Disappointment is a harsh burden, especially when there was great expectation. Any fan of mysteries can understand this sentiment.
I remember the Agatha Christie books and how my white-haired grandmother would devour them. Devour them! Then those books came to me, and I became a Christie fan.
In 1985 or so, BBC released the Agatha Christie Mysteries starring Joan Hickson. She was an amazing Miss Marple, perfect to the letter. The excellent filming, settings that screamed “England! Right here!”, as well as the accuracy of clothing and times presented all the engaging drama one has come to expect from BBC mysteries.
Let’s leave Dame Margaret Rutherford out of this, shall we.
Today’s American murder/drama/police dramas have gone down a dark, predictable road. My heart is broken.
It is a dead give-away who did what the moment actors start appearing. Excluding the usual main characters, the “bad guy” will be the once-off actor who is the most famous and gets paid the most.
And the plot? The instigating event occurs by the 14th minute. The searching for clues lasts until the 47th minute. The big “Ah HA!” hits around the 52nd minute, with winding down (through commercials) until the 58th minute. Then there are ads and previews of the next episode.
Disappointment, indeed. Agatha Christie would have wept.