Let’s Pretend We’re an Episode of “Dateline”

I’m the smile of the victim. I could light up a room.

I’m a Walmart security tape, showing the culprit buying.a chainsaw, zip ties, and extra large trash bags.

I’m Natalie Morales and Craig Melvin. We purport to be the hosts, but all we ever do is say, “This is ‘Dateline’” at the very beginning, and then we’re never seen again, for the rest of the episode.

I'm Lester Hot and Andrea Stunning.

I'm some boring town in the Midwest somewhere.

I'm creepy Keith Morrison

I'm the suspicious life insurance policy one of the spouses bought for their partner, shortly before they off them.

If I'm a male victim, I was "larger than life."

If I'm a female victim, I was "vivacious."

I'm those "Coming Up..." teasers. When people record the show and play it back on their DVR, they're not sure whether to fast forward through them or watch them.

I'm the fat frau who vows to bring her best friend's killer to justice.

I'm the fat sister who says Amy's last words were "If anything happens to me it'll be because of Mike"

I'm the hairstyle of the victim in the pictures on the coffee table.

I reveal more than I should.

I'm the storybook romance that became a web of lies and deception.

I'm those so-called "new" two-hour episodes that are really repeats but with a short update at the end.

[quote] I'm those "Coming Up..." teasers. When people record the show and play it back on their DVR, they're not sure whether to fast forward through them or watch them.

I'd fast forward through them.

I’m the bland clothing/lack of makeup the protagonist wears throughout his interview on the show. It’s because he’s speaking from prison.

I'm a tree or a fence post. I'm here because Keith Morrison needs something to lean back on, crossed arms, getting ready to tell his tale of murder.

I’m the constipated look on Josh Mankiewicz’s face when he is trying to get to the bottom of things.

I’m the Dateline from the 1990’s where there were actually other interesting stories besides just depressing murders (undercover reporting for scams, celebrity interviews, etc).

I’m the surprising number of Chevy Impalas featured in every re-creation.

You know there’s a Asshole when you see those ugly round tail lights.

I’m the empty courtroom in which the camera will pan from overhead down to eye level of the host, as he begins this tale of woe and tragedy.

I’ll be Stone Phillips.

I’m Peter Francis Geracy and you most likely have Mesothelioma if you’re watching this program.

Want to make some money?

I’m that dilf, Stone Phillips, who used to host the show. You might not remember my name, but you remember that I was hot.

I’m the creepy host that looks like Glenn Close in Albert Nobbs.

I'm the front door of a house in some rural bumfuck town that's so safe, I never get locked.

I'm the female victim who was 'full of laughter', 'loved life', 'would give you the shirt off her back', 'looking forward to the future', 'a great mom'...

...and then you find out about 20 minutes into the episode that I was a crack ho giving $5 blow jobs in alleys, so maybe my death wasn't so mysterious after all.

I’m the controlling boyfriend who was originally suspected of murdering my girlfriend, until DNA finally cleared me.

I’m the unsettling low key smirk that is always on Keith Morrison’s face, even when he is talking about rape and murder.

I'm the best friend. You see a montage of photos of me and the victim together, and then a shot of me visiting the grave, placing flowers.

I'm the papers and folders the detective is shuffling on his desk while the narrator describes the investigation. I'm also the point on the horizon at which the bereaved sister gazes helplessly, whilst said narrator describes her frustration with the investigation.

I’m commercials. You’ll see a shitload of me, usually around every 8 minutes.

[quote] I’m the constipated look on Josh Mankiewicz’s face when he is trying to get to the bottom of things.

Josh Mankiewicz is the worst interviewer. He doesn't ask open-ended questions then wait for the answer. He asks cheesy, leading questions and the subject just goes "yeah." E.g., Josh: "So, lots of arguments, but, in the end, lots of love?" Subject: "Er, yeah."

Josh has a noir detective vibe. Interesting that he’s Ben’s brother.

I’m the book written by the mother of the victim. 5% of proceeds will go to the memorial foundation scholarship fund thing.

I’m the girl who asked to swap shifts at the convenience store/fast food joint/ Walmart with the victim, and is now suffering survivors’ guilt, as well as a meth habit.

There was the episode where one of the college volleyball teammates of the murdered guy showed up starring in one of the commercials.

