In the next scene, the low-level person from Carr, Strindberg & Roth shows up.

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He’s Norman Lester, a junior member with the firm. He’s brought a copy of the contract with the publisher. Jessica reads it, in spite of Norman’s protests that it’s in legalese, and is chagrined to learn that Mr. Lydecker was right and she signed away all rights to interfere with the film. Jessica concludes that there’s nothing to do but to give Lydecker an apology.

There’s no explanation given as to why Jessica signed this contract. All they do is hang a lampshade on it by having Jessica say, “I can’t believe I signed this.” Yeah, that makes two of us. I suppose that’s the screenwriter asking us for a gimme, and what else are we going to do?

So Jessica goes to see Mr. Lydecker, but he’s not in. The secretary tells her to call Lydecker tomorrow, but Jessica replies, ominously, “What I must do cannot be done on the telephone.” I wonder who they’re going to suspect when Lydecker turns up dead?

Jessica goes looking for Lydecker on the sound stage and it looks interesting.

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Other than light through a blue filter I don’t know what could be casting that blue light in and the ominous fog is just as unlikely. Also, I’m unclear on why she’s continuing to look around here since it’s obviously deserted. She wasn’t told that Lydecker was here and normally when you’re looking for a live person and come into a place that obviously doesn’t contain a living soul you look elsewhere rather than investigate every nook and cranny.

Fortunately for the plot, though, Jessica looks around to see if Lydecker is hiding.

When she gets near the “cemetery,” she finds him:

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And we go to commercial break.

When we get back, Jessica spots a clue…

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…then runs into a security guard as she’s going for help. Literally. She bounces off a bit. He then asks her what she’s doing and she says, in the most guiltily unconvincing voice possible, that she was going to try to find the police because there’s been a dreadful accident on the stage.

The security guard, understandably, doesn’t believe her—I think he suspects her of being a thief—and brings her by the arm to go investigate the accident. Jessica points out Lydecker’s body and tells the guard that she thinks Lydecker was hit on the head with a heavy urn right next to him. The security guard uses his radio to call in the murder, then grabs Jessica and adds that he thinks he’s got the killer.

In the next scene police Lt. Mike Hernandez is examining the body. I guess the guard let her go when the police arrived without actually putting her in their custody, because after a few moments Jessica walks in and begins examining the crime scene.

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The music is appropriately comedic. Lt Hernandez asks her whether she’s lost something and she tells him about the gold button. It’s not there now, though. Jessica doesn’t understand it because she was only gone for thirty seconds. She speculates that the killer was hiding behind the set, saw her find it, then retrieved it while she was going for help.

When Lt Hernandez asks who she is and she introduces herself, he recognized her name from the book the movie is based on, though he had mistakenly thought that J.B. Fletcher was a man. Jessica explains that the ‘B’ is for ‘Beatrice.’

Just as an aside, while male authors sometimes don’t like their first names and use initials, such as Clive Staples Lewis or Gilbert Keith Chesterton, when it comes to murder mysteries I’ve gotten the impression that women are more likely to go with initials than men are. In her autobiography, Agatha Christie mentions that she wanted to do that (or use a pseudonym, I forget which) because she didn’t think the books would sell with a woman’s name on them. Her publisher (A) thought that they would and (B) thought that “Agatha Christie” was a great name for an author. In retrospect, she admitted that the publisher was right and she was wrong.

Anyway, it turns out that Lt. Hernandez is thrilled to meet her—he’s a writer himself, though he hasn’t sold anything yet, but there is interest in his screenplay for a TV movie—and he asks her if she has any theories. Jessica then says that she leaves theories to the experts and she’s only a mystery writer, not a detective.

This is basically a bald-faced lie that she contradicted with looking for the button and will soon be contradicting again, so I’ve no idea why she said it. I guess the idea is to try to reluctantly draw her into the investigation, but that’s a bit silly after the previous two episodes we’ve seen. I’d say that it might be early days and they haven’t figured the character out, but they will occasionally, if rarely, do this throughout the rest of the show.

Anyway, Marta and the director come in. They had been in the women’s wardrobe discussing costumes and don’t know what happened—which they find out fairly directly. Marta is very affected and nearly faints. When Lt. Hernandez asks if either of them would know of someone with a motive to kill Lydecker, the director replies, “Anyone? Try everyone. Would the suspects please form a double line.”

The director then asks whether Eve shouldn’t be told. She left right after filming wrapped. He’d tell her but he has to talk to the studio executives. Marta says that there was no love lost between her and Eve, so it would probably be worse if she told Eve. Lt. Hernandez assigns the task to Jessica, which seems ludicrous, but she agrees.

Eve lives at Jerry’s beach house and the police give Jessica a ride there.

When she gets there, Jessica finds Eve drunk. After Jessica explains who she is and turns down several offers of alcohol and various kinds of recreational drugs, she asks where Jerry is and Jessica almost breaks the news to her but then decides that Eve needs to sober up first so she’ll understand. So she gives Eve a cold shower and some coffee, then breaks the news of Lydecker’s death. Eve is reluctant to believe it and takes it hard. She finally asks what happened, an accident or what, and Jessica tells her that somebody killed him. She’s devastated and hugs Jessica, who holds her as we fade to commercial break.

When we come back, Jessica is mobbed by reporters as she’s going back to her hotel room. Lt. Hernandez is with her and comes into her hotel room. He remarks on how nice it is, and she concurs.

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As well she should; this is palatial. That said, I think it’s best to let this one go because small sets are very difficult to light without casting harsh shadows. It’s doable, but it requires effort, which is expensive. It’s the sort of thing that’s more worth it on movies.

He has some questions, one of which is whether she touched the urn. Someone went to the trouble of wiping the finger prints off of it, which an ordinary killer in a hurry wouldn’t think to do, but a mystery writer might. This isn’t his idea, mind. His Captain doesn’t have his writer’s mind and keen insight. He just sees that she had motive, means, and was caught leaving the scene of the crime. Jessica admits that when it’s put this way, she does sound like a suspect. He tells her that if she has any ideas, now is the time to share them.

She tells him, quite firmly, that she has no intention of trying to help him solve this murder. Quite a tone change from the previous two episodes, and again, this is basically a bald-faced lie. I don’t see how she expects him to believe it since she met Lt. Hernandez while she was trying to help solve the murder by finding an important clue (the button). Anyway, she is leaving tomorrow on the noon flight, unless that’s no longer an option.

Lt. Hernandez doesn’t directly answer that but instead said that he thought she’d want to stick around to see what Ross (the director, now also the new producer) does with the movie. That plus a look with a lot of subtext convinces Jessica to stick around.

The next day she is on the studio lot and meets the writer. He loved her book and is sorry he couldn’t have put more of it into his screenplay. (Ross invited the writer back, which is why he’s here.) The writer dishes on Ross; he’d spent a long time with no project until this one and he was originally the producer. Then Lydecker horned in, installed Eve, and forced Ross to withdraw as producer.

Lydecker’s death was a stroke of good luck for everyone. With this movie, they can now make it big. He takes her into the sound stage to show her.

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Oh my. (Some pop/rock and roll music is playing, and there’s dancing.)

I looked it up and the music video to Michael Jackson’s Thriller was shown for the first time on MTV in December of 1983, less than a year before this episode aired. It seems a stretch to suggest it, I know, but it might have been an influence.

If you’ve never seen it, btw, it’s a bit long but definitely part of the cultural landscape which influenced this episode:

Anyway, Jessica runs into Marta, who remarks that Jessica looks bewildered. Jessica merely remarks that she thought that there was supposed to be a high school marching band parade and Marta says that the schedule has been changed since Eve said that her costume wasn’t ready. There was nothing actually wrong with it, though, she just likes to make Marta’s life difficult. The implication is that Eve is a prima donna, though it is also possible that the real reason she complained was that her uniform was missing a gold button. They are the sort of thing you find on high school marching band uniforms.

Jessica remarks that Marta said that there was no love lost between Marta and Eve, and Eve starts to give examples. On the first day of shooting, in a scene in which she was supposed to be drinking, someone put real vodka into her glass. Eve turned bright red and accused Marta of doing it. Why her? Because, before Eve wiggled her way into Lydecker’s heart, Marta used to live at Lydecker’s beach house. Jessica is enlightened.

Lt. Hernandez then comes in with Lydecker’s secretary and asks her to point out who threatened Lydecker in front of her and she identifies Jessica. She then repeats both of Jessica’s incriminating lines (about doing whatever needs to be done, and how what she needs to do cannot be done over the telephone). Lt. Hernandez then arrests Jessica, who is very surprised.

