In any sci-fi/horror, when a human being is taken over by any entity, be it biological or spirit-form, people who know that person will still talk to them as if nothing's wrong, never mind that the possessed character will act in a totally different and altogether ghoulish way to how they did before.

Metallic knives, swords or any other weaponry will resonate with a piercing 'schhinng!' sound, even with the merest small movement.

In a fantasy/sci-fi/horror film scenario, characters who supposedly return from the dead (usually as part of the evil plan of the villain, who manages to manipulate the minds of his antagonists and pull off a trick like that) will still be welcomed back tearfully by the people who loved them, the latter seemingly rejecting the reality that they really are dead and that they buried the buggers a long time ago.

As annoying and intrusive people like Jessica Fletcher are, the head of a police department will ultimately allow an amateur sleuth to virtually take over an entire murder investigation.

With the odd rare exception, security guards in films are either injured or killed, and are completely useless.

ian.64 wrote:

And that differs from real life how?

Don't know, GO. I've never staged a multi-million-dollar heist or sophisticated art theft enough to find out.

You haven't? Damn, Ian, I was relying on you...

Bloody Gangster Octopus (opens sports bag, shoves rope, climbing equipment inside)...I was planning on going shopping today...(stuffs night goggles in bag)...my back hurts and I'm not getting any younger..(folds up blueprint of museum)...those laser alarm networks are a bastard and my big arse cheeks will set the fuckers off..(stuffs impressive high-flexibility catsuit into bag)..Damn it, Ian, I was relying on you...all right, smartarse, you want the Kohinoor diamond badly enough, you nick it...

ian.64 wrote:


She may be annoying, she may be intrusive – but she gets results. Incidentally (and I don’t mean to derail the thread), I’ve been on a Murder, She Wrote kick for about a month now. It’s driving my girlfriend batty, but there something about a septuagenarian in pearls solving crimes that really does it for me. It’s nowt kinky, mind, I think it’s because it's so gentle/lightly clichéd that I can watch it in a kind of trance. The Cabot Cove coma. It also reminds me of being ill/skiving from school. I’d like to see her broaden her remit, though; maybe tackle some yardie/gangland pliers ‘n’ blow-torch executions.

Not cliches exactly, but I get some sad pleasure from watching the eternal conflict between the needs of the plot and unhelpful modern technology.

So for example, about 90% of movie/TV characters will arrive unannounced and knock on the door. Nobody thought to text first? Similarly, in any desperate search for a missing person, a walk through the woods shouting the name will no longer suffice. At some point the audience must be told how/why the mobile phone has been lost, or rendered inoperable.

Directors get awarded bonus points for imaginative 'workarounds'. Just seeing it left on the table or muttering "out of range! no signal!" don't cut it.

She may be annoying, she may be intrusive – but she gets results. Incidentally (and I don’t mean to derail the thread), I’ve been on a Murder, She Wrote kick for about a month now. It’s driving my girlfriend batty, but there something about a septuagenarian in pearls solving crimes that really does it for me. It’s nowt kinky, mind, I think it’s because it's so gentle/lightly clichéd that I can watch it in a kind of trance. The Cabot Cove coma. It also reminds me of being ill/skiving from school. I’d like to see her broaden her remit, though; maybe tackle some yardie/gangland pliers ‘n’ blow-torch executions.

That's what I thought what was most peculiar of Murder She Wrote, the very clean and antiseptic nature of the crimes: almost no pools of blood, with the bodies just lying there with little or no wounds on their persons. The clean-up units must have got things sorted, post-murder, in about ten minutes. Not for Jessica Fletcher the task of finding out who severed the torso of the attorney with his head placed in a bin-liner. Prime-time family viewing, of course (if murder was something the whole family could watch), but most of the victims in MSW must have walked around with a paper cup's worth of blood in their bodies.

Car parking - always an available space right out the front of a building no matter what time of day or night it is.

50 year old overweight/morbidly obese cop always catches perp who is 30 years younger and was coached by Valery Borzov.

A classic example of this was an Aussie TV Cop show called "Bluey" - people who lived in the North West of England in the early 80's were privileged to have watched this on late night TV.

In fact the continuity was so bad Bluey would be driving the car wearing a natty pistachio coloured sports jacket, then when chasing aforementioned perp would be wearing a tartan double breasted number

Tramp The Dirt Down wrote:


Except Frank Cannon.

"natty pistachio coloured sports jacket"

That phrase really tickled me. Redolent of pretty much all of my '80s viewing. And pretty much every piece of furniture I sat upon during said era.

Jah Womble wrote:

So many soap rules .. No-one can remain happily single, they have to mope around for a week or two before hooking up with another character, despite the fact that their last relationship ended in attempted murder/fraud/jailtime/partner having sex with other family member.

If character loses a job, they look downcast for half an episode and then are offered another job in same street or square, and can start without any training - often being simply thrown an apron and serving food without even washing their hands.

All deep dark family secrets must be announced in local pub, with whole pub falling conveniently silent.

When female character is angry with male character, he will stand patiently in the pub while she empties entire pint over his head. Bar staff will not be angry at this, and will often cheer or laugh uproariously.

MsD wrote:


The phrase “this is the happiest time of my life” and/or “this is the happiest I’ve ever been” will, without exception, be followed by hideous personal misery/injury. Spain is no longer considered an exotic enough bolt-hole for fleeing soap characters: it’s South America or bust. You cannot have a girl/boyfriend or job that isn’t within a 400-yard radius of your front door. It’s acceptable to not only be in a pub before noon, but it’s also ok to drink straight whisky/vodka. They never watch football in the pub. In fact, no-one watches TV ever. More people kill other people than watch TV. I’d like to see what soap opera Dot Cottin tunes in to. I don’t have a problem with any of this.

Okay, so I missed a few.

Any device that blows up or destroys anything with impressive results will be followed by a teen or child standing nearby who surveys the smouldering results and blurts out an approving murmur of 'cool!'

MsD wrote:


"No, of course darling, everything's FINE!"

The two characters then hug, but the camera focuses on the face of the character who said the above line as they stare, wide-eyed and worried. They're not fine at all. there's something very wrong here.

Back in general TV/movie cliches, the remote control for a domestic appliance makes an audible 'click' as the character pushes a button to change channel etc.

The old cop who might as well be sitting about in an "I'm just about to be killed" t-shirt has only 1 week to go before retirement.

'Super Baddies' are never as dead as they first appear, always springing back to life immediately after the hero/heroine has given a "thank goodness that's over" style sigh over the 'body'.

Anyone who wants to can easily hack into the Pentagon. This is only necessary if they can't be bothered pretending to be a cleaner.

When scaling a tall building the rope will always break, leaving our hero hanging from a ledge by one hand.

You've cased the joint. You've got the guns to enforce when you break into the bank and hold up the occupants. You've got the getaway car. You've got every escape route covered so that it's impossible to fuck up when you've put all the money into the bags. You've got every element of the robbery you're going to pull off laid down to the finest detail, so that you'll be on that beach holding a pina colada, celebrating a job well done before the feds can even pick up a hint of a trail.

Now...all you need is to recruit a psychotic loose-cannon for your gang of hot-shot perps, who'll do something totally stupid that puts all that planning and preparation in the crapper.