Our odyssey began with the latest screw up by our cable company. On December 6 I notified them by telephone that we were moving on December 15 and would require them to transfer our service on that date. When I attempted my next call, the phone was dead. Using my cell phone, I was able to contact the cable company to find out what had happened. They informed me that they had responded to my service request to disconnect my service.
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Wonderful.

When I asked them to restore it I was informed that they couldn’t. They were in the process of switching from analog to digital phone service.

So what?
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Well, they’d try.

Look, life sucks, especially during a presidential election year. Especially during this presidential election year. We're struggling to cobble together some rational basis to vote for one or the other of the two worst candidates in history. Forget about the fringe candidates. Their quixotic runs are doomed. Like me, I bet you've made up your mind and it's time to get away from the fanatics who actually believe that either candidate is God's answers to our problems.

The better question may be what's right about American crime dramas? Nothing. Seriously. They use stick thin women to play detectives and beat cops who would have a hard time carrying their own weight on a fashion show runway. Whenever I see them kick in a door or rough up a thug, my ability to suspend disbelief cries out in anguish.  Also, the Brits seem more enamored with acting ability than with beauty.

And American crime dramas don't have a consistent theme. American producers, directors, and writers should study their British counterparts. The Brits have a theme. They love cops who are broken human beings. The more dysfunctional the better. 

Take, for example, River, a recent offering from BBC and available on Netflix. Detective Inspector John River is barking mad. If he were any crazier they'd have to keep him in a straight jacket whenever they removed him from the funny farm to investigate a case.

John sees dead people. He talks to them. They talk back. John responds physically and emotionally to them. Like I said, John River is barking mad. A nutter, as the Brits would say.

Quirky characters and well-written scripts dominate Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries available on Netflix streaming. My wife and I absolutely adore it.

Essie Davis romps through the title role as a bon vivant who returns from England to Melbourne, Australia and becomes a sleuth. Everyone loves Ms Davis. The makeup artists. The costume designers. The dialog writers. The lighting director. The camera operators. Everyone loves Ms Fisher. Her household staff including her maid who fears the telephone (the earth, she is told by a friend, will explode if people keep transmitting electricity through wires), her butler (a WWI veteran intelligence officer and commando), and a pair of roustabouts who do the heavy lifting, especially when thugs are involved in the plot. The chief police inspector is constantly annoyed by Ms Fisher's intrusions into his investigations, but we suspect that he secretly loves her too. There's no doubt that his hapless constable loves her maid.

Movies were a popular escape from the cares and woes of the Great Depression. Just five cents could buy a brief reprieve in a theater where audiences laughed in mutual appreciation of the antics of the Keystone Kops and Laurel and Hardy among others. Sadly, there is little escape today from the unrelenting assault of the liberal/progressives who dominate Hollywood and the television producers. Fortunately, one show on CBS, Blue Bloods, provides a more rational approach to storytelling. The October 24th episode, Loose Lips, was a silver-lined example. The granddaughter of the police commissioner is caught venting her frustrations on the Internet over a Fascist school teacher and is denied admission to Rutgers. The following minute-and-a-half clip contains the scene where she returns to the classroom with her mother to apologize to the teacher.

Sadly, the high school teacher portrayed in this scene is representative of many American teachers and college professors. In a later scene, she targets the police commissioner's granddaughter during a class extolling the virtues of progressivism and castigating the authorities like the girl's mother and grandfather. Her sanctimony is sweetened by the iconic portrait of Ernesto “Che” Guevara peering over her shoulder. No one ever abused authority more rapaciously than the hero of progressives and misguided children everywhere.

When I completed life guard training, the instructor lathered himself in baby oil and thrashed about in the pool while we attempted to “save” him. Each of us was thwarted in our efforts until we got wise and simply tread water out of his reach until he tired. We were then able to approach him from behind and grasp him over the shoulder and across the chest, then swim with him to the edge of the pool. I imagine that being interviewed by Piers Morgan is much like that test.