At the station he reveals that he isn’t actually arresting her, this was just a charade to throw off the real killer and give Jessica a chance to “do her thing.” Well, not a charade, exactly. On the secretary’s testimony she’s been upgraded to the prime suspect by the DA, but Lt. Hernandez still has faith that she’ll find the real killer and clear herself. This finally convinces Jessica to start solving the murder.

In the next scene, Norman the lawyer shows up at Jessica’s hotel and she puts him to work doing research on Eve’s medical history, the screenwriter’s alcoholism, the director’s financial status, and Marta’s relationship with Jerry Lydecker. While he does that research, Jessica has some stuff to do at the studio.

Since Norman mentioned that she’s been banned from the studio lot as a disruptive influence, she sneaks in on a tour bus, wearing a big hat. She finds Norman’s uncle who happens to be a camera operator in one of the small private theaters on the studio (people do have odd connections all over the place in Hollywood) and she watches what Mr. Lydecker was watching shortly before he was killed. It contains a scene with Eve in it where she is making out the lead actor. The scene is called (for some reason, with a snap board, which is only used for sound synchronization) and they continue to make out. Even after someone walks up asking them to stop because they need to move on.

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Jessica has what she needs and leaves. She finds the male lead on the movie, which I think may be the same guy that Eve was making out with in the footage that Jessica just watched. Jessica tells him that she was just watching some rushes and he was wonderful. The buttering up works wonderfully and he offers to give Jessica a signed picture of himself to take back to Vermont with her. Jessica gratefully accepts. She then probes and finds out that he and Eve are, indeed, an item.

Jessica then goes to the wardrobe department.

She runs into a plump middle-aged woman named Eleanor, who is working on a costume. A little gossip later, she finds out that Marta and the director left the wardrobe department, on the day of the murder, before the police sirens. Also, Marta left first, they didn’t leave together. Jessica then gets a look at the old costumes and notes that there’s no drum majorette’s costume. Eleanor knows who took it and didn’t bring it back. (She may tell Jessica but if so it’s not on camera.)

We next see Jessica investigating Eve’s trailer when her repeated knock doesn’t bring anyone to the door. As she’s snooping around, the director bursts out of some of the clothes, knocks Jessica down as he rushes past her, and runs away. As Jessica gets out of the trailer and calls out, “Stop that man!” we go to commercial.

When we get back, Norman happens to round a corner in front of the director, hears Jessica’s call, and tackles him. Lt. Hernandez and another police officer arrive on the scene. They search the director and find the gold button in the director’s pocket. Lt. Hernandez takes this to mean that Ross was planting the gold button in Eve’s trailer. He arrests Ross and takes him away.

Norman congratulates Jessica on finding the real killer and clearing herself, but she still wants the information she sent him to find. He did find it, so he gives it to her. Ross was over-extended including a mortgage on his house. The screenwriter successfully kicked drugs but still has an alcohol problem. Eve has diabetis mellitus and takes oral medication. Marta used to be Lydecker’s mistress and once threatened to turn him into shish kabob for fooling around with younger women.

Norman suggests that they have a party for her solving the case and Jessica says that a party is a great idea. The next scene is at the beach house with all of the suspects (except for Ross, of course, who is in police custody).

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I can’t imagine how they’d all agree to come to this party, so it’s probably a good thing that they didn’t try to explain. Various people propose toasts, and Jessica’s toast is to Ross, who was wrongfully accused of murder. Marta and the screenwriter then excuse themselves. Next Scott (the male lead) makes his excuses and leaves, insincerely saying that he’ll call her.

That leaves just Jessica and Eve.

Jessica tells her that (according to his confession) while Jessica was busy with the guard, Ross came onto the scene by another entrance, knew at once who killed Lydecker, took the button, polished the urn, and left as he came in.

Jessica tells Eve that there’s still time to tell her story to Lt Hernandez. Lydecker caught on that she was having an affair with her co-star, right before he went to the set to discuss the costumes she didn’t like, which was why she was wearing the drum majorette costume at the time.

Eve starts talking.

Lydecker wanted to drop Scott from the movie. Moreover, he was going to try to ruin Scott’s career by spreading it around that he was fired for not learning his lines, not showing up on time, etc. So she had to do something; she hit him with the urn. She didn’t know she’d lost a button, she drove to the beach house in the costume.

Jessica says that this was why Ross couldn’t find the costume in her dressing room. He was trying to put the button back on it when Jessica walked in on him. It wasn’t to protect Eve so much as to protect the picture. He desperately needed a success and couldn’t afford to have his star arrested for murder.

Jessica admits that Eve’s pretending to be drunk fooled Jessica. She adds that people don’t give Eve enough credit as an actress. She only thought about it later and realized that real drinkers don’t mix scotch whiskey with diet cola. And then there was the story about her turning red from vodka—there’s a diabetic medication which will do that. Jessica realized Eve was just faking being drunk to give herself an alibi.

When Jessica asks if Eve wants to make the phone call to the police or wants Jessica to do it, Eve gets pensive and replies, “It’s funny. I never wanted to be a movie star. That was Jerry’s idea. I’d have done anything for him. Jerry. Scott. I sure know how to pick ’em, don’t I, Mrs. Fletcher?”

And with that, we go to credits.

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It’s often the case that the writers of a TV show don’t really know what the show wants to be at first and Murder, She Wrote certainly seems to be no exception to that. This episode is quite at odds with the previous two as far as Jessica wanting to investigate the murder. Frankly, I can’t imagine why the writers ever thought it would be interesting to have the main character keep wanting to not do what we want to see her do. It’s not like in an action film where there are moral reasons for the hero to try everything else before using violence.

The episode is also quite comedic in nature, almost to the point where you can’t take it seriously. Approximately everything about the movie is satire that pushes well past the point of plausibility. In the 1980s, slasher films were low budget films. They could be popular enough and certainly could be profitable—Halloween grossed $70M on a budget of $300K—but they weren’t prestigious and generally weren’t shot on sound stages or had hundreds of custom-made costumes by workers in a costume department. (In Halloween, many of the actors wore their own clothes.)

I’m not sure how much the things the episode gets wrong about movies would impact its satire/plausible balance among the average viewer. For example, the interview with Lydecker that gets Jessica onto a plane makes no sense. The interviewer asks Lydecker about the scene in which the psychopath uses a flame thrower on a gang of break dancers. There was no way for him to know that since it wasn’t in the book and movies don’t hand their scripts out to the public and B-movie producers don’t give national TV interviews about specific scenes in a movie which is only partway through principal photography. The scene is funny, but so detached from reality that to me it only registers as parody.

Now, it may well have been meant as parody. I kind of think that it was. But that’s a bit strange coming after the previous two episodes, which certainly had moments of humor but were serious. And then, given how much of this episode was a parody, it ended on a serious note rather than with a joke.

It’s also curious to see that when we get to something that the writers (presumably) know a lot about—Hollywood—the episode is no more realistic than it’s about things that they almost certainly know nothing about. Big business, for example. And it’s not just a case of sacrificing realism for the demands of the plot. They just don’t care. There are all sorts of things which would have been no harder to make realistic. To give an example: Lydecker could have broken promises he assured the screenwriter didn’t need to be in the contract, rather than a contract coming through after principle photography already started and it being talked about as if the screenwriter had no choice about whether to accept it.

The mystery was also a little bit thin in this episode. There was a single clue—the button—and it was never explained how this clue got where it was. Yes, they established it was from the costume that Eve was wearing, but how did it come off? There was no struggle and Eve just hit Lydecker with the nearest object to hand and he went down immediately. Nothing there would have ripped a button off of her costume. And the thing is, a clue like a button should have some relationship to the crime. This is just an artistic thing—buttons do sometimes randomly fall off for no observable reason—but random events are far less satisfying. A button randomly falling off is better than the murderer accidentally leaving his wallet at the scene of the crime, but they’re both towards the bottom of the barrel.

Actually, I’m being a bit unfair when I say that was the only clue—there was also the clue that Eve never drunk alcohol. And, I suppose, there was the clue that Eve was having an affair with her co-star. That last one came quite late, though.

I’m not sure what to make of Norman reporting that Eve has diabetes. On the one hand, diabetics shouldn’t drink a lot of alcohol, but on the other hand plenty of diabetics do things which aren’t great for their health. And either way, how on earth did Norman find this out? Even in the 1980s doctors didn’t just give out medical information on their patients to random strangers. And how was he supposed to get that information? Call up every doctor in the county and ask if she’s their patient? This isn’t an insuperable problem, but it does feel more than a little far-fetched.

Eve’s character is a bit weird in this episode, too. She seems to want to be a good actress, but then at the end she says that she never wanted to be an actress—that was Lydecker’s idea. She would have done anything for him. Except for not publicly cheat on him with her co-star, apparently. Be that last part as it may, why on earth did Lydecker take a non-actress girlfriend and turn her into an actress? And in films with sex scenes? For a jealous man, this is an obviously counter-productive thing to do. I find his speech about how, when she’s a big star, she won’t have time for anyone but him. Why did he get her into acting? Had she just been his wife, she’d have had a lot more time to be around him and be put into the arms of younger men quite a bit less.

