2021
Diary in the Time of Coronavirus pa u l h u d o n
March 23, 2020 This Monday, the 23rd, marks the 23rd anniversary of Midsomer Murders. It is tailor-made for binge-watching in the time of coronavirus. In terms of scripts, it’s nothing so good as Inspector Morse, but several cuts above Rosemary & Thyme. Middlebrow, then, far as Brit mystery productions go. Characters tend to be of the cut-out type, but the stories do keep moving, with a turn of events nicely paced like a fresh start. You get a re-think just when your attention starts to wander. Best part: The scenery. Midsomer is a fictional county in England where the villages have florid names. My favorite is Badgers Drift. The people live in fabulous houses: vine-covered, mullion windows, thatched roofs, exposed oak beams. Houses that would cost you four or five million (pounds or dollars). And a lot of the furniture is at least two generations old. We’re talking families, lineage. There are exceptions to this. Once or twice, I’ve watched an episode where a band of roma or some such is camped outside the village. Friction results. Worst part: The g.d music. Somebody on that production staff has a serious jones for brass. It’s loud, incessant, irritating. The opening theme is played by a theremin. Enough said. Twenty-three years is not quite a record in the UK. That belongs to Doctor Who, which ran from 1963 to 1989, three years longer than MM. Here in the States, Gunsmoke ran from 1955 to 1975, three years fewer. You get bored, you could take up the mysteries of numerology, conjure with that for all of ten minutes. A toast to Midsomer Murders, episode 126.
March 24 “I’m going home and sit in a corner where I know everybody.”—Ida Morgenstern, Rhoda’s mother
March 25 Here’s irony for you, on an epic scale: The experience of social distancing will remind us that 10
The Lowell Review
