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Viewers from eight to 80 have little trouble recognizing the unwavering formulas of these arthritic whodunits: murder discovered, suspects questioned, red herrings introduced, culprit finally tripped up and exposed. Not every show is as hokey and mechanical as Burke's Law, which routinely ends with a scene in which Burke gathers all the suspects and eliminates them one by one until he fingers the guilty party. The better shows at least try to bring their criminology into the '90s: the key to the solution of Cosby's first mystery -- Who is murdering a corporation's top executives? -- was the redial feature on a victim's car fax.
Compared with the hard-nosed crime fighters in more realistic police shows like NYPD Blue and Law & Order, these detectives are easygoing dilettantes. For many, the job is just a sideline, sometimes a reluctant one. "I don't want to work," whines Cosby's character, who is trying to retire after winning the lottery. "I just want to stay here and sleep and play my clarinet." Van Dyke works in a metropolitan hospital, yet he seems to have unlimited time to run down clues in an effort to clear people falsely accused of murder -- people who, far too often, are old personal friends. (With friends like these . . .)
Happily, these graying gumshoes are, for the most part, spared the indignity of fistfights, car chases and other demanding physical stunts. Typically, they have a younger partner who does most of the heavy lifting. (Both Barry and Van Dyke, for instance, are teamed with sons on the police force; Van Dyke's is played by his real-life son Barry Van Dyke.) Yet even the few spurts of physical action can be discomfiting: last week's Hart to Hart revival brought back Lionel Stander, now 86, as the Harts' Man Friday, then forced the poor fellow to pursue a suspect (played by Alan Young, 74) over a rocky New England beach. Ben-Gay, anyone?
Though classic TV escapism, these shows may be filling a societal need. "They put an 'entertainment grid' on the explosion of crime that's really % happening out there," suggests William S. Link, co-creator of Columbo and Murder, She Wrote as well as The Cosby Mysteries. "Today's crime rate is the highest in history. People want to see some sort of control, and you get that with fiction. On TV, the heavies are always caught."
The heavies, moreover, are considerably less frightening than those in real life. Murders on these shows are nearly always committed by well-groomed, well-to-do white people, and the deeds are neat, bloodless, imaginatively staged. In recent weeks we have seen a magician drown in a tank of water when his escape trick is sabotaged (Diagnosis Murder); a late-night TV host electrocuted by his microphone at a Friars-type roast (Burke's Law); and a manic-depressive book editor driven to near madness and pushed off a building roof to feign a suicide (Murder, She Wrote). Murders are never random or accidental or committed in the heat of passion; they are carefully planned by people with clear, easily understood motives.