I also can’t help but comment on her motive for murder. I usually don’t do this in Murder, She Wrote because limiting murder mysteries to to realistic motives for murder would tend to make them monotonous and predictable (at least if by “realistic” we mean “common”). However, hearing that her lover intended to ruin the career of her other lover has a much safer solution than murder: she could have threatened to leave Lydecker if he spread rumors about Scott. On any realistic appraisal, being fired from a low budget slasher film wouldn’t hurt anyone’s career if Lydecker left it at that. Which makes me wonder why they didn’t have Lydecker attack her in a rage and she strike him in fear. That would be more common for later Murder, She Wrote episodes and would explain the button better.

Oh well.

Looking at things that worked, I do think that the humor worked as humor, if not always as the setup for a murder mystery.

I enjoyed the character of Lt. Hernandez. I’m conflicted over whether he was a simple character or a Colombo-style clever man pretending to be simple. I’d far prefer him to be the latter, though the way that he needed Jessica to point out his grounds for searching the director makes me fear it might be the former. All the talk about what his Captain and the DA think would have worked very well as a Colombo-style ruse. The way he answered Jessica asking if she was free to go home with his sly answer of thinking she’d want to see what was going on which worked some intriguing clues into his reasoning felt Colombo-like. The problem with my preferred theory was that it had no payoff—no moment where the mask was dropped. I think that’s a real pity.

It might be objected that if the police are smart there’s nothing for Jessica to do and it’s Murder, She Wrote not Murder, Somebody Else Solved. While the point about the titles is correct, it’s not actually a problem to have an intelligent police officer as long as Jessica has access to some clues which he doesn’t have. It would also give Jessica an opportunity to have an intelligent conversation with someone, which would be a nice change of pace.

Another strong point of the episode are the characters of Marta Quintessa and the screenwriter. They were both likable. They had personalities which felt real. I appreciated that they got good send-offs which made them feel like characters with a future.

I also liked the beginning of the episode. It was nice to have Jessica start out at home. I appreciate the grounding that provides. I also appreciated the episode showing her working on the plot to one of her books. A big part of the fun of murder mysteries is thinking about them and it was nice to see Jessica thinking about her plot and not merely typing away at her typewriter.

Next week’s episode brings us to the south for It’s a Dog’s Life.

Tzvi Reading The Lantern Bearers

My friend Tzvi put up a video in which he gave a reading of the Robert Louis Stevenson essay, The Lantern Bearers. You can watch it on his substack.

It’s an interesting essay and Tzvi reads it well. I especially like the part where Stevenson discusses the interior life of the miser, though it’s only next to the main point of the essay. The main point, or at least what I take to be the main point, is that the makers of art are too apt to think themselves full, because they know themselves, and to think other men empty because they do not know them. (Admittedly, Part 1 of the essay is a little slow, though it was appropriate to the style of the day, which was necessary to make the point it made in the time in which it was written. It very much rewards bearing with it.)

This is a bit of a tangent, but the essay calls to mind this section out of G.K. Chesterton’s book The Well and the Shallows:

It is not an idle contradiction to say that Mr. Shaw is flippant because he is serious.  A man like Mr. Shaw has the deliberate intention of getting people to listen to what he has to say; and therefore he must be amusing.  A man who is only amusing himself need not be amusing.  Generally, when he is a perfect and polished stylist, he is not.  And there is a good deal of misunderstanding about the relative moral attitude of the two types; especially in connection with the old morality of modesty.  Most persons, listening to these loud flippancies would say that Mr. Bernard Shaw is egotistical.  Mr. Bernard Shaw himself would emphatically and violently assert that he is egotistical; and I should emphatically and violently assert that he is not.  It is not the first time we have somewhat tartly disagreed.  And perhaps I could not more effectively perform the just and necessary public duty of annoying Mr. Shaw than by saying (as I do say) that in this matter he really inherits an unconscious tradition of Christian humility.  The preaching friar puts his sermon into popular language, the missionary fills his sermon with anecdotes and even jokes, because he is thinking of his mission and not of himself It does not matter that Mr. Shaw’s sentences so often begin with the pronoun “I.” The Apostles Creed begins with the pronoun “I”; but it goes on to rather more important nouns and names.

Father Ronald Knox, in his satire on Modernism, has described the courteous vagueness of the Oxford manner which

….  tempering pious zeal
Corrected, “I believe” to “One does feel.”

And though I have much of such courtesy to be thankful for, both in conversation and criticism, I must do justice to the more dogmatic type, where I feel it to be right.  And I will say firmly that it is the author who says, “One does feel,” who is really an egoist; and the author who says, “I believe,” who is not an egoist.  We all know what is meant by a truly beautiful essay; and how it is generally written in the light or delicate tone of, “One does feel.” I am perfectly well aware that all my articles are articles, and that none of my articles are essays.  An essay is often written in a really graceful and exquisitely balanced style, which I doubt if I could imitate, though I might try.  Anyhow, it generally deals with experiences of a certain unprovocative sort in a certain unattached fashion; it begins with something like.  .  .  .

“The pond in my garden shows, under the change of morning, an apprehension of the moving air, hardly to be called a wave; and so little clouding its lucidity as to seem rather vacuity in motion.  Here at least is nothing to stain the bright negation of water; none of those suburban gold-fish that look like carrots and do but nose after their tails in a circle of frustration, to give some sulky gardener cause to cry ‘stinking fish’.  The mind is altogether carried away upon the faint curve of wind over water; the movement is something less solid than anything that we can call liquid; the smoke of my light Virginian cigarette does not mount more unsubstantially towards the sky.  Nor indeed inaptly:  it needs some such haven of patriarchal mildness to accent sharply the tang of mild tobacco; alone perhaps, of all the attributes of Raleigh’s red-haired mistress, rightly to be called virginal.”

I think I might learn to do it some day; though not by a commercial correspondence course; but the truth is that I am very much occupied.  I confess to thinking that the things which occupy me are more important; but I am disposed to deny that the thing I think important is myself.  And in justice not only to myself but to Mr. Shaw and Mr. Belloc and Mr. Mencken and many another man in the same line of business, I am moved to protest that the other literary method, the method of, “One does feel,” is much more really arrogant than ours.  The man in Mr. Shaw’s play remarks that who says artist says duellist.  Perhaps, nevertheless, Mr. Shaw is too much of a duellist to be quite an artist.  But anyhow, I will affirm, on the same model, that who says essayist says egoist.  I am sorry if it is an alliteration, almost a rhyme and something approaching to a pun.  Like a great many such things, it is also a fact.

Even in the fancy example I have given, and in a hundred far better and more beautiful extracts from the real essayists, the point could be shown.  If I go out of my way to tell the reader that I smoke Virginian cigarettes, it can only be because I assume the reader to be interested in me.  Nobody can be interested in Virginian cigarettes.  But if I shout at the reader that I believe in the Virginian cause in the American Civil War, as does the author of The American Heresy, if I thunder as he does that all America is now a ruin and an anarchy because in that great battle the good cause went down — then I am not an egoist.  I am only a dogmatist; which seems to be much more generally disliked.  The fact that I believe in God may be, in all modesty, of some human interest; because any man believing in God may affect any other man believing in God.  But the fact that I do not believe in gold-fish, as ornaments in a garden pond, cannot be of the slightest interest to anybody on earth, unless I assume that some people are interested in anything whatever that is connected with me.  And that is exactly what the true elegant essayist does assume.  I do not say he is wrong; I do not deny that he also in another way represents humanity and uses a sort of artistic fiction or symbol in order to do so.  I only say that, if it comes to a quarrel about being conceited, he is far the more conceited of the two.  The one sort of man deals with big things noisily and the other with small things quietly.  But there is much more of the note of superiority in the man who always treats of things smaller than himself than the man who always treats of things greater than himself.

Dogmatists, being fallen creatures, have faults. But I think it worth saying that among their faults, one does not find that they assume other men’s interior lives to be empty merely because they do not know them. Dogmatists are the great democrats of life, in the Chestertonian sense of the word “democrat”—they believe all men equal before the Law. Quite annoyingly to their neighbors, they also have a tendency to believe that all men are equally interested in the law. This may annoy their neighbors, but at least it does not insult them.

Jessica Fletcher’s Family Tree

After a bit of googling, I found an interesting post on a blog called Murder, She Watched. (As a side note: female fans of Murder, She Wrote have a definite leg up when it comes to naming their writing about it.) It contains Jessica’s family tree as portrayed on all the episodes.