The man won't allow anyone to answer with a contrary view. He shouts over his guests with straw-man arguments. What's that? When you speak for someone else, placing absurd comments in their mouth, and then rebutting them as ridiculous. That's a straw-man argument. It's a popular tool of propagandists.

So, why do people agree to be interviewed on his show? He simply preaches to his choir while the guest sits by chastised by Piers' superior intellect and moral position. Even if the interviewee wins the debate, his audience still agrees with Piers. That's why they watch him.

Which brings me to the more important question: Why do I waste my time talking about him? I'm only expanding his audience. Fortunately, the number of people who watch his show is ridiculously small. Most episodes draw fewer than 100,000 viewers which hardly registers on anyone's poll.

I suppose that we are drawn to Piers for the same reason that we watch a parade of American Nazis. We are assured that all is right with the world when we are reminded just how few are drawn to radical causes. So, keep it up Piers. Your failure makes me smile.

I'M NOT SURE if British humor is an acquired or an inherited taste. You couldn't prove it one way or the other by me. My mother was half-British and I may have acquired it from her by either method. All I know is that it is distinctly different from American humor. Thus, my recommendation that you watch Doc Martin must be taken with a grain of salt.

The Brits do silly so much better than Americans. I have a theory as to why. One doesn't expect a Brit, especially one born to the privileged classes, to be silly. The unexpectedness of silliness from such a person catches you by surprise, whereas an American acting silly is, well, just silly. Thus, most British comedians succeed best when they learn to emulate the manner and speech of one well-bred and well-educated who then does something silly.

Cary Grant was a marvelous example. Yes, he was an exceptionally handsome man, a great romantic lead. But, he was also a great physical comedian. Watch Houseboat with Sophia Loren, as he whacks his head on the passageway every time he descends the stairs. It's a great running gag because he pulls it off naturally, with great aplomb.

In Doc Martin, Martin Clunes, an exceptionally unhandsome man, plays Dr. Martin Ellingham, a prominent London surgeon who abandons his practice when he develops severe hemophobia. He obtains a posting as General Practitioner (GP) in a sleepy Cornish coastal town. Inasmuch as his former patients presented themselves in operating theaters, Doc Martin, as he objects to be known, never developed a warm bedside manner, leading him into numerous humorous confrontations. His aunt, who has lived in the town all her life, tries to guide him around the worst of his social faux pas but Doc Martin is reluctant to change. He believes that he is being proper and professional.

The program is littered with wonderfully quirky characters. A totally incompetent and distracted receptionist. A plumber and his son who immediately put me in mind of O'Reilly's Crew from Fawlty Towers. (Yes, I am no newcomer to British comedy.) An insecure constable of the law. A ranger, a Bosnian war veteran, who lives with an invisible six-foot squirrel. Yes, they're all silly, but they pull it off so well.

The love interest is a primary school teacher who Doc Martin examines on an airplane without her permission while on his way to be interviewed for the posting. She happens to be a member of the panel who examines him. (You'll just have to watch Season 1 – Episode 1 to sort out that mess.)

Doc Martin is great viewing in the lull between regular programming. If nothing else, it will provide some laughs to distract you from the political theater now playing out in the world's capitals. There are already five seasons in the can, all available on Netflix or you can purchase them in boxed sets. Please begin at the beginning or you're bound to be utterly confused.

MY WIFE AND I came late to Masterpiece Theater's Downton Abbey. We rarely watch anything on television as it's aired preferring instead to record programs and watch them sans commercials. Unfortunately, some good information may be lost among advertising messages that we skip. 

In brief, Downton Abbey is the continuing story of a noble family struggling to keep home and hearth together in the early Twentieth Century as such estates fall into ruin. They are no longer economically viable unless, as in the case of Lord Crawley, a rich American can be snagged in matrimony to revive the family coffers. Before you turn away offended at such rampant perfidy, love blooms between the Lord and his Lady, but she only bears him daughters, and the sole male heir, a consanguine cousin, dies during the sinking of the Titanic. Thus, we are introduced to the drama as a more distant, less noble, cousin arrives to assume the mantel of heir to the family title and estate as well as the fortune derived from the marriage.

