From Page to Screen: Nero Wolfe (2001-2002)
35 years ago a woman named Martha Holliday introduced me to Rex Stout’s Nero Wolfe novels, and thus began a lifelong obsession. My fascination doesn’t rival Wolfe’s mania for orchids, but it’s a pleasant diversion. Thanks to Ms. Holliday, I quickly read every novel and story in the series and have been rereading them ever since. Yet during that time, I’ve learned that some obsessions shouldn’t be messed with.
One way to do so would be to create a film or TV version of a book series that almost guarantees disappointment if not inviting retribution. When the 2001-2002 A&E series Nero Wolfe aired, I gave it a chance, not expecting much.
For those unfamiliar with the books, Nero Wolfe is a private detective, a true genius who hates to work, doing so only when his bank account runs low. He’d much rather spend time tending his orchids (in two 2-hour sessions each day), reading, and conversing with his in-house chef Fritz.
Wolfe’s associate, Archie Goodwin, is good-looking, likes the ladies (and they generally like him), and loves giving Wolfe a hard time. Archie does 95% of the legwork when Wolfe reluctantly agrees to a case, but the genius also has a team of other operatives: Saul, Fred, and Orrie. Wolfe maintains an ongoing rivalry with Police Inspector Cramer, who always believes Wolfe is withholding crucial information each time he takes on a client. Those are the essentials.
I can’t remember which episode I first watched, but I immediately felt Maury Chaykin was the wrong choice for Wolfe. Anyone who’s read even a few of the novels and stories probably has their own idea of who would be the ideal Wolfe.
Early in my reading, I pictured Sydney Greenstreet, unaware that he played Wolfe on a 1950-51 radio drama. I also thought of William Conrad before I knew he portrayed the detective in a short-lived NBC series in 1981.
I always pictured Wolfe as someone who resembled character actor Charles Knapp, who most famously played the mortician in Chinatown (1974) and the sky marshal in the final episode of Twilight Zone: The Movie (1983). Knapp certainly had the weight, but also something in his eyes indicating that when he looked at you a high level of intimidation would reduce you to jelly. The Wolfe of my mind was stoic, rarely raising his voice, and carrying a high degree of personal and mental control. If he did begin to lose it, such moments might resemble a volcano erupting during a prayer meeting.
Although Chaykin looked the part and probably weighed Stout’s oft-cited “seventh of a ton,” his mannerisms seemed wrong. The biggest problem is that Chaykin’s Wolfe rages, often yelling. The Nero Wolfe I imagined rarely needed to raise his voice. When you possess unassailable intelligence and logic there’s no need to raise your voice. You simply state logical, provable facts. Toddlers don’t do that, and Chaykin’s performance sometimes delves into toddler territory. Plus, his hair is too long.
Timothy Hutton as Archie Goodwin is fine, no complaints. Hutton’s delivery is quick, his banter sharp, and his way with the ladies is certainly in line with what I’d come to expect from the books. Hutton (rightly) portrays Archie as a man who’s never lost for words or actions. You don’t need to be told Archie has a photographic memory, that he can recall long, convoluted conversations verbatim. You see it happening. That makes you wonder whether the quips and jibes he hurls at Inspector Cramer, Sergeant Purley Stebbins, or Wolfe himself are not carefully crafted and rehearsed. I suspect that at one time they were, but Archie’s arsenal of verbal fireworks is so second nature that he can recite them in his sleep.
The more episodes I watched the more I began to go with it. The A&E series contains more comedy than I would’ve liked, but this is television, and the most successful and well-regarded detective shows (Columbo, Murder She Wrote, The Rockford Files, etc.) all contain regular comedic moments. The Nero Wolfe novels and stories do as well, but those occasions are more subdued: the arguments between Wolfe and Archie, which always begin with Archie stating their predicament in the most ridiculous (yet accurate) terms and Wolfe responding with a “Pfui” or a “Confound it!” These moments are more visual in the show, as are the scenes of frustration giving way to resignation with Fritz, etc.
Yet one of the strengths of the TV show is Wolfe and Cramer go at it toe-to-toe. Bill Smitrovich is the perfect choice for Cramer, tough-looking, and imposing, yet taking himself so seriously that the audience simply can’t.
If you’re wondering why I’ve mentioned little about the cases themselves, it’s because they’re secondary. They exist only to showcase Wolfe’s genius under the most unlikely circumstances. The books’ primary purpose isn’t plot; it’s character. It doesn’t matter who killed who, the true joy in the series comes from watching this ensemble be who they are and perform accordingly, and this 2001-2002 show nails it.
If you’re a hardcore fan of the books, the show may initially be a bit bumpy for you, but give it time. The differences between the stories and the show are noticeable, but not dealbreakers. Enjoying Nero Wolfe for what it is rather than what it isn’t requires a little effort, yet that effort is well worth it.
Colin Fox as Fritz, Trent McMulen as Orrie Cather, Fulvio Cecere as Fred Durkin, and especially Conrad Dunn as Saul Panzer, are all terrific. Yet members of the repertory cast (James Tolkan, Kari Matchett, Boyd Banks, George Plimpton, and many more) frequently appear as different characters, which is a major part of the fun.
Rex Stout’s Nero Wolfe stories and novels ran from 1934 to 1975. (This photo contains the ones I could easily get my hands on, not a complete set.) While no television show can boast such longevity, I wish we had had more than two seasons of Nero Wolfe, especially with this cast. I have never seen the other TV versions and while I’m not totally on board with the concept of the Italian version (relocating Wolfe and Archie to Italy to avoid an FBI investigation), I’m willing to give it a try.
Now the disappointment: In my eagerness to share the 2001-2002 TV show with you, I find that the DVD sets are no longer in print. You can still find them used, and although this Australian set is the most affordable option, it’s a bit pricey for a blind buy. I’d love to see Kino Lorber acquire the rights to this edition to stand alongside the Italian series. Let’s hope someone picks it up soon.
But the books, which I highly recommend, are always available. The first entry, Fer-de-Lance, is not the best place to start. First, try The Golden Spiders (the pilot for the A&E series) or Before Midnight. Yet don’t be surprised if these books become an obsession.