Orchids · 10 June 2001
As a teenager I read Rex Stout’s Nero Wolfe novels, in the interval between inhaling approximately 1200 SciFi novels (haven’t cracked one since) and gazing, prone, at thousands of hours of television.
I recall liking them because the Wolfe character was such an utter asshole – holed up in a brownstone with his porno flowers and ludicrous menu plans – while his wiseacre gumshoe assistant ran around chatting up dames, finding stiffs, getting roughed up by the bulls.
Lately I’ve seen a few of the new TV series, which are pretty good. Timothy Hutton makes a fine Archie Goodwin. But I have to say, Maury, baby, let’s ratchet it down a couple notches. You’re at risk of beating out Martin Sheen for overacting distinction of the year.
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