The program is populated with wonderfully quirky and lovable characters. There are even a few sniveling villains thrown in for balance. We follow their adventures and misadventures from the servants domain in the basement to the family residence on the uppers floors, and the drawing rooms, libraries, and halls in between. The family and their servants evolve into a complex society of interdependent parts. None is more delightful than the dowager Countess played by Maggie Smith. I think that she must have brought her own writers just to compose her lines. She has all the best ones.

For some ungodly reason they air these things on PBS in America. I suppose the British are so inured to their own public broadcasting system that they believe ours is the best vehicle for quality programming. Would one of my British friends please tell me if cable has made it to the UK. Is the BBC your only programming choice?

It took some effort for us to catch up with the first two seasons of Downton Abbey which have already been aired in America. We found the first season in its entirety on Netflix. No problem there. We were already subscribers. The entire second season is available on Hulu Plus. We signed up for a free week and watched every episode. Inasmuch as Hulu Plus doesn't offer any advantage to our viewing habits, we canceled it. Sorry about that.

The show is a delightful diversion, fully worth the effort of chasing down past episodes, even if you have to sign up for a new Internet service to gain access. Throw a bone to your conscience and pay for a month or two if it helps, but hurry, season three is commencing this coming Sunday.

ONE OF OUR FAVORITE television programs this season is Elementary. It's a modern day version of the Sherlock Holmes stories set in New York City. Oh yes, I approached it with great skepticism. I am a fan of the original stories and have never appreciated them in films. I expected this take on Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's masterpieces to be an utter failure. My wife and I were pleasantly surprised.

Unlike the other new series that were produced for 2012, this one didn't waste its budget on sets, scenery, costumes, or stunts. They seemed to have invested every cent in writing intelligent scripts. This Sherlock Holmes deduces clues from the evidence the way that only the original could. 

His partner, Dr. Watson, played by Lucy Liu, is a defrocked surgeon hired as a companion to monitor Holmes and help prevent him from relapsing into drug addiction. Her keen intelligence and dedication quickly secure her a position as a companion, though not a trusted one. Trust must be earned in time.

So many of the shows this season and last have disappointed. Glitz, glamour  stunts, and grandiose sets simply cannot hide poor writing. As we approached the fall premiers, we had a list in hand of the shows that attract our attention. We switched off some after just a few minutes. A laugh track was instant death. We watched others for an episode or two before we made up our minds. In the end, only a very few made the cut. Elementary was one of those.

We have but one complaint. It seems that they even excluded coffee from the budget. I don't think the writers would have minded. They might even be inclined to pitch for a cup or two.

I'm referring to one of our pet peeves: actors drinking from empty cups. This is not a complaint that is unique to Elementary. It seems to transcend all performances. However, the empty cups seem so much more blatant in a production wherein everything else is so excellent.

For example, in the most recent episode, Watson arrives with two cups of coffee in paper cups with lids and insulated bands such as you might get at Starbucks. She's carrying them in a paper tray that is designed for four cups. If they were actually full, she would most likely carry the tray with both cups close to her hand. However, she is holding the tray on the side opposite the cups. Thus, the tray becomes a lever either making it more difficult to hold or running the risk of spillage.

Holmes takes his cup and instantly tips it to his lips, not as though he's about to take the first sip of hot coffee. No, he tips it up as though draining the last dregs of a cold beverage. Watson, sitting nearby, removes the plastic lid and begins stirring an obviously empty cup with a wooden swizzle stick.

Sorry for the lengthy description, but I couldn't find a clip to show you. You'll just have to watch and see for yourself.

