The other night, we were watching an old Columbo episode on our shiny new computer. Columbo, as you know, is a delightful sort of inverted detective story. Within a few minutes, you know who offed whom, how, and usually why. Things look good for the murderer, who has the perfect manufactured alibi. Life is set to go on, for everybody except the victim. And then the guy in the raincoat shows up. You hang around for the next hour and some-odd, and watch the disheveled detective chase the perp around in his battered 1959 Peugeot, while happily chanting, 'One more thing…' As actor Peter Falk said, being pursued by Columbo is like 'being nibbled to death by a duck'.

This particular episode began far from the murder scene, however. The story opened in a park. The setting was festive: tables, booths, food vendors, palanquins, banners, and balloons. And basset hounds. Hundreds of the lovely things, all bellowing. It was a basset hound picnic. Their human companions were busy collecting ribbons for Best Bellower, etc. And here he was, of course, Columbo himself, in that ratty raincoat, schlepping Dog along. It is a well-known fact that Lt Columbo of the LAPD is the proud owner of a basset hound named Dog. Appropriate for a detective who insists that his first name is 'Lieutenant'.

Columbo and Dog win a ribbon, too, because all the rescue dogs get ribbons. Dog looks fetching in his white rosette. But later, as Columbo talks with the owner of a more successful ribbon-collecting basset, Dog does a surprising thing. He bites Columbo. He's never done that before – Dog is almost embarrassingly friendly. Columbo wonders why, because, well, he's Columbo, and he never leaves a mystery unexplored.

We get on to the murder, a predictable little tale involving an Italian¹ painter with an ego the size of the Coliseum, his ex-wife, his current wife², and his current model and mistress. The painter kills his ex-wife, who is about to leave him (don't ask), and Columbo has to prove it. In the meantime, there is much fun involving painting, beaches, and Vito Scotti. Columbo episodes are always better with Vito Scotti. Columbo questions ladies, looks for clues on the beach, and has conversations with Vito Scotti at his bar. But he's still worried about Dog.

In this story, Columbo's Dog is like Chekhov's gun. You're waiting for the other shoe to drop. Eventually, it does. The ex-wife/victim's bereft lover, a psychologist, suggests to Columbo – who, of course, consults him as a behavioural expert – that Dog bit Columbo because he was jealous of all those other dogs. 'Ah,' Columbo says, striking his forehead in a characteristic gesture, 'That's it!"

It turns out that the further development of the story has a lot to do with jealousy, and the stress it causes. The painter killed his ex-wife because he was afraid she would tell her new boyfriend about the time he murdered a crooked art dealer. (And buried him in Vito Scotti's basement.) Once the ex-wife is gone from the ménage a quatre. the other two in the harem get together and decide to leave the wretched, conceited painter, much to the delight of the entire audience. The women are happy because this painter is an oinking MCP³ who deserves to be dropped from a great height. The men are happy because, let's face it, where does this guy get off hogging three beautiful women, one of them Fionnula Flanagan, for pity's sake? Hanging's too good for him. Oddly, the scene where the two ladies flounce off in a shared taxi is much more satisfying than the denouement, where Columbo arrests the painter for murder. Yeah, yeah, he goes to jail. But first, he lost all his girlfriends. That's poetic justice.

I would argue that this little story was greatly enhanced by the addition of that opening scene, the one with the basset hounds. Not only because dogs make everything better, but also because the Puzzle of Columbo's Dog set up the themes of the story. Dog, like Chekhov's gun, served a dramatic purpose.

What I'm suggesting is that we can learn from the writers of this story. What incidents or details can we add to our own writing – be it fact, fiction, or even poetry – that would serve to bring out the point we're making? A clever detail, properly placed, can change our whole perception. Do you remember that English painter – was it Turner? – who objected to where the Academy was hanging his landscape? When the curator wouldn't listen, the painter brought in a palette and brush. Quick as anything, he added a small red sailboat to the bottom corner of his seascape. The same colour that dominated the oversized painting hanging next to his. The curator gasped: instantly, the painter had changed the way the painting would be viewed. The eye was drawn to that detail. Chuckling, the painter moseyed off.

We can do things like that, if we just pay attention, and watch our opportunities. Oh, and speaking of detail: check out this statue of Columbo in Budapest. Note his companion.

Writing Right with Dmitri Archive

Dmitri Gheorgheni

04.08.14 Front Page

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