The other day somebody stole my daughter's bike in the dead of the night. We felt violated and helpless. I drove around the neighborhood with a flashlight peering into every porch and examining every bike I could find. In the end my girl's bike was nowhere to be found.
The Case of the Misanthropic Cyclist is now a cold one in the filing cabinet of our life, but if I had half of Jessica Fletcher's luck and gumption, I would not only have ended up talking to the thief the very next day, but I would know exactly which neighbors to annoy until I got some answers. Mrs. JB Fletcher was god-like in her ability to know everybody everywhere. The connections that lady had could have filled twelve years of television, and it did.
I have loved and hated "Murder, She Wrote" for ages, but something about this cheesey show keeps me coming back. Credit probably falls fully on Angela Lansbury's shoulders. She brought a solid, grounded, reality to the show's pantheon of B movie actors and has-beens. The scripts could be dreadful-the acting worse-but there was an undeniable charm to the production.
I have a daughter who loves mystery television, and with the power of Netflix I can now introduce her to this series that is bound to genuinely entertain her and also bring her to giggles as it has done for me. We'll judge each episode from one to five stars. We'll also keep track of actors she recognizes, how quickly we identify the killer, whether the solution was pulled out of a hat, and which episodes had the best dialog.
On with the show!
~Spike
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