The Prison Trope in Mysteries

A common trope in mysteries is that case that must be solved during a riot or lock-down takes over the prison. 

It bores me only slightly less than mafia tales. And doesn't strike me as terribly different from plane or Titanic mysteries--the problem must be solved before we land! Or sink! Or die in a riot! 

The prison trope does have the merit of the mystery usually being linked to the riot in some way. In Murder She Wrote, the prison's poor conditions are linked to fraudulent behavior by several prison employees. Uncovering the reason for the first death leaves to uncovering the deceit. And Angela Lansbury does a more than credible job as the woman holding everything together. 

But. Still. I get weary of the surge in violence before the commercial break (where the commercial break obviously came when the show aired): "Oh, no, the prisoners are about to kill the hostages! Oh no, what will the detective do?!" 

One exception is the NCIS episode "Caged" with Martha Hackett as the man-killing serial killer. The episode ends with McGee proving that he can handle a difficult situation diplomatically and intelligently without losing his fundamental kindness. 

Monk sharpened and cleaned his shiv.

The prison trope still isn't one of my favorites. I always suspect that these episodes are like the clairvoyant-shows-up episodes--they are thrown in there for the viewers who really, really like that kind of thing. Next week, the show can go back to less irritating crime stories.  

After all, even Due South and Monk and Bones did prison episodes. Though in all three cases here, the episodes were deliberately humorous.

Characters That Don't Change: Verne's Adventurers

It is a given in classical narration that the main characters will undergo some type of change. They will grow and develop and rejoice or despair and sink into disillusionment. They are occupants of Dante's circles, products of what they strove to become in the mortal realm. 

I more or less agree with the need for characters to change. 

There are, however, characters who remain entirely what the author established them to be. Verne's characters fall into this category. 

I write elsewhere how Jules Verne and H.G. Wells represent the two sides of the sci-fi genre. Verne belongs to the older side which focused on the world and discoveries around the characters. Wells, a decade after Verne's Journey, uses a modern approach with War of the Worlds, not only through first-person narration but through a detailed examination of the narrator's emotional state. Verne does not require this type of internal investigation. 

When Verne is put to film, however, the need for character change quite literally enters the picture. The Brendan Fraser version of Journey to the Center of the Earth provides a character searching for his parents and then having to deal with their loss. The 1959 version provides a villain and a romance as the main character, Lindenbrook played by James Mason, becomes more and more disheveled. 

Nearly every 20,000 Leagues' version stresses the choice Aronnax has to make between Ned and Nemo; in fairness to Verne, that choice is given space within the book; it just isn't as important as all the *wow* stuff Nemo drives his submarine through and around. 

The differences indicate several points: 

(1) film goers are products of a modern age that wants character development; we want more than simply a series of images or visual extravaganzas; 

(2) a liking for extravaganza lingers, however; a film that introduces us to an amazing world goes a long way to satisfying our desires--Jackson's Tolkien's films are some of the few I went to the theater to watch (rather than waiting for the DVDs) since I wanted to SEE big Middle-Earth; 

(3) nevertheless, a film requires story in a way that a book does not; I suggest one reason the book does not is not because people don't want characters to grow and change but because reading between the lines enables readers to identify characters with stories and personalities beyond what shows up on the page. 

Static characters have their place. Generally speaking, current writers need to know how to give characters weaknesses over which to stumble or conquer. But not all plots have made the same requirement because not all plots have had the same purpose. 

Like It Anyway: Little Nikita

Every few years, I check out Little Nikita with River Phoenix and Sidney Poitier. The movie has a 52-54% rating on both IMDB and Rotten Tomatoes. (It has a higher rating on Amazon, which is not unusual since Amazon ratings are often by folks renting the movie through Prime; if they are going to rent it, they already have a reason.)

In truth, the plot makes absolutely no sense. It is the ultimate McGuffin. The rogue agent, Scuba, is killing off sleeper agents supposedly to embarrass the Soviet Union (I guess), yet makes zero effort to contact any news agencies. Also, once the sleeper agents are dead, who is there left to embarrass the Soviets? If the Soviets are trying to protect their agents, why do they use the last agents to pay Scuba? Why don't they just ship them back to Moscow? And if the payment is to capture Scuba, wouldn't Scuba guess? And why are the Soviet agents so impressively bad at capturing and/or eliminating this guy? 

