To my English speaking readers: since my native language is Spanish, I apologise in advanced for any mistakes that you can find in the English version of this post. Thanks for your support! 😊
In 1984, American network CBS changed Sunday night TV with the release of Murder She Wrote. Along the 264 episodes distributed in 12 seasons, the audiences sticked true to the adventures of Jessica Fletcher, the mystery writer and amateur detective played by Angela Lansbury. It quickly became a global phenomenon.
From Colombo to Kojac, American television had had its fair amount of crimes, but this format started to decline in the early 80s. Betting on a genre that had already worked in the past might not seem very risky, but Murder She Wrote can be hardly compared to its predecessors, as it has a vibe that the other ones lack (as would the ones that came after it): Murder She Wrote feels cosy. And that’s not an inherent quality to whodunnits.
A small aside. We talk about whodunnit or whodunit (short for “who has done it?”) to name all those suspense fictions in which there’s a mystery (usually a crime) to solve. The investigation is usually in the hands of a detective, either professional or amateur, that generally has the same information as the audience, who solves the crime along with them, through their eyes.
Murder She Wrote followed the adventures of Jessica Fletcher (Angela Lansbury), a former teacher now mystery writer set in the fictional town of Cabot Cove, Maine: an idyllic little town were anyone would love to live if it weren’t for its scandalous murder rate (years ago, the BBC did the math and apparently Cabot Cove would be the murder capital of the world, around 50 times deadlier than Honduras). Luckily, Jessica Fletcher has a talent for crime solving and is best friends with the local sheriff. Some kind of Miss Marple but way less nosy and much more nice.
The series was far from being a thriller. None of its episodes had the audience on the edge of their sits, and along its 12 seasons the plot became pretty predictable. However, the charm of Murder She Wrote had nothing to do with that. It was (still is) that perfect series to watch under a blanket in a crisp Autumn evening: cosy aesthetics, endearing characters, easy to follow plots, and the average age of the characters was higher than usual, as one of Angela Lansbury’s requirements was to hire old stars from TV and theatre that had been forgotten in order to give them access to medical insurance and a retirement pension.
Between 1984 and 1996, Jessica Fletcher sneaked in people’s screens all over the world, and won everyone over with kindness and wit, as she did with every single police officer in the series.
In the early 2000s we saw a new rise of police dramas in television again, but introducing a new element: forensics. The several versions of CSI taught us about the uses of luminol and autopsy procedures. Jessica Fletcher never needed any of that.
Murder She Wrote was a rarity for that cosy quality I mentioned before and, although some fictions have tried to walk down that road, very few had gotten there.
Rian Johnson’s Knives Out provides a similar atmosphere, cosy and incredibly enjoyable, but it might have to do more with the amazing production design than with the plot itself. Benoit Blanc is more a Poirot (saving the distances) than a Miss Marple.
The only example that is really up there would be Hulu’s Only Murders in the Building (we talked about its amazing costume design last year). Amateur detectives of certain age played by Steve Martin and Martin Short, showing off that kind of chemistry only possible between actors who have worked a lifetime together. They are joined by Selena Gomez, the young counterpart that makes them stick to modern times. In this case, the characters find themselves immerse into a series of murders in the building where they live, and try to solve them while they make their own true crime podcast.
The premise is similar although more current (and probably because of that it might age worse) and the main elements are the same: amateur detectives trying to solve crimes on their own, simple cases (no manic serial killers here), endearing characters and that cosy atmosphere that seems to be hard to find outside the streets of Cabot Cove.
In none of these series you care about who did it, you just enjoy the ride along these characters you can’t help to get fond of and that might as well be your next door neighbour (I wish).
Autumn is already here, and if you are planning on spending this Sunday afternoon under a blanket, a marathon of any of this series is more than appropriate. At least they’ll leave you in a good mood.