I'm the sociopathic killer. Sometimes the jury actually finds me innocent.

I'm Keith Morrison saying slowly: "or, so she thought" before the commercial break.

I'm the one character as part of the story line of each episode that never get's interviewed once - thereby giving away right from the get go who did it and is now in jail.

I'm the woman bartender who was working that night, 20 years ago. I gave the killer an empty bottle of Galliano (murder weapon) and I remember "Only You Know and I Know" playing on the jukebox.

I've never said anything until now, but now that the killer is in jail on other charges, I feel safe enough to come forward.

[quote] never get's interviewed once

Oh, dear!

I’m “Forty-Eight Hours”, and I manage to maintain my sense of cut-above superiority, mostly by not airing 37 goddamned reruns per week on cable.

I’m the euphemisms used to describe the deceased:

“Life of the party” = alcoholic

“Adventurous” = made stupid decisions

“Trusting” = an imbecile with no common sense

“Passionate” = type A asshole

“Love of her life” = she was about to turn 30 and he was the only man in town who would marry her.

The producers should read this thread to let them know the areas they need to work on.

I'm Andrea Canning's frozen, immovable face.

I'm the serial killer who is going to pick off DL's grammar trolls one by one. I will be considered a hero.

I'm the controlling abusive husband. Let's face it, I'm guilty

R47 Now, now. I'm Andrea's cute wardrobe and undeniable professionalism.

I’m the quickie Wedding/elopement that viewers can spot as an oncoming train wreck from 20 paces.

I’m the cell phone tower that “pings” the location of the killer the night of the murder, thereby foiling his attempt at an alibi.

I’m the fire burning in the backyard seen by a neighbor at 2am.

I'm the pretty, sweet, nice, friendly, loving, girl or woman who inevitably has a monster boyfriend or husband. Want to guess how that always turns out?

I’m the AC left on by the killer, in attempt to slow down decomposition, in order to create confusion around time of death..

"Have a seat".

I'm the amazement that there are people who are so fucking stupid they still don't know about cell phone towers, traffic light cameras and GPS. Dumbasses deserve to get caught.

I'm your assessment that you come to in just the opening narration of the show that the killer, the victim and all their friends and family members are total white trash.

I’m the extremely tight closeup of the husband being interviewed, so that viewers can’t see the prison uniform he’s wearing, until we reveal him as the convicted culprit at the very end.

I’ll be Primetime Live.

I'm Lester Holt. I do nothing except read a few lines and collect a paycheck.

I’m David Muir. I do the same thing Lester Holt does, which is not much.

Bitch, I'm not on Dateline

Can we do a To Catch a Predator thread?

OK, 20/20, then. Same thing, R63.

I'm Dennis....whatsisname. The one whose name you never remember.

I'm the last 10 minutes of the show, when everything gets resolved.

I'm the frau wife who got popped by her husband.

I’m the middle aged neighbor who called the cops to let them know that I saw the suspect in my neighborhood, only to be blown off and told to call a non emergency line. I’m outraged that I was not taken seriously and others had to die.

I'm the balloon release held on the anniversary of the victim's death.

[quote] I'm Dennis....whatsisname. The one whose name you never remember.

Murphy. And I'm his face, aged horribly.

I'm the other channels switched to immediately.

I’m the roadside shrine.

When this episode airs, cousins not welcome at the wake will vend tee shirts featuring the victim’s selfie.

Rush hour will pull in money, but there are going to be drunken fights.

Please stop stealing the shrine candles and folding chairs.

I'm the person who wrote the guitar twang featured after almost EVERY commercial break to let viewers know that Dateline is back on. My work is featured HEAVILY in those 2-hour episodes!

I’m the parents and siblings who are relieved to have closure.

I’m the point, about five minutes in, where you think, “Oh yeah, I remember this one, the ex-boyfriend did it,” before switching to a rerun of “Law & Order” that you’ve also probably already seen.

I’m the smoky female voice moan-singing “ohhh” over the theme music.

I'm the hot detective(s) who solved the case. I'm always better dressed and more put together than the male Dateline reporter interviewing me.

I'm the male detective who's eye fucking Andrea Canning.

I'm Florida. I feature prominently on this show.

[quote] I'm the hot detective(s) who solved the case. I'm always better dressed and more put together than the male Dateline reporter interviewing me.