In the end, though, I don't care. Sure, I think a few tweaks to the script would have made it more sensible. But ultimately, again, I don't care. Phoenix's Nikita character falls into a category that I will address in a future A-Z List since I enjoy character journeys so much. He is a character in disguise, only he doesn't know he is in disguise. That part of the movie is exceptionally well-done with excellent pacing. 

And pacing is an important element of film. The movie isn't fast. It isn't slow. It is, rather, inexorable. The inevitable unveiling--the movement from one understanding of one's self to another--is what matters. 

Consequently, the exchanges between Nikita and the adult characters--his father, mother, Sidney Poitier--carry the film. Even Richard Bradford and River Phoenix in the final scenes (however nonsensical in terms of plot) are enough to keep the viewers' attention. 

 

All the Ms: Magnan to Magras

Pierre Magnan: The beginning of The Messengers of Death reminded me why I tell my students not to use the “generic” you. It’s one thing to directly address the reader. It’s another to throw the “you” into the text as if the “you” will immediately place the reader in the moment. It annoys me. The "you" for Magnan's book is unfortunate because the rest of the first chapter is quite well-written and engaging. (The book is translated from French, which means that the original opening may have used “on” which is often translated as “we.” I don’t know if “you” is better. I do think the translation choice here, if it was a choice, doesn't match the rest of the chapter.)

Joyce Magnin: The Prayers of Agnes Sparrow tackles small-town living. These types of novels can range from Precious Moments’ dolls cutesiness to dystopian where-are-the-Zombies nuttiness. The Prayers appears to be a decent product from the middle range.

Kekla Magoon:  Camo Girl is about kids dealing with adolescence. It has a strong opening.
 
Diane Magras: The Mad Wolf’s Daughter has an action-packed opening chapter! The heroine appears to be a tough, fair-minded, and practical character.

Complaint Regarding Businesses & False Promises: USPS, Amazon Third Party Vendors, and a New Community College System

Lately, I've gotten very fed up with businesses that lie. 

Recently, USPS failed to deliver a package to me on the date the package was supposed to be delivered. The excuse? The driveway was blocked. I get my mail in a cluster mailbox. The driveway was not blocked. 

USPS again: USPS stated that a priority package was delivered to my friend when actually the package was scanned as delivered but hasn't shown up at the house. 

Amazon, 3rd Partner Vendor (this event happened twice): I ordered a semi-rare item. The vendor then tried to get me to cancel my order rather than cancelling themselves. 

Here's what annoys me. It isn't, in fact, the delay in delivery or even the item being unavailable. With the second USPS issue, I'm somewhat irritated that I paid for priority shipping that didn't come through. But hey, delays happen! Life is life. 

With Amazon, sure I'm upset at not getting items I was looking forward to--but again, that kind of thing happens all the time on eBay. Life is life. 

What makes me grind my teeth is acting as if the consumer is at fault, did something wrong. 

Here's an analogy: 

I go to the local grocery store. The deli counter is advertising fried chicken at 1/2 price. I get my number, I put in an order, and I wait. 

It turns out the deli counter doesn't have any more fried chicken. Maybe, the counter legitimately ran out. Maybe, the sign is a day old. Maybe, the counter put up the sign deliberately to lure in customers. 

That is, perhaps the deli counter is honestly overworked. But maybe it is also incompetent. And maybe it is actually maliciously deceitful.  

In the moment, the reason hardly matters. All the deli counter has to say to me is, "We don't have any more fried chicken. We'll take down the sign. Sorry." And, if the business is a decent one, "Would you like salmon at 1/2 price?"

That's not what is happening. USPS actually called me the first time and told me, in sum, that I should be more understanding of how difficult things are for USPS right now. I didn't care. I wasn't upset by the late delivery. I thought USPS shouldn't make untrue claims about delivery conditions. Or charge me for a service it can't deliver on. 

With Amazon third-party vendors, the matter is worse. Wanting me to cancel for their failure (non-deliberate or deliberate) is the equivalent of the deli counter saying, "Rescind that order! Take it back! No, no, no, no, you can't ask for that. Really, you ought to apologize for asking." 

Seriously? Seriously!? 

