diagnosis excelent
Originally written 03/22/2002
I know this kid in one of my classes. He’s an American as well, and we sit together in lecture and talk shit. The other day he asked me if I found myself watching more TV since I moved to the UK. “I guess so,” was my reply.
That was an understatement bordering on an outright lie. I am glued to the idiot box. The halcyon days without network television back at the Sweet Life seem a distant memory. Now, I couldn’t tell you what the headlines are back in the states, but I can tell you what’s going on in Neighbours, Eastenders, and Hollyoaks. Together, the boys of flat 29/5 watch Top of the Pops, Ready Steady Cook, and German music television. We watch bad reality TV. We watch quiz shows. We yell at the screen and discuss team formations while watching football. With five so different personalities, the common addiction to television is one thing that we have in common. It brings us together. We are TV addicts. Only now, all of us certifiable adults, there is no mother to occasionally walk in front of the screen and urge us not to sit so close to the set.
My classmate asked me if I found myself watching shows that I would never watch back home. “Like what?” I asked. He paused for a moment and then guiltily replied, “Diagnosis Murder.”
I can’t believe I never watched this show back in the states. It’s amazing. I even find myself rushing late to class just so I can catch the thrilling climax of each episode. For those of you who have never experienced the magic that is “Diagnosis Murder”, let me provide a brief synopsis, in the hopes that my humble description can do justice to this masterpiece of syndicated television. Dick Van Dyke plays the dashingly handsome and always charming Dr. Mark Sloan, a doctor and medical advisor to the local police department. Van Dyke’s real-life son plays Mark Sloan’s son who is a hard-nosed detective on the police force. The regular cast of characters also includes the upbeat and affable young physician Jesse and the strong and smart medical examiner/token minority. Together this crew finds themselves involved in crazy adventures of lies, deception, intrigue, and yes, murder. It’s like the Hardy boys as each episode brings a new murder and a new adventure which is all wrapped up in the course of an hour (except for those excruciatingly blissful times when the viewer is treated to the thrilling “to be continued …” at the end of the episode). If only my life was filled with that kind of excitement, not to mention that kind of quick resolution. Oh and to be able to just put a pause on things, with only a “to be continued …” any time things got too hot to handle.
The show is like Matlock without the creepiness of an aging Andy Griffith. Van Dyke isn’t your spooky grandfather who you want to pack up back to the nursing home, he’s the hip great-uncle that all the women fawn over at the family reunion. Van Dyke’s Jay-Z makes Griffith’s Matlock look like Dr. Dre. Respectable once, but now all washed up. In fact, one almost forgets that Dr. Sloan is a senior citizen at all. I look at him as just another one of his thirty-something gang of slueths. Still, not wanting to leave anybody out of the magic, producer Van Dyke even had a two part storyline that included a guest appearance by, get this, none other than Ben Matlock himself!
But “Diagnosis Murder” isn’t just muderous fun. It’s also serious social commentary. While you’re watching something like that awful Angela Lansburry show, you just want that nosy old hag to shut up and stick her damn typewriter where the sun don’t shine. Not so with “Diagnosis Murder”. You’re lauding Van Dyke for his vision and astute sense of cultural relevence. “Diagnosis Murder” knows what’s up. It captures life in these modern times. It knows about our polarized media, our obsession with celebrity, the superficiality of the body politic. When Dr. Sloan stares condescendingly down at the cornered murderer, he’s not just condeming the murderer, he’s condeming us.
Is “Diagnosis Murder” a guilty pleasure? No way! It’s all pleasure and no guilt, baby.