I'm the fat detective; I've gained five pounds every year since recruit school. It's been years since I squeezed into this dress uniform I'm wearing for TV. My buttons are about to pop. Don't make me laugh, either. I may fart.

I'm the hot detective. Don't ask me anything; I'm really stupid.

I'm a wrinkle on Keith Morrison's face. I have lots of company.

David and Amy have abandoned 20/20.

They literally get paid for a show they don’t even appear on anymore.

[quote]I’m the unsettling low key smirk that is always on Keith Morrison’s face, even when he is talking about rape and murder.

And I'm his insinuating, sing-song vocal delivery, making it clear this shit is sketchy and these people are guilty as FUCK.

I’m the “most horrific and bloodiest crime scene” this detective has seen in his “X amount of years in the police department.”

I'm the case that stays with you.

R80 i’m Texas, move over.

I’m the poor kids whose WORLD we were to our missing mom, who would never have left us voluntarily.

I'm the frustrated editors/writers trying, yet again, to not make the beautiful female victim seem like a dumb fucking idiot for walking out of a casino with the sketchiest looking middle-aged man you could ever meet.

I'm the "Celebration of Life."

I'm the out of the blue hike in the mountains, camping trip, remote area excursion, etc., the abusive husband suddenly wants to take his wife to AND SHE AGREES TO GO.

I'm the frau who agreed to stow away in the back of her married boyfriends truck. He's so zany asking me to hide under this tarp so nobody see we're sneaking away for a sexy rendezvous! Spoiler-I'm never seen again.

I'm the vendor at the cemetery selling single roses for five dollars apiece, claiming that proceeds will go to the victim's children.

I'm the "other woman" in the love triangle. I look very similar to the killer's wife. Plus, I have three kids from previous relationships. People assume I give really good blow jobs and I guess I do.

We're all the fat, unattractive people having affairs and you wonder how they could get so much dick/pussy because they're so fat and unattractive.

I'm the shitty little towns in Nowheresville that make you grateful that you don't live there.

I'm the entire 25 episodes out of 400 that MSNBC reruns endlessly.

I'm the title of the episode. I sound like the title of a bad paperback thriller - usually something like "Secrets in a Small Town"

I'm Luminol. I help catch homicidal criminals who are stupid enough to think that, in 2021, they can just clean up a crime scene with Clorox and a little bit of Simple Green.

I'm the murderer's battered ex-wife who hid the murder weapon in the linen closet in my mobile home for 17 years, before finding the courage to finally come forward and give it to authorities.

I'm that pesky DNA

I'm the murder victim who reminds the cynical, hard-boiled detective of his own daughter.

I'm the stalker that no one paid any attention to until it was too late.

I'm the would-be victim who got away, and testified on behalf all the poor victims who didn't.

I'm the handsome and charming killer who dazzles everyone. Straight women want to fuck me and guys want to be me. I think I'll get away with it, like I've gotten away with everything else in my life, until I get confronted with the detective assigned to my case. She's a stone-cold bulldyke who's totally immune to my looks and my charm and now I'm totally fucked.

I'm security cameras. I'm everywhere. Even on busses. Yet, criminals still walk, drive, and shop in my view before and after commiting crimes. Sometimes during! Will they ever learn?

I'm the loca; hhomesexual everyone now knew and adored.

I’m the Luminol wiped blood smears that light up the room or garage floor like a Christmas tree, unbeknownst to the suspect who had taken bleach and Lysol to all blood stains.

I'm the convicted murderer who commits suicide rather than go to prison. Survivors of the victim say they're sorry the victim never got the justice he/she deserved. I'm not entirely sure I understand the thinking.

I'm a 60-year old business woman, who *should* know better, but still falls for the 27-year-old scam artist-hottie with the body of Brad Pitt and the morals of Ted Bundy. It does not end well

I'm the Baptist couple in Sioux Falls whose brief dalliance with swinging pushed the wife over the edge, until she became a promiscuous crack whore, and was eventually murdered by either her husband, or one of her tricks.

I'm footprints. I don't understand why people don't think about me and wipe me away.

I just watched two episodes last night. Most of these responses were right on the money! DL is the best!

I'm the fat annoying frau whose affair started this whole chain of events that ended up with my lover killing my husband. You wonder how even one man, never mind two men, would ever want to fuck this land whale and be so besotted with her.