If a business can't do something, simply stating, "We can't do that right now" is less horrible to me than claiming it can be done, not following through, and then behaving as if I messed up in some way because I requested what the business offered. 

I can be civil about mistakes. Everybody makes mistakes! But I do expect businesses not to lie. 

As Mike states on Last Man Standing, "The Free Market is the greatest thing that happened to this planet. But it only works if there's some moral compass to it."   

I'm not currently going to name the horrible intranet system that my employer bought that has not only failed to deliver but is causing ongoing problems with time, privacy, efficiency, retention, and money (the list is longer but I will stop here) for staff, students, and everyone else. (Prior systems, even the new online course system, caused momentary difficulties but not continual and wide-ranging ones.) 

I am going to reference a statement from a higher-up, which statement (sent out this fall) suggests that the issue is not the new system but the implementation: 

"As colleges strengthen their understanding of the PRODUCT'S environment, they are modifying configurations and identifying issues that have slowed operations. PRODUCT itself is also working to update the program and improve functionality." 

In other words, the community colleges bought a bad product but employees should stop complaining and understand that the product needs time to improve itself--on someone else's dime. Various departments have already reacted with letters to the board. I think there is a real fear that subsequent financial repercussions could dribble down to harm employees and students--in which case, a lawsuit may follow.   

It is events like these that make me wonder if we live in an Age of Bullies--not because bullies haven't always existed but because our social-media-impacted cultural climate gives them so many ways to excuse themselves. (I guess I should be relieved USPS, Amazon, and the higher-up didn't try to blame AI, but that kind of excuse is coming...)  

Why Jessica Fletcher is a Great Way to Write a Detective

One of the problems with any detective is How do they encounter the mystery? Truth is, most of us don't encounter dead murdered bodies on a regular basis--if at all. Encountering one is usually more than enough. 

One solution, of course, is to make the person a police officer. Another is to make the person a doctor. Another is to make the person a lawyer. 

All of those professions, however, come with a shelf-life. In fact, as Sheriff Metzger points out to Jessica, police do not encounter murder as often as television suggests. Neither do doctors. A lawyer like Matlock might encounter it more but not, of course, as often as once every week. (Boston Legal, for all its flaws, makes the correct point that many lawyers don't go to court and those cases that do go to court and involve murder are high profile.)

What makes Jessica Fletcher so workable is that she is so mobile. She is going to lots and lots of places: literary conventions, family weddings, radio shows, college campuses. Her age also gives her contact with numerous people from her past as well as her extended family, her husband's extended family, neighbors (people who lived in Cabot Cove and then moved away), and so on. Her status gives her cache, even in the United States Senate!

She also has multiple reasons for getting involved. She rarely investigates just for the fun of investigating--she is willing to let the police operate if she believes they are competent--but she finds a reason if a family member is in trouble, a neighbor asks for help, a strange event occurs that puts someone she cares about in jeopardy, someone hands her information, she is a witness, she overhears a plan...

Granted, Jessica Fletcher's contact with so many dead bodies has led to the tongue-in-cheek suggestion by fans that she is actually a serial killer. 

But her wide-ranging experiences and contacts means that she isn't spending every episode defending, say, her nephew Brady from a false accusation. She has multiple reasons to be in multiple places.

It's very, very smart writing--and one reason, I suggest, that Murder She Wrote was such a hit.

The Corrupt Bourgeois: Oh, Please Make The Archetype Go Away

It is not uncommon for Hollywood and New York Times Bestseller lists to promote, as Updike does with Gertrude & Claudius, books in which a suburban family life is seething with drugs and promiscuity underneath seeming respectability. 

In fairness to Updike, that could have been his point regarding his retelling of Hamlet. Not great drama! Just two somewhat pathetic people living out a typical intellectual trope. 

Unfortunately, the idea that suburbia is riddled with ghastly secrets and all kinds of repression is the main reason most current products with Miss Marple entirely misunderstand Christie's point. 

Christie wasn't preaching the dark underbelly of seemingly refined middle class mainstream life. She fully supported middle class mainstream life! She was pointing out that the dark underbelly of human nature on a resort wasn't too different from the dark underbelly of human nature in a village. People are much the same everywhere. 

Again, in fairness, Updike may have been making the same point. But this not-entirely-normal obsession with suburbia makes one wonder if the writers--and Hollywood--are indulging mostly in a kind of wishful thinking, in both directions: what they wish they had and what they wish would happen to all those people in those neighborhoods.

