Oxford. Pretty, pretty Oxford.

[allaire]

This is a bit disjointed, because I'm sick with the flu (which currently means I cannot talk) as well as extremely tired, but dammit, I think I love the Lewis Oxford mysteries. I've had a handful of episodes saved to disk for what feels like ages, but somehow I never quite got into the show (never managed to borrow the DVDs, either), and now with time on my hands I've started with the pilot, and oh my. I love the clear diction of both Kevin Whately and Laurence Fox that makes subtitles almost entirely unnecessary (what was the last British tv series I desperately needed subtitles for? I can't quite remember.), I love the banter, I love the barely-there smirks Hathaway's so fond of giving as well as his deadpan humor, I love how they work together (Okay, most of the plots are really far-fetched - come on, Hathaway didn't recognize Zoe Kenneth? Seriously? But it's great that I keep usually guessing until the conclusion of the case as for who's the murderer - unless a woman flirts with Lewis, because then...), and I love this state mid-fandom immersion when the dialogue in a story isn't just dialogue, but a conversation in the characters' voices in my head. Oxford comes alive in the show (reminding me much of Peter and Harriet, only this time with actual pictures), and I'm just so--so glad to be swept away, I guess. I'll never be able to write in this fandom, and what fic's available is far from enough, and I can never get through an entire episode without taking a break, because while the show is great, I find myself lacking patience, but, oh. Just-- lovely. Seriously, seriously lovely.

crossposts: http://allaire.dreamwidth.org/214424.html
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