(Out of respect, I’m only posting a thumbnail. You have to go to her blog for a legible version, which she clearly put a lot of work into.)

Some of the notes on it confirm a suspicion I have about this project: a lot of the episodes are very vague about Jessica’s connection to her relatives. Many of them we don’t get last names or maiden names on, so there are a lot of possible family trees which would match.

Another interesting thing which I learned from the chart and should have known but never thought of is that Grady Fletcher, Jessica’s favorite nephew and far-and-away most often shown relative, is actually Frank’s nephew and only related to Jessica by marriage.

One other thought on this is that Jessica actually had a lot fewer nieces than one gets the impression she has. Murder, She Watched counted twenty relatives seen on screen, of whom only eleven are adult nieces or nephews (I’m not counting the two young children of one of Jessica’s nieces). That’s actually less than one per season.

Murder She Wrote: Birds of a Feather

On the fourteenth day of October in the year of our Lord 1984 the second episode of Murder, She Wrote aired. Titled Birds of a Feather, it features one of Jessica’s nieces and takes place in San Francisco. (Last week’s episode was Deadly Lady.)

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We open with a man in an ugly track suit jogging on a road next to the sea. A man in a white suit gets out of his small car and starts jogging next to the man in the track suit, saying that they need to talk.

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The man in the white suit needs his money, and the man in the track suit says that the man in the white suit will get it when he’s finished. We learn that the man in the white suit is named Howard, and that he won’t get a time unless he is “there” tonight. Howard is unhappy but accepts this answer and the man in the track suit runs off.

When he gets to his car, it turns out that another man in a white suit is waiting for him.

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Well, a man in a white jacket, at least. His name is Mike. He calls the guy in the brown track suit Al. Mike thought that they had a deal, and Al says that they do, Mike just needs to be patient. Mike says that he’s been patient for six months and he thinks that Al is just pulling his chain. Al asks if he got the money, and Mike replies that that’s his problem. Al then tells him to be careful. Things have been going real good, but he can live without Mike. Mike pokes Al in the chest for emphasis as he replies that anybody can live without anybody. Mike then leaves.

The dialog is intentionally vague to stir up the audience’s curiosity. If we want to learn what this is all about we won’t change the channel or go to bed early. Ironically, though, it’s actually far more realistic than the exposition one normally finds at the beginning of episodes. A typical show might begin with, “Well, if it isn’t Al Drake, manager of my favorite night club.” “Hi there Mike Dupont. Still hoping to buy out the contract of my lead act?” No one actually talks like that, though through exposure we come to accept it. I find it amusing that the realism is an accidental byproduct.

The scene then cuts to a young woman named Victoria who’s talking to a priest about her upcoming wedding.

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It’s going to be a very simple wedding. Intimate. The priest says that they can still make it festive, with flowers on both sides of the alter, but Victoria says that she’s allergic to flowers.

When the priest asks exactly how intimate this wedding will be, she says that she just arrived from NY, her Aunt jut arrived from Maine, and then just Howard and maybe a few of his friends.

Yes. That Howard.

He comes in a minute later and apologizes for being late, saying that traffic was terrible when he came from the office. Victoria tells him about dinner reservations she made and a minor fight ensues as he says that he can’t make it. In the fight we get a little backstory that he’s been busy every night for the last five nights.

The scene then shifts to Victoria and Jessica at the restaurant, where a small joke about the lobsters being Maine lobsters is made before they’re shown to their table. (The lobsters aren’t active; when Jessica asks if he’s sure that they’re Maine lobsters he says that they’re flown in fresh every day. Jessica says that perhaps the lobsters have jet lag.)

It’s an interesting restaurant.

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Not very crowded, despite this being, in theory, a dinner engagement. That’s cheaper to film, of course. It’s very fancy in a dimly lit, hard-to-see-the-details kind of way. There were real restaurants like that back in the 1980s and for all I know, still are. It’s cheaper to look fancy if people can’t look to closely at the fancy stuff, both in TV and in real life.

Over dinner, Victoria tells Jessica about her history with Howard—she met him about a year ago in New York City. He was acting in an off-broadway show. He works in insurance (as his latest job—he had been a cab driver in New York), but aspires to be an actor. Then she breaks down and tells Jessica about her worries. She’s been in town five days but they haven’t gone out at night even once. And she went to Howard’s office the day before to surprise him and they told her that Howard hadn’t worked there for a month. Jessica says, knowingly, “Oh,” and takes a drink of wine.

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She drinks it as if she wants the alcohol in it. I know I’m skipping ahead a bit, but this is very unusual for Jessica. (She rarely drinks except to comment on how fine the extremely rare wine which requires a refined palate to enjoy is.) I guess they’re still feeling the character out at this point.

Anyway, yesterday, Howard had circles under his eyes and smelled like perfume. And today he lent her a handkerchief and the lipstick on it was not her shade. And matches from a nightclub were all over his apartment. She’s considered going to the nightclub, but if she loves Howard, how can she justify spying on him?

Jessica replies, “For your own peace of mind, I think you have to.” Her tone suggests that this is sage advice, but it really isn’t. She could have said, “You can do it for Howard’s sake. If there’s something he’s afraid to tell you about, you can have the courage for him.” Or, “For the sake of the children you may have with Howard, you owe it to them to make sure you can both go through with the marriage.” Or “marriage shouldn’t be entered into with secrets and if he’s not strong enough to tell you his secrets, you should do it for him in case it’s something you can accept.” All of these actually address Victoria’s concern. Jessica’s reply that Victoria just needs to be more selfish is… bad advice.

The scene cuts to the night club, which is a relatively classy place.

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Before long the camera goes to Al, who is filling in for the host, and a well-dressed man named Patterson walks in.

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It turns out that he’s the agent for Freddy, a comedian with a four-year contract at the club. Al’s interpretation of their contract is that Freddy can’t do anything else, while Patterson’s interpretation is that Freddy is free to do other stuff on the side. Patterson recently got Freddy on a talk show and now he’s hot. Al, however, is unmoved, except in the sense that he says “this is what we have courts for” and walks off.

Jessica and Victoria come in. They ask for a table for two but the host says that he can seat them next Thursday. Victoria then identifies Al as being in charge from some posters on the wall and walks up to him, explains that she and her Aunt want a table, and then explains how famous Jessica is. Al sees to it that they’re seated immediately.

I’d like to pause to take note of what she actually says. Assuming that she’s telling the truth—and I suspect that she is—Jessica has six best-seller books, was on a talk show this morning, and will meet the mayor the next day. Since the pilot episode depicts Jessica’s first book being published, obviously a lot of time has passed between the pilot and the main series.

The first act we see is Freddy York, the performer whose agent showed up and talked with Al a few minutes ago.

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His shtick is that he plays the drums as his own backup and does the rim-shots for his own jokes. His outfit is really amazing; I believe it’s intended to be sincere. The episode was shot in 1984, which was only four years after the 1970s when collars like this were hot stuff. I suspect it’s meant to indicate that he’s a little stuck in the past, but not very much. His jokes, incidentally, aren’t terrible, though they are neither very witty nor very classy. After a few of them, we cut to a glamorous older woman walking in.

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It turns out that this is Al’s wife. Since Al’s last name is Drake, she’s Mrs. Drake. The host greets her very politely, but there’s a bit of ice in the air. When he asks if Al is expecting her, she replies she very much doubts it. She’s shown to her table immediately, of course. Once she’s on her way to her table, the host grabs a bus boy and tells him to go find Al and tell him that his wife is here.

As the busboy is looking for Al back stage, he runs into a woman who asks him what he’s doing back stage.

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We actually saw her before and it seemed so minor an interaction I didn’t think it worth mentioning. She had some banter with Al before Freddy’s agent came in. Since she may play a bigger role than I anticipated: her name is Barbara. Anyway, she tells the busboy to go back to the front and she’ll tell Al.

The moderately funny comedian who does his own rim shots tells a final joke—which Mrs. Drake applauds vigorously—then he profusely tells the crowd that they’re beautiful, wonderful, and every good thing, then takes his leave. Jessica then asks Victoria if she’s noticed that there’s something a little off about this club. Victoria doesn’t know what Jessica means. Frankly, neither do I.

Somebody in a silver dinner jacket then introduced the “chanteuse” they’ve all been waiting for.

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After a few introductory bars and the length of time it takes to sing “There’s a somebody I’m longin’ to see. I hope that he turns out—” we hear a scream. Then a female figure in a fancy dress runs off the stage and through the crowd, towards the front door. Right behind it, Barbara runs onto the stage and calls out, “Stop him! He’s a murderer!”

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A police officer shows up at the front door cutting off that exit, so the figure then tries several other avenues of escape before crashing into Jessica and Victoria’s table. His wig falls off and we get to see who it is.