When Bones did its evil suburbia episode, the writers deliberately filled it with every supposed suburban underbelly trope. They topped all the cliches with ordinary neighbors and, ultimately, as the excuse for the murder, the utterly mundane. 

Still, Blue Bloods generally did better with Danny's neighbors: community is community. No point in dismissing it until one learns its value. 

Sandlot truly is closest to the truth.

Laid-Back Hero: Justin of The Rats of Nimh

Justin is the Captain of the Guard in Secret of Nimh (movie) and a main character in Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH (book). He greets Mrs. Frisby, jokes with Mr. Ages, defends Nicodemus, and--in the movie--confronts the villain. 

He is a rat. 

He is an animated rat. 

Why is he so hot? 

There are two points here: one, as Wall-E shows, animated characters can be entirely personable. The beauty of a body in motion can be conveyed with pixels. Personality comes through body language, expression, and voice.

The second issue goes beyond the movie. In the book and the movie, Justin is the one Mrs. F(B)risby automatically trusts and turns to. She notes that Justin is handsome with "easy confidence." Multiple characters, including the children, note that he is nice. Justin was in NIMH and Nicodemus's descriptions make clear that Justin has always been alert, clever, curious, and reliable with a non-groveling deference to Nicodemus.  

In addition, in the book, Justin potentially sacrifices himself. In the sequels, written by Robert O'Brien's daughter, Justin has survived, which I find entirely plausible, namely because I don't think NIMH would kill the rats to begin with, whatever the lab told the farmer. In the sequel, a young character has a crush on Justin despite him being engaged. 

In other words, the print Justin is as attractive as the animated Justin. When I was younger, I was--like many readers--upset at Justin's potential death. Readers get attached. 

The loveliness of Justin is his humor coupled with his nobility. Consider the remarkable and touching goofiness of Wall-E that translates into pure noble action. Consider the utter coolness of a very different character, Saitama (sort of different), who looks like the guy hanging out behind the convenience store until he decides that a certain course of action is merited. 

Justin is sweet-tempered and heroic. A lethal romantic hero combination! 

Mysteries: Plan Versus Reality

"Does anyone have a plan like ours?"

Dr. Sloan doesn't pretend to be dumb. His intelligence is a given (doctors honestly aren't any more intelligent than other people but they are perceived that way). 

Most importantly, like many detectives, Dr. Sloan is a realist. He takes people and things as they are. He doesn't imagine conspiracies and murder until he is forced to imagine them. 

Consequently, he approaches a crime with few preconceptions. He isn't easily fooled because he isn't playing by a rule book to begin with. 

One of my favorite Diagnosis Murder episodes, "Till Death Do Us Part," starts with the murderers--a spoiled daughter and her clueless fiance--imagining the murder they have planned. They imagine themselves as slick operators who impress the wedding guests at their upcoming nuptials. They imagine the victim, the father, as a jerk. They imagine his second wife, the woman they intend to frame, as snide. They imagine the murder going off without a hitch as the detectives find all the clues they planted.

The episode then switches to the actual day. The couple are vain, pompous, disorganized, and kind of stupid. The father is kindly. The stepmother smooths things over. The two murderers keep making mistakes. Items that were supposed to be in certain places get lost. The dog laps up part of the poison. The maid vacuums. And so on.

 

The imagined plan extends to the murderers' self-delusions. The groom resents his father-in-law's rejection of his completely ridiculous business proposals. The bride asks her stepmother to fetch nail polish that is already sitting on her vanity (she never bothered to check the set-up). They don't see their own arrests coming because they believe so thoroughly in their smug version of reality. 

Dr. Sloan naturally finds out the truth. He was never party to the story the murderers invented about themselves. What he sees is not what they wish to impose on others' perceptions but what they actually did. He deals in reality.

 

I Act Dumb But I'm Smart: Columbo

A common trope in mysteries is the smart detective who acts dumb. 

Bones refers to this behavior quite directly when a few people point out to Brennan that Booth allows himself to be the physical guy who doesn't know stuff to give their relationship balance. Booth's behavior only works, however, because he is a fairly confident guy who doesn't mind how others see him.

