Dunnn Da-Dum Dum.
Eileene has recently become a fan of Dragnet. She’s always liked police procedurals, and this is the grand-daddy of them all.
As the first of its kind, Dragnet is nowhere near as sophisticated as what they’re airing today. And while this is most evident in the forensic science, it applies across the board. During interrogations, for example, suspects may put up some resistance. So Friday gets tough: instead of asking questions, he barks them out, often with an addendum that “This time, we want answers.” That’s all it takes. No threats of violence, certainly no actual violence—that would violate the suspect’s rights, and Friday plays it by the book—no threat of jail time, just a somewhat sterner voice, and the suspect caves in, stiffly reciting the words, “Okay, okay, I’ll talk.” It’s like the show wants to be film noir, but doesn’t get film noir. It’s got tough guy talk, but no actual threat behind it. It’s got sin and vice, but only in bad guys, not in every human being. It’s got rapid-fire banter, but not icy-cool innuendos of sex, greed, and violence between ultra-cool people, just exchanges between the ultimate squares, who speak rapid-fire only because they’re reluctant to waste time on frivolous conversation at the taxpayers’ expense.
But as silly as the show gets, it’s hard not to admire its painful earnestness. When Dragnet gets satirized, as it often has, I notice that the satire is done in the same vein as Star Trek send-ups, with a grin of approval. Sure, it’s cheesy, but in a good way, with some good bits hidden inside all that grade-A dairy. If the show were more self-conscious, less willing to expose itself to ridicule, the good bits would never make it to the screen.