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It’s a surprise, though it shouldn’t be. This is exactly the kind of twist that TV shows of the 1980s loved, all the more, right before a commercial break. Which is what happens after some shocked recognition between Howard and Victoria and Jessica being surprised that this is Howard.

We come in from commercial to an establishing shot of a police car driving with its sirens on, followed by an interior of the club in confusion. Amidst the confusion we do learn that Al was shot.

Howard is being kept locked in a room with a security guard keeping watch on the door. Victoria comes up and persuades the guard to let her in. She’s so happy that it turns out the thing he was hiding was just a job that most of what they do is kiss until Lt. Novak shows up and is surprised to see them passionately embracing. He takes it in stride, however, and merely asks the security guard which one is the suspect (“the tall one”) then directs that he be taken down to the station and booked.

The scene then shifts to the scene of the murder, with Lt. Novak entering and taking charge.

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His manner is very matter-of-fact. Interviewing the assembled crowd of people, he asks who saw the murder and Barbara answers that she did, or, rather, she walked past the open door and saw Howard standing over Al holding the gun. The Lt. looks at the ground and sees a gun. Picking it up with a pencil he remarks that, having a smooth grip, they may get some fingerprints from it.

This musing is interrupted by the sound of a bird—a white cockatoo—cawing and then Jessica interrupts to ask if Lt. Novak noticed a small white feather on Al’s jacket. Instead of answering, the Lt. asks her to leave. The manner is curious; he asks if she’ll do him a big favor and she eagerly replies that she’ll do anything at all to help. He then asks her to get out of here and she is crestfallen. Apparently, by now, Jessica is used to joining the police on murder investigations.

The scene changes to the next day, at the police station, in Lt. Novak’s office, with Lt. Novak finishing interviewing Freddy York (in the same clothes as he was wearing on the night before). After signing his statement, Freddy express his lack of sympathy and leaves. Right after, Jessica knocks on the door and enters. Novak doesn’t want to talk with her but she uses her clout and fame to bully him into cooperating.

He relents and gives her a brief infodump. The suspect was seen standing over the body holding the gun. The only fingerprints on the gun belong to the suspect. It was common knowledge that he’d been arguing with Al Drake about money. The gun was stolen from a pawn shop about six months ago, in New York city, where Howard lived at the time.

She asks if he conducted a nitric acid test to determine whether Howard fired the gun. He replies that they haven’t gotten to it yet, and she tells him that he’d better get to it soon because after a few hours the test is meaningless. (According to Wikipedia, this is accurate. Gunshot residue tends to only last on living hands for 4-6 hours since it is easily wiped off by incidental contact with objects.) Since the murder took place the previous night and it is now past sunrise, the crucial window has already expired, so it’s a bit weird that Jessica is telling the Lt. to get to the gunshot residue test soon. (A nitric acid solution is used to swab the area to be tested as the first step, which is, I believe, why she’s referring to it as a nitric acid test.)

She then demands to see Howard and doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

Howard is brought to the Lt.’s office, who gives them privacy for some reason. Howard is confused since he’s never met Jessica before, but she takes charge. Jessica directly asks him if he killed Al Drake and he says he did not, Al was dead when he walked into the room. He had just finished his act and went into Al’s office to get his money and quit. This is a bit odd because we saw the act right before Al was found dead and it was Freddy’s comedy routine. (I suspect that this is just a plot hole and not a hole in his story.) We get a flashback which seems plausible enough with Howard having a one-sided conversation with Al for a bit, since Al was facing the wall, and he only realized that Al was dead when he turned Al’s chair around to make him talk to him. Since this may be important later (someone may have thought Al was alive when he was actually dead), let’s look at how the chair was when Howard entered the room:

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You can’t see anything that indicates that Al is dead, but on the other hand this is a very weird thing for a living man to do. If you came into a room and saw a man sitting in a chair motionless staring at a dark wall, I think you’d be a lot more likely to check on him than to just assume he’s lost in thought. That said, there’s a good chance that this indicates a significantly earlier time of death.

Anyway, after finally turning the chair around when he got tired of Mr. Blake “ignoring” him, he staggers around in shock for a bit, notices it’s incriminating that he’s holding the gun that probably shot Mr. Blake, then Barbara comes in the door, sees the scene, and screams, at which point Howard panics and bolts.

Jessica says that she’s quite relieved because there’s only been one killer in the family, in 1777, and the red coat shot first. She then pivots to wondering what Barbara was doing in the office and Howard bowdlerizes to “Everyone knew that she and Mr. Drake worked late. A lot. Together.”

Jessica knowingly says, “I get the idea.”

She then says that she’s got the name of a very good lawyer and asks if there’s anything else he needs, to which he sheepishly replies, “pants.”

The scene then shifts to Jessica on the phone with Lt. Novak, presumably some time later. He lets her know that they’ve narrowed the time of the murder down to between 9:50 and 10:05. Jessica asks if that isn’t a bit precise for a medical examiner and he replies that it didn’t come from the medical examiner, it’s when York was performing and the banging of his drums covered the sound of the shot.

There’s an interesting exchange which follows the end of their conversation. Lt. Novak asks his assistant, “What is it about that woman that makes me nervous?” The assistant replies, “I think she’s kind of cute.”

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I find it interesting because it’s explicitly framing Jessica’s investigations. The police are officially not thrilled with Jessica investigating, but we—the audience—know that this is a mistake on their part. The assistant thus provides some ambiguity here. It certainly makes more sense than Amos Tupper taking both roles, as he did in Deadly Lady.

The scene changes to Jessica at the club during the day. She runs into Freddy’s agent for some reason. He asks if she has an agent on the west coast, but she does. He directs her to where she can find Barbara (she asked), and then takes a moment to look suspicious for the camera.

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I think that the equivalent of this, in a novel, is to give us a glimpse into the characters thoughts which is highly misleading if taken out of context, which is how we get it. “‘I hope she doesn’t find out,’ he thought.” Then later we discover it was a different ‘she’ and the thing to not find out was something completely unrelated—if the book is halfway decently constructed, a red herring that the detective uncovers and this explains “why you were acting so funny when I spoke about [name].” It’s a bit of a cheap trick, but it does make the viewer/reader feel like they need to keep on their toes, which they want to feel like.

We then see Mrs. Blake talking to two men—the host and someone I don’t recognize. The upshot is that she’s intending to run things now that Al is gone. She also picks a fight with their leading female impersonator, who storms off to his dressing room. She yells at him to never turn his back on her and follows. Once they’re in his dressing room and close the door their manner changes entirely, they embrace, and passionately kiss. And on that bombshell, we go to commercial break.

When we get back, Jessica walks into Freddy’s dressing room by mistake, where he’s sitting at his mirror for some reason. He says that it’s too bad about Howard, the kid’s got talent and not just at wearing dresses. He makes some jokes about how his own talent is wasted in a dump like this; in Las Vegas a llama who’s part of an act has a better dressing room that he does. Jessica says that it’s not so bad and at least he’s got a window with a great view. He jokes that it’s his manager, Patterson: he couldn’t get Freddy any more money so he got him a window. When he asks if Jessica wanted to see him about something she excuses herself for intruding and leaves.

When Jessica finally finds Barbara, Mrs. Drake is firing her.

Jessica catches her carrying a box full of her stuff out of the office and offers to give her a lift in the taxi she’s in. Barbara accepts.

Jessica reads Barbara as a gossipy sort of woman and so plays a gossip herself. She shares the news that Al was already dead when Howard got there and Barbara accepts it without question. She goes on to say that she wouldn’t be surprised if Mrs. Drake did it. She also is aware of the affair she’s having with the female impersonator (his name is Mike). He was actually trying to buy the club. She also could believe that Mr. Patterson killed him because Freddy was under a seven year contract.

She gets out at her apartment and the scene shifts to Mike waiting near the ocean for Mrs. Drake. I’ve just realized that Mike was the second guy who talked to Al at the very beginning of the episode. Asking Mike if he raised the money was probably a reference to buying the club.

Anyway, he complains that Mrs. Drake kept him waiting and asks if this is a sign of things to come. She’s apologetic and gets to the point: she wants to know if he killed Al (which, she professes, wouldn’t make any difference to her if he did). Funnily enough, he had the same question for her, and it also wouldn’t make any difference to him if she did. After some closeups in which the actors try to look as suspicious as humanly possible, the scene ends.

This sort of scene will become a staple of Murder, She Wrote episodes, especially towards the middle. Once you notice them it becomes way easier to figure out who the murderer is: whoever doesn’t get a closeup of them looking suspicious.