And, you should watch it. If you enjoy intelligent entertainment, Elementary is an excellent choice. We can't hold the writers responsible for inept direction and continuity. Besides, actors drinking from empty coffee cups seems endemic on television and in the movies. It's almost as prevalent as actors leaving headlights on when they exit their cars. But, that's another story.  

CAN YOU SEPARATE your politics from your humanity? I can. Call the Midwife is a BBC production being aired in America on PBS that touches my soul despite the fact that so many aspects of it conflict with my core beliefs. However, none of that matters when I am presented with good people doing good in an ugly world.

Few can argue that London's East End in the 1950s was any ugly place. Far too many people living on low wages and crammed together in meager shelters. Little of beauty finds its way into this neighborhood. An occasional weed pushing up between the cobblestones provides a rare glimpse of green in a gray world, and it is soon crushed by humanity flooding and ebbing in its narrow streets, drawn by the alternating gravity of work and respite. The people aren't so much miserable as they are bereft of hope that their lives or their children's lives might amount to something more. Still, they produce children as though it is the only creative act permitted them.

Into this morass strides Jennie Lee, a trained nurse and midwife. She seems so out of place. Of possibly lower middle class origins, she has the look and poise that might have been assets to a model or an airline stewardess. She is a splash of color surrounded by dull brutes, their care-worn wives, and their teeming urchins.

Jennie joins a group of midwives sponsored by the Catholic Church. She and three other lay persons work alongside a small cloister of nuns, providing free health care to pregnant women.

Many will be surprised and some perplexed to learn that I watch anything on PBS. I not only refuse to contribute to it, but also refuse to endorse any politician who votes to continue supporting it with public funds. PBS served its purpose in the early days of television. It provided an outlet for quality programming that the commercial broadcasters would not air. However, in these days of narrow casting, with many hundreds of cable networks airing quality programming, PBS is no longer needed, nor can we afford it. I wouldn't object if the public treasury still overflowed with the wealth of our nation. Unfortunately, our government has stifled the creativity and enterprise of the people thus lowering tax revenue, and squandered the treasure that was handed to them by their predecessors. I am certain that if PBS were shut down today, programming like Call the Midwife would find another home tomorrow, and Big Bird would be the object of a bidding war by the purveyors of children's programming.

Produced in Britain, it is no surprise that this program extols the virtue of that nation's free public health care system. We saw evidence of that pride recently during the opening ceremonies of the Olympic Games. Supporters of Obamacare in this country most likely will be gratified by these references. Unfortunately, for every benefit derived from free public health care in Britain, there are countless devils in its details. For example, I happened to be corresponding electronically with an acquaintance in England as the opening ceremonies were being broadcast. She complained bitterly that she hadn't been able to schedule an appointment with a doctor for months for the sole purpose of obtaining a new prescription for her pain medication. Yes, this is only an anecdote. However, it is representative of the fact that the health system in Britain works far better for the healthy than the unhealthy.

Call the Midwife is narrated by Vanessa Redgrave as the voice of an older Jennie Lee, reflecting on the life and experiences that we see unfolding on the screen. I take great care in avoiding Ms Redgrave inasmuch as I am greatly offended by her politics. I would fight to the death to defend her right to any political ideology that she chooses. However, I will not pay one cent to support her or her causes. I also am offended by those who cast her in the role of Fania Fénelon, a Jewish classical musician interred at Auschwitz during World War II, in Playing For Time. Having Ms Redgrave portray a Jew when she has vehemently attacked every Jew's most basic desire to live in peace in their own homeland is reprehensible. She has used her prominence as a respected actress to foister the lies crafted by the Arabs who want to annihilate those who live in Israel. You may agree with her. I don't. Still, I will not allow her participation in this production to cause me to turn away from it.

Despite all this, I recommend this show highly. There is no “bang-bang” action or torrid love scenes. It is simply a good story, well told. I suspect women will be more inclined to view it. However, they should encourage their men to watch it with them. Drag them kicking and screaming if need be. It will do them good.