Aw, not again
It's a TV show. Doesn't matter that it's 60 years old, it's NOT A MOVIE.
The sharp knives wrote the script; the knife that was not the sharpest one in the drawer handled the credits. It's an adequate little tale, with murder and the like, but the real attraction is something absent in most of the 100 Mysteries series. Commercials.
The fellow who was the cackling fat guy last week is back, and doing a modified Hubert Humphrey impersonation. As you can tell, this is an old TV recording, shot through wet gauze in a fog factory.
After the death and the betrayal, a reminder:
How can you avoid staring back at a careworn hag? Simple:
It's easy to snicker today at the low production values and peculiar messages, but A) these were the pioneer days of a new medium, and shows like this were far more entertaining than a 240-pixel-wide web series in 1999, and b) the appeal of these gadgets was genuine. Put in the clothes, push the button, take them out, then pop them in the drier: no more frantic trips to the clothesline to gather up the sheets when the rain started. This was a powerful selling point. Ask any woman who was a housewife before the age of ubiquitous appliances.
Four to go. Will they play out the string with nothing but public-domain TV shows? We'll see.