In the next scene Jessica catches up with Lt. Novak at the club. She inquires about the nitric acid test and it came back negative. The Lt. says that Howard could have been wearing gloves when he shot Al and Jessica points out that if he was, there wouldn’t have been finger prints all over the gun and he can’t have it both ways.

Jessica then questions Lt. Novak’s theory about the gunshot being masked by Freddy’s drum act, so they do some experimentation with the assistant firing a gun in the murder room and Jessica and Lt. Novak in front of the stage with various amounts of noise being produced, and no matter how much noise, they still hear the shot. Lt. Novak takes that to mean that the only possible explanation is it being covered by the sound of Freddy’s drums. Why they tested every other source of noise except for Freddy’s drums isn’t explained.

Anyway, Freddy comes out and demands to know what’s going on—is Mrs. Fletcher suggesting that one of them killed Al? At that moment a string of heavy stage lights falls down almost killing Jessica and Freddy.

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Freddy dives in front of the lights, Jessica steps back to avoid them. When the camera finds Freddy he’s on the ground holding his neck in great pain, probably from the dive and landing on the ground.

The scene then shifts to Jessica knocking on the door of Lt. Novak’s apartment the next morning. She woke him up but is only very slightly concerned at this given that Lt. Novak has been working all night again. She needs to talk to him about Howard.

He’s friendlier than normal, explaining that his hates-everyone approach is just his office persona. They go over the list of possible suspects, but for some reason he’s convinced that Howard is guilty. I don’t really get this because it’s at odds with his theory that the drums covered the sound of the gun—unless he’s willing to postulate that, after shooting Al, Howard just stood around holding the gun for up to a quarter of an hour.

Anyway, after Jessica goes over some facts which incriminate other suspects including the affair between Mrs. Drake and Mike—which Lt. Novak didn’t know—he tells her that she’d have made a great cop but asks her to leave the policing to the police. She responds that she wouldn’t dream of interfering, which is odd because she’s very clearly happy to interfere, for example demanding that Lt. Novak do a nitric acid test and demanding that he take time out of the investigation to talk to her or she’ll badmouth him on television.

Anyway, he clarifies that her interfering isn’t what he’s worried about. Lab results indicate that the lights falling wasn’t an accident. The rope was eaten through with acid. Jessica’s interpretation was that someone was trying to kill Freddy York. Lt. Novak’s interpretation was that she was the target. We get a wide-eyed reaction shot from Jessica then switch scenes to a courtroom where Howard is bailed out. Jessica apparently posted bail for him, since she tells him that if he jumps bail the state of California has an option on her next four books.

In the hallway as they are leaving, Jessica asks Howard if he saw Mrs. Drake backstage during Freddy’s performance and he’s sure that he didn’t, but he did see her come in the stage door just before he went on. This isn’t very helpful to us because we never saw him on stage and there wasn’t really a time for him to have been on stage, but it helps Jessica because she isn’t deterred by plot holes in the same way that the audience is.

Accordingly, she goes and visits Mrs. Drake, who is playing golf. In between insincere condolences Jessica asks if Mrs. Drake saw her husband shortly before he died and she said that she didn’t, she came in during Freddy’s set. Jessica replies that it’s strange, then, that someone said they saw her come in before Freddy’s set. Mrs. Drake takes offense at this and says that she didn’t kill her husband, and if Jessica insists on sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong, she should look into Freddy York. His contract was a personal services contract with Al, not with the club, and when she brought Freddy flowers in the hospital, Freddy gave her notice that he was quitting.

I do need to partially take back what I said about us never seeing Howard on stage. Just in case I missed something I went back and it looks like Howard actually was on stage a little before Jessica and Victoria came in. If you look closely during the opening shot at the club, you can see Howard on the stage:

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You never see him clearly and almost immediately the camera pulls back and focuses on other things. And we’re looking at this in DVD quality. In broadcast quality back in 1984, it would have been extremely hard to make that out as Howard. Anyway, this introduces a timing problem. Howard confronted Al Drake after Freddy York’s set was over, but according to Howard, also, “I finished my act, then I went back to his office to quit and get my money.” In the flashback he was wearing his stage costume. This means he spent the entire length of Freddy’s performance doing nothing before he went to confront Al.

Anyway, Jessica takes Mrs. Drake’s story about visiting Freddy in the hospital to mean that Freddy is well enough to receive visitors and decides to pay a visit to Freddy herself. Accordingly, the scene shifts to the hospital, where Freddy and his agent are drinking champagne and celebrating all of the great things they’re going to do now that Freddy is free. Jessica walks in and Bill Paterson (the agent) basically yells at her to stop investigating, since neither he nor Freddy killed Al, and Freddy was not only on stage when it happened, someone later tried to kill him with the lights. Jessica replies that that’s a bit of a puzzler, since Mike thinks the lights were an attempt to kill him, Lt. Novak thinks that they were an attempt to kill Jessica, and Bill thinks that they were an attempt to kill Freddy. And on that… bang snap… we go to commercial break.

When we get back, Jessica is walking to her hotel room while Howard and Vicki argue over whether they should postpone the wedding (Howard says yes until he’s cleared, Vicki says no, they should get married right away). They ask Jessica what she thinks and what she thinks is that she needs a nap. Vicki asks if the builders working away in the room next to Jessica’s won’t keep her awake.

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Jessica replies that right now she could sleep through Armageddon. She then tells them that she promises that they will get to the bottom of this. She’s sure she’s overlooking something, and it will come to her if she get some sleep.

Jessica goes and lies down, but contrary to her imagined ability to sleep through Armageddon, all of the power tools do keep her up. She then holds the pillow over her ears…

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…and comes to a realization of what she had been overlooking.

She then shows up in Lt. Novak’s apartment. What she had forgot was the small white feather on Al Drake. Drake wasn’t shot during Freddy’s performance because the killer used a silencer! When Lt. Novak objects that they don’t make a silencer for that kind of gun, Jessica says that it wasn’t a metal silencer. It was a pillow. That explains the small white feather, which didn’t come from the cockatoo in Drake’s office. (It was an office pet.)

They then go to the scene of the murder and Lt. Novak picks up the pillow in the office and it has no bullet hole. But, Jessica points out, the pillow wasn’t there on the night of the murder. Don’t take her word for it, look at these police photos. When asked how she got police photos, Jessica says that his assistant, Charlie, gave them to her. He really is a very nice man.

Anyway, this shows that the pillow that’s there now was placed there after the investigation, presumably because the one that was there had to be removed because it was damaged when it was used to muffle the sound of the shot.

Jessica then asks Lt. Novak to take part in an experiment. They go to the stage and she has Lt. Novak stand in a precise location on the stage, then goes backstage and drops some sandbags on him. Or would have, had Lt. Novak not stepped out of the way when he heard the sandbags descending. She points out that he heard it, and he replies that of course he did, he’s not deaf. Jessica replies, “and neither was Freddy York.”

At this, Freddy steps out from back stage, applauding. He tells Jessica that she’s quite a performer. She says that it was quite a performance that he put on, diving off the stage when he didn’t have to.

Freddy counters that all she’s proved is that he could have staged the falling lights.

I’m not sure how she’s supposed to have proved that. All she proved—to the degree that she proved anything—was that Freddy was able to get out of the way of the lights because he would have heard them. But that was never at issue. He did get out of the way of the lights, so he got out of the way somehow, and hearing them just as Lt. Novak did is as good a way as anything else. Weirdly, though, it required no proof that he could have staged the lights because the rope was eaten through with acid, which he could have put on the rope before coming out on stage, because anybody could have put the acid on the rope before Freddy came out on stage.

Anyway, he goes on to say that this doesn’t prove that he had anything to do with what happened to Al Drake and while Freddy would love to stick around, he’s got to fly to Vegas—he hopes his arms don’t get tired. He then tells them that they’re beautiful and leaves.

Jessica motions to Lt. Novak to follow, and they do.

In Freddy’s dressing room Jessica points out that the pillow which was used to replace Al’s pillow was from Freddy’s dressing room because it is sun-faded, just like his settee, and it’s the only one that is because Freddy’s is the only dressing room in the building with a window. (The pillow does have a lighter side, though until Jessica said that it was sun-faded I thought it was just two-toned.)

Somehow it being the pillow from Freddy’s dressing room which was used to replace Al Drake’s pillow  in the days following the murder means, conclusively, that Freddy is the murderer. Luckily for Jessica Freddy can’t see any way out of this logic and admits it. “It’s my luck. It’s my dumb luck. Half the people in this club wanted Drake dead, and your niece’s boyfriend’s gotta get tagged for it. I knew you were trouble as soon as I saw you. What was I gonna do? Spend the rest of my life working in this rinky-dink club? You ever try to tell jokes when someone’s got their hand on your throat?”

Jessica shakes her head and says, “Surely, murder isn’t the answer.”

