Perhaps because it aired so late in the series, "Make Me a Perfect Murder," with an actress who had no relevant staying power, (Van Devere), brings us a bit closer to the dawn of post-modern sensibilities making jagged edges. This is still Columbo, but Falk minimizes his Jewish working class doggedness, and our dimmed feminist anxieties, glass ceilings, are more important than disposing of the patriarchy, as represented by shooting the male with the script. For 50 minutes of airtime, I like Devere here. She's sharp, but on the curve. Her Firestone isn't yet the "Dynasty" bitch, but her voice modulation is still her weapon, maybe even me in a good body.
It's something to regret, because what we love about Columbo is unraveling in 1978. We all know it, but let Falk reprise the character well into the first decade of y2k, until senility encroaches. Everything else unraveled too. My hatred of Yabberz, and my urgency to wipe it out, is nonsensical, but there was too much pattern recognition; too much California dreamin' crashing smack into one of David Foster Wallace's automobile suicides, and I cannot get involved in interactive portals of that category anymore, and it is not about my aggression.
It is about my clock. The only way to beat my scar tissue is work, not that dancing aggregate crap.
I hate it; I cannot engage like that, not ever again. I do not mean in policy details. Anyone can trip me up on detail. I cannot explain it yet, but I'd rather be thrown under wild horses than to utter the name Horton ever again. Donny Brasco, cf.
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