Neighbors turn to true crime
where.
Charles is coasting on the faded glory of a detective show that was canceled long ago; a misanthrope at heart, he repeats lines from the show and passes them off as his own. Oliver is a failed theater impresario — his musical version of “Splash” did not make one — and a hopeless neurotic. (The character plays off one of Short’s strengths: a willingness to be annoying). Mabel, sour and condescending, is a bit of a poseur, living in her aunt’s apartment. (To its credit, the series acknowledges the fact that living in a building like this is exorbitantly expensive.)
This year, Netflix showed a true crime docuseries called “Crime Scene.” The crime itself was of some interest, but the core of the series was a group of amateur investigators, posting their theories online with little regard for reality or the reputation of anyone they smeared along the way. They needed to believe in and care about something, anything, and this case would do.
Mabel, Oliver and Charles could certainly relate. They need this podcast. They need to bicker over the recording equipment and the music. In the search for suspects, they need to insinuate themselves into the lives of neighbors they’ve never previously cared about. (One choice bit of slapstick involves Martin and a dead cat in a freezer.) The neighbors are about as ridiculous as the sleuths, which keeps us from feeling too bad for them.
Created by Martin and John Hoffman, “Only Murders in the Building” doesn’t have a particularly sharp bite. It’s more silly than funny. But it takes the time to build its characters, and to place their obsession in a cultural context. Charles, Mabel and Oliver sleuth because they must. It’s really all they have.