Columbo is equally confident, even if he appears less so. He is also the quintessential detective of this type. His elf-like appearance, assumed bashfulness, and seemingly random stories about people in his family who may or may not exist disconcert others. Not to mention that supposedly forgotten "one more thing" that brings him back into the room.

Sometimes, the villains see through the pose/persona but even when they do, they can't entirely guess which way Columbo will jump, especially since Columbo manages--like Milan with red-zone dogs--to do something that every cell in the human body rebels against:

Columbo doesn't mind looking stupid if it helps him do what is necessary. 

One of my role models! Not caring what others think--while still aspiring to help others--is a great trait to emulate. 

Identity is More Than a Label

I mention in the previous post that what what constitutes acceptable and unacceptable epithets can change. Likewise, identity can change, not only with time but with context. 

A Numb3rs episode delivers a scene where David and Colby walk into a bar filled with Asian businessmen and scantily clad Asian women serving drinks. 

Colby says, "We're the only white people in here." 

Alimi Ballard's David chuckles and says, "Yes. Yes, we are."

Identity is more than a box on a survey form. In this context, the two FBI agents have more in common with each other than with anybody in the room. "White" isn't a slur or a brag; it's an acknowledgement of a culture--for good or for bad--tied to a particular institution.

When is a Bad Character Too Bad?

Literature Devil points out that Stan Lee deliberately

made Tony Stark someone his readers would dislike.

Literature Devil discusses "Can a Racist be a Hero?"

One problem with this question, of course, is that racism can be personal and chronologically relative. In Quantum Leap, Sam gets upset when the child of the man he is currently representing uses a racial epithet. He has a visceral negative reaction, but the boy doesn't perceive the term as loaded and certainly isn't evil. In one of Jackie North's novels, protagonists react negatively to the main character using a proper term according to OUR time. To the people of the past,  however, his comment appears the product of prejudice.

Literature Devil's point is not that language is not the best guide to determining goodness or badness. Rather, characters who struggle against their own weaknesses are more interesting than characters who are already perfect. The video is well-worth watching. It concentrates on the need to create character-driven drama in which characters struggle.

I, however, am more interested in the bigger issue: How much weakness and bad behavior will readers/viewers tolerate? When does the hero stop being complex and start becoming awful?

From the "T" author list is Josephine Tey's Alan Grant. Grant is not an entirely likable guy, and that characterization doesn't appear to be a mistake. At one point, in The Singing Sands, Tey has Grant entirely miss the fact that his cousin has tried to set him up with a very nice, intelligent, and level-headed woman. He is a little narrow-minded in various matters, having certain blind-spots. Yet he is a decent investigator. 

I like Grant in part because he isn't broody, and I find the unending number of broody British detectives rather exhausting, mostly because their broodiness is NOT presented as a weakness. A better example of another good, flawed detective is Poirot, whose real flaw behind all the idiosyncrasies--his lack of humility--is what makes him memorable.

The line for when readers start to dislike a character can be quite personal. Overall, I suggest that too-bad-to-be-liked characters don't care about the harm caused to others and never acknowledge the harm. As with King John and Richard III and Edmund from King Lear, courageous if conniving kings and sons can actually be somewhat likable or, at least, interesting. But a lack of self-awareness crosses the line. Spike as Spike was always more likable than Angel as Angelus.   

And the bad behavior doesn't have to be extreme.  

So a character with massive self-doubt can be relatable. A character with massive self-doubt who turns the entire world on end to serve the character's needs is not, especially if that character remains convinced "but my needs DO outweigh all others' needs." 

A rogue like Nick is likable and defendable--he's never really going to hurt anyone, and he faces his choices. A rogue like Wickham--who never stops playacting and grifting others--is not. 

Héra: Lots of Action Doesn't Equate to a Deep Character

Apparently, the writers or producers or someone connected to the War of the Rohirrim believes that their main female character is a cut above all those other Tolkien female characters because she is a full character.

She isn't. 

Héra must be one of the most boring female characters I've ever watched. I kept the movie going but lost interest about 1/2 hour into the movie. It likely didn't help that I had just finished listening to Andy Serkis read The Simarillion, a tome that produces seriously complex villains and protagonists (and Tolkien accomplished this complexity despite focusing mostly on the mythic elements). The characters of War are lacking in complexity. 

