Harry Orwell is a world-weary private investigator who was forced to leave the San Diego Police Department after a bullet became lodged near his spine. He lived on the beach, and, when not ...
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A mentally challenged young man sneaks out of his home in the middle of the night to go to a carnival. When a young woman is found strangled the next morning, his parents hire Harry to find out where...
A young widow has a malpractice suit against the doctor who was treating her deceased husband, but after she is threatened by two men to drop the suit, her mother hires Harry to look into the Dr.'s ...
David Vincent, an architect returning home after a hard, hard, day parks his car in an old ghost town in order to rest for a while before continuing on home. Suddenly, in the middle of the ... See full summary »
Harry Orwell is a world-weary private investigator who was forced to leave the San Diego Police Department after a bullet became lodged near his spine. He lived on the beach, and, when not working on a current case, spent much of his time fixing up his boat, which was called The Answer. Harry O was unusual in that he didn't own a flashy car in which to conduct high-speed chases, preferring to ride the bus instead. Written by
Marty McKee <email@example.com>
Harry Orwell was a gumshoe that Dashiel Hammet would appreciate (though he talked a bit more like Philip Marlowe, and his Southern California felt more like Ross MacDonald's.
It's been decades since I saw an episode of Harry O. I remember it having 70's cop show production values (everybody drove Fords). I can't really recall any of the stories. But I remember dialog and mood and characters with many layers. This show's success had less to do with the mystery and more to do with people and fantastic story-telling. You *liked* Orwell and Manny Quinlan. You wish you could meet people like that. You like to think they're out there somewhere, holding up some kind of code of decency in a dirty world. And if you had to have an adversarial relationship with a guy like Trench (the great Anthony Zerbe), at least you knew he was honest and fair and smart.
Those passages of narration were poetry! With Janssen's world-weary delivery it was like a ballad by Sinatra. Sure wish I could see some of these again.
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