I'm Keith Morrison saying "If you thought that was the end of the story, you'd be wrong. NOT. EVEN. CLOSE." Then "Coming Up..."

I’m Keith Morrison aka Snow Miser.

Im Stone Phillips' youth. I'm gone.

I'm the number of gin & tonics required in order to find Josh Mankiewicz sexually compelling. For me, that number is 3.

Dateline always makes me think of that hilarious and hot closetcase douchebag James Marsden played to the hilt in SEX DRIVE. Truly an overlooked comedic gem.

[quote] (on his brother’s planned online hookup) *aghast* Ian, don’t you watch ‘Dateline’? She’s probably a guy; some fat old dude who wants to ram ya in the tailpipe. *smirks* But you’d like that, wouldn’t you? ‘Cuz you’re a HO-MO🎵!

I would drink James Marsden's piss

I'm the inevitable episode they'll do about the FBI agents shot in FL

I'm Google. I'll tell you in 2 seconds who the murderer is.

I'm the victim who had a "big personality" and "loved being the center of attention."

Which is a polite way of saying I was an obnoxious asshole.

I'm the vintage video clips of the local news reports about the crime.

I'm the young woman who was "very outgoing" and "was always popular and the center of attention" (read: town pump) who hooked up with the wrong guy on yet another drunken night at the bar.

I’m Josh Mankiewicz saying “ If you think this is the end of the story, well, you haven’t been watching Dateline....”

I'm the upbeat acoustic guitar music that plays early on during flashbacks to the victim's happy, promising childhood. I come back at the end, when they release the balloons.

Hi we are the wonderful kids of the murder victim. Unless we are interviewed we are blurred out in every picture.

I’m the sibling of the victim who never liked the guilty spouse.

I'm the sociopath husband, lying through my fucking teeth, an who you want to give a blowjob to, just the same.

I'm the 80s hair on the victim in the family photos.

I'm Kate Snow, and fuck that bitch Andrea Canning for being "the pretty one" on this show.

I'm sitting here imagining Keith Morrison saying "Oh, that rascally rabbit...".

I'm the same three "good" photos of the victim that are prominently featured over the 48 minute runtime of the episode.

I'm the victim's car, found in a parking lot or on the side of some country road. But how could it have gotten there?

I’m some random person who took an Ancestry.com DNA test, causing a genealogy match that will result in my third cousin, twice removed, to be arrested and indicted on charges of the rape and murder of a cocktail waitress in Kansas City in 1973.

I'm the attractive young woman who goes for a run/hike/walk by herself in the woods. Can you guess what happens next?

I'm the best girlfriend of the victim. On the night the victim was killed, we had a girls' night out at the local bar. My story on Dateline is that I left the bar early, parting ways with the victim, because I had to work the next day.

(In reality, the victim and I parted ways because we each found someone to bone.)

I now regret that the victim and I didn't leave the bar together as planned.

I'm the subject of tonight's "Dateline." It's entirely possible that you've already seen this subject covered on "48 Hours" or "20/20" or.......

I'm the small town dive bar that the victim and her girlfriend went to before they left to get boned. After seeing the bar, you're surprised that a murder doesn't happen every weekend.

I think they all use the same bar. With a gravel parking lot.

I’m the large home in an upper middle class neighborhood. I will either be the crime scene or the victims last known whereabouts.

I'm the murder victim's ex-husband/ex-boyfriend, who has a history of violent psycho behavior, that our murder victim nonetheless decided to meet with alone and in private to "talk things out"

I'm the guilt and shame you feel because you think the killer is hot as fuck and you're imagining what having sex with him would be like.

I'm the "Let's Be Forensic Files" thread and zi am much funnier.

[quote] Can you guess what happens next?

I can’t.

What happens?

[quote] I’m the large home in an upper middle class neighborhood.

And when they show some crime scene photographs you’ll see that it was actually a dirty hovel.

Natalie Morales looks like a whore in tonight's episode! 😳

r22 totally stole my role. I saw the title of this thread and immediately thought Stone Philips.

I’m the (frankly unlikely) beauty pageant title repeatedly invoked as a defining achievement of the victim that turns out to be some huckleberry festival event in a meth-blighted town with a population of 1200.

I'm Keith Morrison's trademark odd storyteller's syntax:

"She was ambitious, was Amy...."