Since I knew that the movie's writers and producers thought they had conquered some milestone with Hera, I had to ask myself, "Why? How could any decent writer not perceive how bland her character is?" 

Victorian explorer.

Remarkable personality!

I decided that far too many writers and producers mistake a character doing lots of things with a character having a personality. 

In the previous post, I comment that HOW Denethor and Theoden handle their despair reveals their character. 

In comparison, Hera spends the movie behaving like the good girl at the high school prom. 

Sure, she occasionally says, "Oh, no, should I really?" but she says it two seconds before she does it. The implication is that her strength comes not from facing and conquering challenges but from knowing exactly what to do when...

Uh, sorry writers of War of the Rohirrim but upperclass Victorian women trained in etiquette knew the same stuff (some of them had fascinating lives anyway!).

This "I always respond as I should" attitude is MILES away from Eowyn feeling trapped between her royal responsibilities and her warrior desires with the prior position having more merit in many ways. (In the book, Eowyn is left to rule over the king's people when he rides out to battle; she is put in charge of protecting the equivalent of the country's capital.) 

I think Arwen is a more static character. Jackson does a better job with Tauriel, who is also trapped between choices. Tolkien gives us Luthien who takes personal (not just daring) risks during her adventures. 

And even Arwen (of the film trilogy) is faced with despair and chooses to return and to hope in reaction to that despair. She appears to make choices, not to already know what all the choices are.

In comparison *sigh* Hera does stuff: this and then this and then this and then this. And then this. And then this. 

Stuff is important. But if the character doesn't have an underlying personality that determines HOW they do that stuff and why they struggle over doing it...

Doing lots of stuff doesn't equal a strong character. 

Books to Movies: Theoden and Denethor as Ultimate Show Not Tell Characters, Why are They So Good?

Theoden and Denethor are a great example of how, ultimately, film should be a show-not-tell medium. The non-messaging of Theoden-versus-Denethor is extraordinarily powerful! It sells its "message" better than the pointed messages at the end of Two Towers. 

Why?

1. Actors equal in ability. 

John Noble and Bernard Hill are strong actors of equal ability. I'm not entirely sure I would put them on the same set together or put either of them in the same frame with Christopher Lee. There's only so much scenery to chew! 

But within their individual scenes, they hold the stage. They have powerful presences. They are also not afraid of tenderness or imperfection or scary weirdness (the same holds true for Lee, who suggested an extra scene in The Hobbit where Saruman is shown to fall under Sauron's influence--I sometimes think that villains are the most balanced actors in the world). 

2. Both actors have great action sequences, accompanied by great lines. 

In show-not-tell, HOW characters react to events matters, a point I will come back to when I discuss why the War of the Rohirrim fails. Granted, in real life, people's characters and personalities are often reflected in less emphatic experiences. But in truth, even in real life, how we handle a singular event can say a great deal about us.

Subsequently, it helps in film to give characters something to handle. 

Theoden has an angry wizard, a dead son, a march, a blockade, a final stand, a ride to Gondor, and a freaky dragon/dinosaur to handle. He is confused and hesitant, drawing inward as he contemplates that "the days have gone down in the West" and asks, "How did it come to this?" Consequently, his fierce determination at Helm's Deep and later on Pelennor Field is courageous and hope-filled. 

Denethor has a pissed-off wizard, dead son, Pippin, an attack, a second supposedly dead son, and a dying culture (Jackson's sets, inspired by Alan Lee and John Howe, are magnificent--Minis Tirith is redeemed at the end of the third movie, altering from almost a sepulcher to a shining city).  

Consequently, Denethor's vainglorious attempt to burn himself and Faramir alive is despairing and pathetic. In direct contradiction of his self-absorbed beliefs, barely anyone notices Denethor throwing himself off the top cliff of the city's plaza. There is a war going on, after all.  

As a comparison of honor and the need for hope, Theoden and Denethor are show-not-tell at its finest. 

Rex Stout's Nero Wolfe: Objectivity as True Kindness

Many people have attempted to capture Nero Wolfe's personality. Among them are William Conrad, Francesco Pannofino, and Maury Chaukin. 

