I've always felt that my tv watching habits fit outside the norm. When my co-workers sit around at lunchtime and analyze the latest episode of Bachelor/American Idol/Latest Primetime Network Drama/Housewives/Kardashian Barf/Sports Whatever, I have nothing to do but analyze my broccoli. Not only do I not watch these shows, but I have never seen American Idol or Bachelor or Housewives and I often have never heard of Latest Primetime Network Drama, and the day you catch me watching sports you should call the police because it would obviously mean I've been kidnapped and my kidnappers are watching sports.
To be clear, I am not saying any of this with arrogance because my television habits are not any grander than yours or theirs. My almost constant companion is the Investigation Discovery channel, which is non-stop, twenty-four-hour true crime shows. I discovered this gem when I was unemployed, and I spent a good share of that year writing cover letters and filling out applications at my computer with Investigation Discovery in the background and exclaiming, "No WAY! He did WHAT? With her feet?! What a sicko!" while writing never-ending paragraphs about why I was the best employee ever.
And as many of my friends know, my one true love is the Golden Girls, which I wake up to every morning and go to sleep with every night. It never gets old, it never feels stale, and it is my comfort blanket that I look forward to at the end of the day. I love my girls. (And I REALLY love my husband, who whole-heartedly supports my GG obsession.)
But there's a new guilty pleasure that has made its way into my living room. When I'm by myself, I close the curtains, I gather my animals and I turn down the lights. I don't watch this when my husband is home. I don't talk about it at work. Because this whole thing started out as a "I'll watch just one episode for funsies!" and turned into a shameful ritual of "I can't wait to get dinner ready so I can watch the next episode of Murder, She Wrote!"
Yup. Angela Lansbury. A silly piano jingle, violins, and lots of tubas for the opening credits. Bad hair. Ridiculous plot lines. Embarrassing fight scenes.
I'M IN LOVE.
I never watched Murder, She Wrote growing up. My mom thought it was just too far-fetched to believe that wherever Angela Lansbury went, a murder just happened to take place (and it is ridiculous). So I'm not watching this as a trip down memory lane or anything. It's all brand new to me. And I can't get enough.
I can't pinpoint exactly what it is I love so much. I'm terrible at solving mysteries, the writing makes me cringe, and while I adore Angela Lansbury, I don't love her enough to just plop my ass on the couch and watch her for hours if the show is sub-par. And in most ways, MSW is sub-par.
The acting is terrible (except for Angela Lansbury of course), the writing is lame, and the direction...well, it was the eighties, people. It was awful.
Of course, there are things that I love about the show (I mean, Angela Lansbury, come ON.). I love that MSW is a Who's Who of all the guest stars from the Golden Girls. I end up yelling, "Hey, that guy was Blanche's gay brother!" or "That's the married dude Dorothy had an affair with!" at least twice every episode. And there are lots of eighties celebrities who made their appearance on MSW (Bruce Jenner, anyone?). I love watching sweet, practical Jessica Fletcher played by Angela Lansbury and knowing that she had a filthy mouth worse than a drunken sailor in real life. But still, this isn't enough to sustain my loyalty. I've been trying to figure out why I find this stupid show so compelling.
But that's the thing, I guess. MSW is so silly, predictable (except for me because, as I mentioned, I'm awful at solving mysteries), and lame that it doesn't require analyzing. I think by the end of the day, I'm tired of asking why, I don't want to think about tomorrow, and I don't want to think about anything that's going to test my emotions. I feel like that's how I spend most of my day, and by the time I sit down to watch MSW, I'm tired of the day.
So I guess it's just nice to sit back and let Jessica Fletcher solve the mystery for me. In shoulder pads.
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