Another night of dateless bliss caused, this time, by the sense that I didn't want to coddle one more lost male soul short of a warm body in his bed and a listening ear-not that I usually give them both, you understand. One or the other, that's my rule-guess which one they usually get?
I've got a whole list-line up and take a number, gentlemen.
Instead I mowed the lawn, ran, and enjoyed the cool evening along with the boaters and dog walkers down by the park. Channel surfing after dinner, I came across the real crime drama "Forensic files." I might have known someone associated with the show once-or perhaps I didn't. Know them.
At any rate, I was impressed by the spare screenwriting, not a word wasted. I was also fascinated by how the interviews with real people-prosecutor, professor, police chief- blended into the story along with the staged recreations.
The writers and producer don't pretend to tell more than the stories, which are compelling enough. My only caveat is that the "truth" behind these stories, the motives, the emotions, are much more profound, and more inscrutable, than what we can know.
The show offers watchers the thrill of watching scientists and technicians arrive at certain conclusions-and solve the crime. But even in doing so, they fail to solve the mystery behind the acts-the ever present "why?"
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