This prompts Freddy into a monologue.

You call it murder. I call it a career move. Look at me. What do you see? I’m not just another comedian. I’m Freddy York. I’m the first guy who did his own rim shots. I’m like the Edison of Comedy. I’m Robert Fulton on the drums. So Al Drake sees me one Sunday night. He says, “Kid, you’re good. Here’s a long-term contract. It’s your shot. Your big break.” He broke my spirit. That man broke my heart. I couldn’t let him do that. I’m a creative genius. Fair is fair. He gave me a shot. I gave him a shot. Ba dum bum. Should’ve shoved you under that stage light.

When Lt. Novak asks him why he rigged the lights, he merely replies that Novak should ask Jessica. She says the obvious, that he thought the charges against Howard would get dropped and a murder attempt on him would point suspicion elsewhere. Freddy then says, “Boy, you are good. I mean, you are really, really good. You ever think of taking your act on the road? You should play Vegas. That reminds me, I better cancel my tickets. Doesn’t look like I’m going. It’s too bad. I could’ve knocked ’em dead.”

Jessica nods and says, gently, “I’m sure you would have.”

We then cut to the wedding ceremony for Howard and Victoria. There are a few curious things about it; one is that we come in on “by the power vested in me by the state of California, I now pronounce you man and wife.” But this is in a church and it’s a priest who’s performing the ceremony. Those are the words spoken by a justice of the peace at a state ceremony. It’s interesting that here in 1984 they’re so hard-core secular.

The other interesting thing is the guest list:

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It’s just the people from the episode, none of whom had a connection to Howard or Victoria. A cynical man might think that this was mostly done just to save money on casting.

I might be that man.

Anyway, after the vows are over and the guests congratulate the couple, Bill Patterson comes up the isle and tells Howard that he’s been on the phone for an hour and got him a job on a soap opera for two days a week. It starts on Monday.

Victoria is all for it but Howard is ambivalent because it means canceling the honeymoon in Hawaii which Jessica had given them as a wedding present. Howard asks Jessica what they should do and she replies that she usually doesn’t give advice (which causes Lt. Novak to shake his head in disbelief behind her), but she thinks they should go for it.

Then everyone cheers and we go to credits.

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This was a very interesting episode. Quite different from Deadly Lady. It was far less of a classic mystery and perhaps a bit closer to a typical Murder, She Wrote episode. Jessica is nosy more than clever, most of the investigation was of red herrings, and Jessica solves it at the end in a moment of inspiration which gives the audience time to figure it out first.

It also had some really big plot holes. Bigger than I’m used to seeing on Murder, She Wrote.

Right at the very beginning, the intended wedding between Victoria and Howard makes no sense. Somehow Victoria and Howard are getting married in a day or two and she’s discussing basic initial planning with the priest. He’s literally never met the groom and doesn’t care; his only concern is interior decoration and some brief rehearsal. Very brief, in fact, because he has to get to chorus rehearsal in five minutes. There is literally only one person from her side of the family coming, and that’s Jessica. No parents, siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, or friends—just Jessica. Howard also has no family, though for all she knows he could have a few friends he’s made in the last six months. None of this bothers Victoria because she’s head-over-heels in love with Howard and would do anything, absolutely anything, for him. Howard’s lying to her about his job and having various indications that he’s having an affair with another woman only very slightly ruffles her, though it in no way deters her from going through with the wedding.

And somehow, this doesn’t bother Jessica in the slightest.

The timing of Howard’s performance is basically irreconcilable with the presented facts. He seems to have waited around, in the dress he didn’t like wearing, for the entire length of Freddy York’s performance doing absolutely nothing before he angrily went into Al Drake’s office to demand his money and quit.

Howard’s certainty at seeing Mrs. Drake come in right before his performance also goes nowhere, which is probably because it couldn’t have gone anywhere. What could Mrs. Drake have done, back stage, for however long it took Howard to perform, before leaving and re-entering through the front door? If we’re to believe that Howard was right, then presumably it was to visit Mike. Which seems more than a little far-fetched. She could hardly have hoped to be unobserved during such a busy time. And since this is a night club, they had plenty of time for hanky panky during the day.

Speaking of timing, there’s kind of a plot hole with how they filmed the episode. Al is alive and well in front of the club when he directs the host to give Victoria and Jessica a table. They walk directly to their table and Freddy York is introduced and starts his act within ten seconds of them sitting down (in a continuous shot). Al would have had to have sprinted to his office in time for Freddy to shoot him, and then Freddy would have had to sprint on stage, and I doubt that even that would have worked. Timing it, it’s twenty four seconds from when we last saw Al alive to when the curtain parted as the announcer came out to introduce Freddy and we catch a glimpse of Freddy behind the curtain. (The announcer would have seen if Freddy was absent and wouldn’t have announced him if he didn’t see him before stepping out through the curtain, but seeing Freddy is even more certain.) Granted, there were two cuts, but they were very clearly meant to cover continuous time. Twenty four seconds is not much time to sprint to his office in order to get murdered in his chair. (There was even less time for Freddy to have murdered Al after his set, though it’s clearly established that’s not what he did.) So there’s no way that Freddy could have done it. Which is great. I don’t think that there can be a bigger plot hole than “the murderer couldn’t have done it.”

Oh well.

Moving on, what was the whole thing about Barbara telling Mr. Blake that his wife is at the club, then not doing that? I suppose she’s meant to and this is the reason why she went to his office, but it was over a minute of screen time between when that happened and when we hear the scream. Also—and I had to go back and double check to remember this—she isn’t in a hurry to go find Al. In fact, she watches the bus boy leave then peers to make sure that he’s gone.

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I can think of no reason whatever that she could want to get rid of the bus boy. Yet she was more concerned with that than with telling Al his wife was here. What was that about? I doubt that the writers knew, either. And the whole thing where Jessica wanted to find out why Barbara was at Al’s office and so saw Howard with the gun? Completely dropped. Jessica never found out that Barbara was carrying a message for the bus boy.

When Jessica meets Lt. Novak, her manner suggests that she expects him to know who she is and to want her help. It’s meant to set up her being disappointed when Lt. Novak tells her to get lost, but it feels weird. She’s old enough to know that it requires some introduction to put yourself into someone else’s business, and that the police don’t do murder investigations for fun.

It’s not a plot hole, just a bit of sloppy writing, but nothing ever comes of Al’s corpse having been facing the wall. He couldn’t have been shot in that position. Freddy had to have turned him around after shooting him. The only reason to have turned him around was to make it look like he was alive when he was already dead. Yet absolutely nothing comes of it. (This is the sort of thing I mean when I say that Jessica isn’t as clever as in Deadly Lady. An observation like that would have been an obvious point in her favor with Lt. Novak.)

Then there’s the “scientific testing” of the hypothesis that the sound of the gun shot was masked by Freddy’s drum playing, which didn’t involve testing that hypothesis. I suppose that they were testing the related hypothesis that other things could have covered the sound, but why did they never test whether Freddy’s playing would have covered it? Especially for the people back stage, where the gun would have been closer to them than Freddy’s drums? Guns are very, very loud. Far louder than drums.

I guess it was OK that Freddy staged the thing with the lights nearly falling on him and Jessica, but why on earth did Lt. Novak remain convinced that Howard did it after that? Howard was in police custody at the time. Why did Jessica not point this out?

And why was the stuff with the pillow supposed to be remotely convincing? The pillow being sun-faded in a way that exactly matches the settee in Freddy’s dressing room and in no other room works to prove that the pillow came from Freddy’s dressing room, but how on earth does that prove that Freddy murdered Al Drake? The pillow was placed there after the police investigation was over, which means that anyone could have done it. You can make an argument that the murderer would have had to use his own pillow in some sort of exigent circumstance, but not when the murderer was replacing a pillow at his leisure. The murderer would have had to be an idiot to use his own dressing room’s pillow. (Unless he was going for a double-bluff by trying to make it look like someone was trying to frame him.) If I were making a list of the top ten airtight cases, I doubt that I would include: “Somehow, long after the victim was dead, your office pillow wound up on the victim’s couch. How do you explain that, if you didn’t kill him!”

This is an especially big problem when you consider what they don’t have: a pillow with a bullet hole in it. They don’t even have anyone testifying that Al’s settee definitely had a pillow on it shortly before he was killed. In short, there’s no evidence that a pillow was involved in the murder.

