This morning I parked myself on the couch to find out once and for all about the old crime shows TV1 play on an endless loop they call 'Crime Time'. (Yes, this activity made me feel somewhat like a sad pathetic housewife, but the differences between me and them are minimal, so I don't really mind.)These shows, all set in the same much-mocked late 80s time frame, have dated badly thanks to the characters' penchants for pastel colours and obsolescent haristyles, as well as soundtracks crammed with corny saxophones, yet they fill the void for anyone too lazy to read Raymond Chandler's quintessential West Coast mystery novels (ie. me), and are so much more enjoyable than their contemporary counterparts (the seemingly infinite franchises of C.S.I. and Law and Order, Criminal Minds, Bones, Cold Case etc.) mainly for the reason that they are more subtle and pare the crime genre back to basics. Whereas today's crime shows are claustrophobic and dim, the classic crime series are set in sun soaked paradises (Dexter would later use a similar tropical location in blistering irony). Today, the emphasis on this genre is more reliant on grit, whilst back then it was wit. The storylines of Columbo et al., whilst simpler, are more clever and thankfully all occur without those crime-against-fashion laboratory glasses and a test tube in sight. With the exception of some detective noir examples (TV's Monk and film's Brick, both filled with appreciation of the detectives of yesteryear) so much current crime fiction takes place in forensics, where people use big tools and even bigger words, which leave me dumbfounded. Trying to unravel the more simplistic mysteries, such as those in Magnum P.I. and all its other dated counterparts is a lot more satisfying, and there is no better time than over breakfast. Equally as stimulating for the brain as the morning crossword or sudoku puzzle, 'Crime Time' comes with the added kitsch-laden visual delights. I was impressed.