William Conrad plays Nero as a gruff guy with a heart of gold and even a sentimental streak. I'm not sure Conrad is capable of playing someone like Wolfe any other way, even if the director demanded otherwise. I watched Rex Stout's Nero Wolfe with Conrad's personality in mind and quite enjoyed the early episodes. However, I never entirely warmed to Lee Horsley as Archie. 

Jake and the Fatman is more or less the same relationship in modern (for the time) L.A. (then Hawaii, then L.A. again). I consider Jake and the Fatman more accurate to the Nero Wolfe universe, especially Jake as Archie: the raw, hands-on, physical guy who exhibits both respect and a certain irreverence for "the Fatman." 

Francesco Pannofino and Pietro Sermonti in the MHZ Nero Wolfe have decent chemistry as Nero and Archie. Pannofino also plays Wolfe as having a heart of gold, but the heart of gold is more buried than with Conrad. I quite like the MHZ production, in part because I love the house and also because the chef, as in the A&E production, is given equal screen time. Nero Wolfe's household is replicated, not merely his personality and cases.

However, Maury Chaykin--directed by Timothy Hutton--captures the Nero Wolfe of the books best. Wolfe is not (merely) a gruff smart guy. And he is not a snarky, one-liner quip machine (see Sherlock and House). He is passionate and romantic, stating at one point that he gained weight to inure himself to that side of his character. 

More than anything else, he has a underlying belief system that makes him appear cold and uncaring but is, in truth, inexorably honest and right. He is more like Sherlock from Elementary, who points out to Kitty that letting people pay for crimes they didn't commit--however emotionally satisfying--is not in the long run good for anyone, including society. 

Ethics is the reason Wolfe refuses to let the spoiled heiress simply park herself in his home. He has let plenty of young women park themselves in his home when needs warranted. But Wolfe doesn't lie or play games or forget the long-term consequences of any act. He tells her the truth, even though he could have massaged the situation to give emotional satisfaction and still claim an award.

He exhibits true respect for principles. To Debra Monk, playing the wife of a murdered man, he states, "[The woman who got killed] is the one who asked for your promise. So the responsibility [for that promise and her death] was hers." He relieves the burden on the wife's mind--he later honors the dead woman's purpose in requesting the promise.

Again, the behavior may seem uncaring. But in fact, it is ultimately more fair, honorable, and human than any outsized emotional response. 

Archie--more impulsive than Wolfe--often disagrees with his boss. Overall, however, he is more likely to see things from Wolfe's point of view than not. In a Venn diagram of life, they see life through the same honorable lens. 

Sayers's Characters, including Villains, in the Golden Age of Mysteries

The Golden Age mysteries often get compared to each other. 

Comparisons seem to be how humans survive (Is that dark alley safe or unsafe? Is that person a stranger or friend?). Consequently, I think that comparisons are often inevitable. 

However, I think the impulse should be fought. Or at least monitored. It is completely unnecessary to consider Christie better than Sayers or Sayers better than Christie or Marsh better than either of them. I've read all three. I enjoy all three. I'm not going to stop enjoying all three. 

I think where comparisons get interesting is not deciding who is better or worse. I think comparisons get interesting in examining how the writers differ.

Marsh, who worked in the theatre, wrote characters from the perspective of a playwright: where they stand in a scene, how they look, how they move. 

Christie distilled human characteristics into brief and very relatable portraits. 

Sayers creates individuals within context. 

One of my favorite Sayers' character is Charles Parker. In Unnatural Death, Sayers describes him as "one of those methodical painstaking people whom the world can ill spare." In many ways, Parker is like Bell from Elementary: a guy who looks at an issue from as many sides as possible. AND does the hard work of collecting the requisite information. He also has the masterful ability to be unafraid and unimpressed by Wimsey. He isn't tactless or revolutionary but he also isn't a sycophant. If he thinks Peter is behaving pompously, he says so. 

Sayers's villains also have a quality that I think most villains have (and the reason villains who confess when faced with THE TRUTH never entirely convince me). They think themselves justified. Even the most evil of her villains, from Unnatural Death, is entirely normal on the surface. That villain's world has narrowed to MY rights, MY needs, MY desired outcome. 

In fact, like C.S. Lewis, Sayers conveys the normality of the villainous behavior, so the villain of Murder Must Advertise is NOT, as Wimsey recognizes, the Big Bad. He is too impulsive; too easily caught in dumb behavior. He got away with the murder initially because it was put down to an accident. But he was never going to get away with much for long. 

