Finally!

I finished Ngaio Marsh's 'Opening Night'.  And goodness me, what a marathon of tedium it turned out to be.  A highly uninteresting death, too many lacklustre motives held by two-dimensional characters and a deeply unconvincing love story to top it all of.

Alleyn turned up very near the end and seemed as bored with the proceedings as I was.  I can't blame him.  He was simply going through the motions, didn't even seem to do any deducing - just collected the facts and somehow (it wasn't explained very well) arrived at the solution.  As far as I could make out it was a case of, 'right there's the story and - enny meeny miny mo - he's the culprit... bam...  I'm going home.'

By the end I neither knew nor cared who the killer was.  I strongly advise against ever trying to read this book or listen to the audio version.  I'll save you the bother.  ** spoiler alert ** The playwright did it.

Done.

On to the next one.

I bought Ngaio Marsh's 'Opening Night' a short while back and have been listening to it on and off for the past week or so.  It's driving me round the bend.  It feels like it's been running for ever and not only has no one copped it yet, but there's still no sign of Detective Chief Inspector Alleyn.

blah, blah, blah

It's torture!  Just bloomin' well get on with it!  You've set the scene already, so go ahead and knock someone off.  Do it fast or I'll stop listening.

I will too.

So you'd better.

Are we clear?

I got halfway through 'Cards on the Table' the other night and had put it on hold so I could go to bed at a reasonable hour.  (I'm not a boring old fart, honest).

Not only is it one of the most 'psychological' of Christie's novels, the cast in this particular production was excellent.  There's Donald Sinden - doing his most 'brllaa, brllaa' wobbly-jowled voice as Colonel Race.

'brllaa, brllaa, I'm Donald Sinden, brllaa'

And Stephanie Cole made a pleasant change as Ariadne Oliver, usually she's played as a ditsy, scatty eccentric (see the latest ITV Poirot series, and the Peter Ustinov-helmed 'Dead Man's Folly' from the eighties).  But in this production she was realistic, honest and relatively normal - which makes the story more believable overall.

As for the psychology, well... Poirot asks each suspect what the others were like at playing bridge, and not only does their opinion show him what they really think about the other players but also what they themselves are like.  What they notice in the surrounding room is what is important to them (historic artifacts or expensive jewellery).  In the absence of any physical evidence, it's up to Poirot to figure out how and why the crime was committed, which he does with characteristic élan.

Just watched the last half of Jeremy Brett's interpretation of the 'Reichenbach Falls' story and it strikes me as interesting that the final showdown between the greatest criminal and detective minds ends in a bout of fisticuffs.

'scrap, scrap, scrap!' chanted Watson

Did Conan Doyle run out of clever ideas, or was he just a bit tired and wanted to get it over with and go to bed?

Does it show us that despite our modern intellect, we're all still animals deep down inside?

Or is it that no matter how old or successful they are, all men are little boys at heart?

Discuss.

I'm happy to say that Radio 4 Extra have finally put something on worth listening to.  Hooray!  Which means I'm about the settle down to a nice bath with John Moffat (steady on, not like that) in the guise of Hercule Poirot in 'Cards on the Table'.

well, hello sailor!

Looking good John, looking good.  Well actually he looks a bit camp there, but never mind.

It'll make a nice change from the unabridged audiobooks I've downloaded recently from audible - mostly Ngaio Marsh read by the excellent James Saxon.  But for now, I'm all geared up for some Classic Christie!  Cards on the Table is the first book to feature Ariadne Oliver.  Not sure about her, a bit too much of a caricature.  I know she's a tongue in cheek take on the author herself, but even so, it's sometimes a touch too gimmicky for my liking.

Will let you know how it goes.

Also, I'm trying out a new bubble bath - smells a bit like coconut.  Tasty!

I watched a wonderfully over-the-top performance by Elizabeth Taylor in The Mirror Crack'd this morning, with Angela Lansbury as Miss Marple. In fact there was a pretty stellar cast, including a very youthful Pierce Brosnan in a non-speaking role.

But the star of the whole piece by far was a floral swimming cap Liz wore for the party scene, a stylish headpiece we sadly see very little of today.

Gorgeous.

So it's been a while, I know. I've been busy. Busy watching mysteries that is.

New kids on the block (well, my block anyway) include -

Castle (on alibi)

The smokin' hot captain from Firefly is a famous crime novelist. After helping the police with their investigations into a series of murders apparently based on his books, he takes a shine to the detective in charge (feisty, gorgeous and about as hard-bitten as hollywood gets) and inveigles his way into her team as a sort of advisor.

So far, so good (ish).

(oops, wrong castle)

Unfortunately the stories are all run of the mill, sub-CSI/Law & Order and mundane. Plus they're shot to look like Desperate Housewives, Weeds et al. Castle's snazzy apartment, wise-head-on-young-shoulders daughter and flighty but fun mother are also too identikit to make you care one iota about them.

It's a shame, but it's a real let-down. Only worth watching if you've run out of Diagnosis Murders. And that's saying something.

Oh there they are - look, she's wearing a sassy, don't-mess-with-me leather jacket

Moonlighting (on DVD)

What an AMAZING programme. We used to occasionally be allowed to stay up and watch it when we were kids. Even now I can remember how exciting, how illicit that felt.

Once, when my Dad came back from a trip to Hong Kong we stayed up to see him when he arrived back late and Moonlighting was on. In amongst the presents he brought back there was a little turquoise dressing gown with a Chinese dragon embroidered on the back for me. Even now I think of that as one of the best nights of my life. I can remember it so clearly, watching David and Maddie bickering, talking over each other in rapid-fire staccato sentences, Dad walking in the living room larger than life. It was so exciting we even put the big light on.

Thinking back it must only have been on at about 9.30pm, but it felt like midnight.

Now I'm watching them again years later, years older, and I'm struck by how much fun they are. The stories themselves are pretty preposterous - let's face it they're just the framework to hang all the flirting, moralising and sarcastic quips on.

Oh, and the fashion. The glorious, ridiculous fashion! Eat your heart out ladies, there's never been anyone as consistently stylish as Miss Maddie Hayes. The gigantic shoulder pads, from which hang the softest peach-coloured satins (not silk, natch, this is the eighties). The over-sized clutch bags, co-ordinated with neutral shaded court shoes. The big hair, so perfectly coiffed and hairsprayed to within an inch of its life.

Now I see why there's a ruddy great hole in the ozone layer. It's all thanks to the Elnett-happy hair stylist.

And they don't ever really solve the mysteries. The stories either wrap themselves up of their own accord, or else someone dies and it sort of fizzles out. One episode finishes with Maddie wielding a fire-hose on a hotel stairwell and everyone is left in a soaking heap on the floor. No summing up. No gathering of the suspects. Nothing but a madcap chase round the building and a truck load of water.

Brilliant.

I wonder if we'll ever see a Law & Order / Without a Trace / CSI finish like that. It'd be a bold and brave move.