The sound of staccato typing drifts into earshot as a car drives down a sparse LA street. The camera continues to pull back, and back, and back, as if we’re in the opening minutes of Coppola’s hallucinatory The Conversation. The typing continues. The name of the show’s young director is stamped on to the screen: Steven Spielberg. We’re pulled back further until, finally, we’re inside the office of an author. He doesn’t know it, but he’s about to be murdered.
We’re watching the first episode of Columbo. Something equal parts refined and deftly chaotic is about to unfold.