Sayers understood the stories and justifications that heroes and villains tell themselves. 

Shakespeare Characters: Never Quite What One Expects

I've lately come to appreciate how good Shakespeare truly is. I've always been a fan--but not because of his Great Genius or all the other labels people throw at approved-of writers. 

"Nothing new under the sun" applies to Shakespeare. I don't think Shakespeare is so great because he broke boundaries or transcended expectations blah blah blah. I think he is so great because he used archetypes and tropes in a way that captured human experience and human interest. He was the Agatha Christie of the playwright's world. He put things in the best order. He distilled a fundamental attitude or experience within a single character or scene. His writing is energetic and layered because he allowed it to be--likely, to allow for different actors to play various parts. 

(In some future post, I would point out the potential creativity and discipline of writing for money.) 

Here, I will point out that Shakespeare created lasting characters. They are archetypes, many times, but they are something more because they so exactly capture an archetype and then offer something on top of the archetype. 

Nuttiest play you will ever see.

Kate isn't just a shrew. She has her own personality and wit and ways of looking at the universe. Petruchio is her match, not her overlord. Likewise, Shylock and Falstaff have their own individualized and personalized backgrounds. The twins in Comedy of Errors are distinct. The relationships in Hamlet are believably dysfunctional because the characters come across as recognizable and real people. 

Even characters that I have ignored in the past--such as Henry VI--have something-extra that makes them not simply labels who stand on the stage and react to things. They have usable substance. 

Take Cymbeline, a play Shakespeare may not have written but obviously borrowed from him. Cymbeline feels like Shakespeare (or someone) took all his prior characters--including husbands and wives who feel jealousy--and threw them into a play alongside a bunch of his prior tropes. The play includes (I'm not kidding) kidnapped brothers grown to manhood living in the wilderness (Wales), Roman senators wandering around Briton trying to get tribute, an evil stepmother and an evil prince, and people continually running off to (again, I'm serious) Milford Haven (in Wales). The whole thing sounds like a Greek tragedy set in Swansea or Staten Island. 

I can't help but wonder if Shakespeare was badgered by his shareholders into writing a play and said, "Fine! You want a play?! Here's all my ideas in a single script--I'll trot them out one after another."

Or, since Shakespeare wasn't adverse to making money, he said, "Sure! Let's trot out all my best ideas and make a bundle!" 

The point here: only someone that good in the first place could do what Shakespeare or someone else did: use what they already had to make something that doesn't totally fall apart. 

Spoofs Allow for More Possibilities: Thank You, Shakespeare!

One of the positive of "spoofs" is that they allows the givens to remain givens, so the writers don't have to keep excusing themselves.

I came upon this thought when I considered the problem of updating/modernizing/making superheroes supposedly more progressive. Literature Devil does a thorough job proving that Stan Lee was always more interested in story than in politics. However, writers run the risk of being criticized no matter what they do--hence, growing reader interest in manga, which still focuses primarily on story. 

My suggested solution is to "pay tribute to" a classic, which is code for, Use the classic characters and plots but switch people around.

In a recent viewing of The Hollow Crown, I realized, Shakespeare allows for such tributes! Shakespeare is the preeminent example of using and reusing basic plots-- which Shakespeare somehow encapsulated better than everyone else--to achieve numerous ends. 

So one of the main characters of Henry VI is Margaret, the bulldozer of a political powerhouse who marries the inept Henry VI. Some critics believe that the three plays that make up Henry VI are really about her, rather like how huge chunks of Henry IV are mostly about Falstaff and his cronies. (The plays are named for their kings, not necessarily their plots.) 

And I realized that Sophie Okonedo is able to play Margaret--and play her magnificently--without automatically being labeled misogynistic BECAUSE the play is Shakespeare. 

Shakespeare is endlessly usable--one reason, perhaps, that he has remained such a seminal figure in literature. His plays can be modernized or spoofed (see Trevor Nun's spoof of, and tribute to, the itself-a-spoof-play Comedy of Errors). Shakespeare's plays can be cut to focus on different plots and characters. They can be set in different countries and even in space--or animation! 

Okonedo becomes the powerful and complex Margaret and excels--without apology.

Thank you, Shakespeare!