And this is leaving out the fact that a pillow only makes a gun very slightly quieter. I’ve seen people test it and a gun with a pillow in front of it is is perceptibly less loud. You could definitely pick it out in blinded A/B testing. But that’s about it. It’s still around the threshold for causing hearing damage. But this is just a subset of TV silencers, which work about 1000 times better than real silencers—part of why people who know what they’re talking about tend to call them “sound suppressors” rather than “silencers”. To get an actually quiet gun which only goes “ffft” you need a specially designed silencers with multiple rubber wipers the bullet shoots through (making it require replacement after a few shots). And that only works if you use specially loaded sub-sonic bullets. Ordinary bullets, which travel much faster than the speed of sound, make a loud bang because all hypersonic objects do. Only sub-sonic bullets have the possibility of being quiet and the trade-off is that they have far less power in them. That is, they’re less likely to be lethal. This is just part of TV fantasy, though, so there really isn’t a point in complaining that TV silencers are magic, and if we’re allowing TV silencers, I suppose we need to be forgiving of TV pillows, too.

It’s really lucky that Al didn’t think of any of this and just confessed.

The importance of that confession in Murder, She Wrote is often overlooked, I think. It’s nice when the evidence is clear, but it’s absolutely crucial when it’s not. When the evidence is as flimsy as it often is, the only thing that makes Jessica look smart is the proof that she’s right which a confession offers. Otherwise she’d seem over-confident in wild guesses.

Incidentally, this is one major reason it bugs me so much when people suggest, as if it’s clever, that Jessica was wrong about who did it or committed the murders herself. The murder always confesses. Always. This is like suggesting the clever twist in Harry Potter that Harry was deathly afraid of brooms which is why you never saw him touch one! It’s brilliant! Except for the part where he did touch them, prominently, so this is stupid. Or imagine this wonderful idea where in Star Trek Kirk is really Spock, in disguise. That’s why you never see them in the same room together! Except that you see them together in the same room in every episode.

It’s really easy to be clever if you don’t let facts get in the way.

Anyway, with all that said, and not taking any of it back: it was still fun to watch this episode. A lot of that comes down to the acting. Some of it is the pacing, though. Even when not much is happening, you always feel like something is about to happen, which keeps your interest. And I think it does a decent job of making you forget all of the stuff that was never paid off or flat-out contradicted the conclusion. I also suspect that ending on a happy note for Howard and Victoria helps that. A murder investigation produces a liminal space in which normal life can’t happen. That liminal state also allows us to look into things we normally would not be able to see, which is where most of the fun of a murder mystery comes from. The resumption of normal life with something like a wedding definitively closes that liminal state—it brings us over the threshold and back into normality. It’s not required, but I suspect that it greatly helps the story to feel satisfactory. Even when it shouldn’t.

Next week we move south along the coast to Los Angeles in Hooray for Homicide.

The Rise of Skywalker: Initial Thoughts

My oldest son is hoping that, having finally seen Star Wars Episode IX: The Rise of Skywalker, I will write a review of it that is similarly long and humorously criticial as my review of episode 8: The Least Jedi. (He’s had me read it to him several times now, as he enjoys my performance of it.) I’m not sure that I can, though.

The reason why is that I’m not sure that TRoS was serious. And there’s no humor in pointing out the way that a joke doesn’t work as a serious story: that’s just not getting the joke.

TRoS was in an essentially impossible position, coming, as it did, after The Last Jedi. The Last Jedi was not merely a bad movie, but it was a mean-spirited and evil movie. It tried hard to sell the viewer that nobility and virtue are bad, that nothing means anything, and that life isn’t worth living. It ended with the resistance being down to a few dozen people and it being authoritatively established that the entire galaxy is now hopeless and unwilling to fight the First Order. There’s nowhere good to go from there.

I am reminded of an episode in the TV show Sports Night where the main characters (who are sports commentators on a small sports TV show) won the right to cover a very popular and much-anticipated boxing match, and had hours of coverage blocked out. Then one fighter knocks the other out with one lucky punch seven seconds into the first round. A bit later as they’re joking about how they’re going to cover the match nanosecond by nanosecond, the director complains to the producer that they’re turning it into a joke, and he replies, “Where else are they going to go with it?”

That same question applies to TRoS, and it feels like J.J. Abrams knew it and decided to embrace it. Yes, there was no plausible way that Palpatine could have come back, but there was no plausible way that anything interesting would happen, so he didn’t bother trying to make it plausible. Was Palpatine being back good? Hell no. But J.J. established it in the first few minutes, hung a lampshade on it, and at that point, I guess you might as well go with it. Did it make sense that planet Spaceball wanted to steal Druidia’s air rather than install some air filters? No, but they established it in the first few minutes and it’s not like suspension of disbelief was ever a goal. President Skroob breathed Perry-air from a can. You knew where you stood with Space Balls. And when Palpatine uses the force to lift thousands of star destroyers with death star canons on their bellies out of the ground and into the air, you basically know where you stand, here, too. And if you didn’t, you sure do when Kylo Ren has his mask rebuilt and the actor playing the guy doing the welding is a chimpanzee.

So, yes, the plot is filled with plot holes. Nothing is ever justified (unless you want to count “Palpatine did it for his own complex and sinister reasons”). But at some point, when there are enough plot holes, it’s time to consider the thing as lace. And, as a lace doily under the lamp to keep it from scratching the table, it kind of works.

And here’s where we get to possibly the biggest reason I don’t know if I can make fun of it: its heart was mostly in the right place. Sure, the adventures made no sense, Rey got even more force powers for no reason, most of the time death is now a minor inconvenience, as are things that should cause death, and characters become loyal to our main characters just because they’re there. But all of this nonsense is in service of giving the main characters heroic adventures, personalities, and character arcs. With the exception of General Hux, all of the long-term characters are given good send-offs, including Luke. Don’t get me wrong, I still don’t consider the sequel trilogy as being actually related to the original trilogy. But J.J. Abrams seems to have considered them related and he tried to do good by them. That’s not something I want to make fun of.

People Confuse Liking Scenes With Liking a Story

Something I’ve come across is that there are people who like some of the scenes from a movie who confuse that with liking the whole movie. This is understandable in a movie like Dr. Strangelove, where people simply forget all of the dull parts where nothing happens. It’s much weirder when it comes to a profoundly stupid movie like Legion.

If you haven’t seen it, I have a review of Legion up on my YouTube channel called Legion: World’s Stupidest Movie?

It probably is, by the way. It’s a horror movie in which Jesus is about to be born a second time to save humanity (again?) and God “got tired of all the bullshit” so he sends a legion of angeliac zombies (demoniacs, but they’re angels, and mostly behave like zombies) to try to kill the Christ-child before he can be born so that humanity won’t be saved and God can kill everyone. Only the renegade angel Michael (who cut off his literal wings when he rebelled against the order to go murder the Son of God in utero, because humanity is worth saving) and seven random people in a diner in the middle of the desert stand against the army of angeliac zombies who are attacking them. Oh, and this time it’s not a virgin birth, the waitress carrying the second coming of Jesus just got knocked up during a one-night stand almost nine months ago. (In a special feature on the DVD, the writer/director says that this is actually a retelling of the story of Abraham and Isaac.)

I published that video eight years ago, and, as of the writing of this post in the year of our Lord 2024, I still occasionally get comments on that video from people telling me that they like that movie or I’m missing the point.

Movies are complex things, as are all stories. They involve many parts and due to human fallibility the parts often don’t all fit together. Movies add several layers on top of this because there are the actors, the costumes, the sets, the performances, and the music which all can have their own virtues and capture the audience’s attention. You can have a terrible movie with great acting, or awful acting done on beautiful sets, or awful sets with magnificent music. Now, it’s often the case that quality tends to go together, but it doesn’t always, and in movies it’s especially the case that someone can have far better visual taste than they do narrative taste.

You can see that same thing, though it’s more subtle, in novels. You can have a novel where the dialog is excellent even though the characters’ actions aren’t consistent, or are taken more from tropes than the characters themselves, or aren’t what human beings would do but are only driven by the plot. There are authors who can paint fabulous scenes which are vivid and compelling even though there’s no way that they come from what happened before.

To give an analogy, consider a baseball triple-play. The batter takes a mighty swing and hits the ball deep into the outfield, so deep it will surely be a home run, then in a breathtaking move the outfielder leaps up, kicks off of the back wall, and manages to catch the ball a full ten feet off the ground. It’s an amazing out. Then, without throwing it, the first basement suddenly has the ball and is midway between first and second base, tags out the guy who was running back to first base, then throws the ball into the dugout where it pops out of the opposite dugout and into into the glove of the third basement who tags out the runner who thought he’d gotten a home run but instead had to run back to third base, just a half inch away from the plate as he’s dramatically sliding. Is this a great scene in total? No, because baseballs don’t suddenly teleport and that’s integral to the plot. On the other hand, you can enjoy the descriptions of each play as long as you don’t pay any attention to what connected them.

I don’t know why, but a lot of people have trouble admitting that what they like in a story isn’t the story, but just some of the scenes, or something common to the scenes such as the dialog or narration.