I'm rabbi David Kaye. I like to suck, and being sucked. I like to kiss. I was caught in Dateline's Fairfax County sting, where I tried to set up a date with a thirteen year old named Conrad.

To say that my life was ruined as a result, is an insane understatement. I never really recovered.

I'm he big plastic garbage bag they put the dismembered body into

I’m the romance that started online.

It will end badly.

I’m the ticking clock.

I'm supposedly an hour long episode, but I'm really just 20 minutes of actual programming padded with 40 minutes of commercial breaks.

I'm the kids. We live with our grandparents now.

We don't believe for a second that our father is guilty, and are now going to waste the next ten years of our lives getting him a new trial.

I'm [italic]The Wonderful World of Disney[/italic]. I used to be in this time slot back when your parents were children. At least with me, you knew you were getting a fairy tale.

[quote]I'm rabbi David Kaye. I like to suck, and being sucked. I like to kiss. I was caught in Dateline's Fairfax County sting, where I tried to set up a date with a thirteen year old named Conrad. To say that my life was ruined as a result, is an insane understatement. I never really recovered.

Then I guess you can call him Conrad's bane.

[quote] I'm the kids. We live with our grandparents now. We don't believe for a second that our father is guilty, and are now going to waste the next ten years of our lives getting him a new trial.

We're the step-kids. This POS murdered our bio mother and we'll spend the next ten years of our lives making sure he's prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. We're no longer on speaking terms with our step-sisters and brothers.

I'm Andrea Canning's ice blue eyes and hot pink lipstick.

I'm the small river in some south Georgia backwater that conceals about 100 dead bodies of women

I'm what you just were told twice, then repeated again before the commercial break, then repeated at least once more when the show comes back from the break.

I'm the phlegmatic police detective from the South who had a daughter the same age as the deceased. He won't ever quit. Ever.

I'm Anytown, population 30,000. Every elected official is on the take, including the sheriff. It takes 15 years to "solve" a murder committed by a known suspect.

I'm the thick Southern/Midwest accents in the hayseed bumfucke towns these murders usually take place in.

I'm the 20-year old DNA that wasn't tested in the 90s because they didn't have the technology. I finally get tested and am now a crucial piece of evidence in the trial.

This thread is actually hilarious and should be archived as one of the rare funny ones of the 20-21 DL season.

So, in the Mark Weinberger story, do we think Monica (his Swiss girlfriend) is trans?

I'm the complete ignorance that your cell phone and your car's GPS can track your every move. Like when you're driving out to some isolated road in the middle of nowhere to dump a body. The fact that there are people who still do not know this, in this day and age, is totally amazing.

I am the custody battle that was abruptly ended by murder. Even though you risk never seeing your kids again by death row, at least your exe didn’t get them!

Spouses are cheating on each other. It's a race to see who is going to score the life insurance policy and get away with it. Every. Single. Fucking. Episode.

I’m the elderly parents who lived long enough to see murdered my daughter get justice.

R169 I read this thread last night, before watching the episode. Watching now and instantly remembered your post.

R169

Very definitely.

From The New Yorker, "Why “Dateline” Remains the True-Crime King"

The new podcast series “Killer Role,” from the long-running TV newsmagazine “Dateline NBC,” begins—as we would hope—with lugubrious pizzazz. “The Siskiyou mountain range of southwestern Oregon is a land of misty peaks and deep gorges, dirt roads that lead to nowhere,” its host, Keith Morrison, says, in sonorous, buttery tones. Soft acoustic guitar ambles in; Morrison describes “thick and rain-drenched forests” and myths “as persistent as the rain.” “Dateline” has five correspondents, and Morrison, seventy-three, is perhaps its most iconic: tall, white-haired, genteel, and abundantly expressive, with a manner at once entirely showbiz and entirely sincere. His introductions, which are particularly cinematic, often guide us to scenic American communities with danger lurking in the shadows. Here, a 911 call is heard: a gun has gone off and a woman is in trouble. “Oh, yes,” Morrison purrs. “A lot of trouble, which you’ll hear about soon enough. But not quite yet. Best to hear a story first. . . . a tale at once unbelievable and absolutely true.”

“Dateline” is all about story; it often comes right out and says so, then reminds you again. In his previous “Dateline” podcast series “Mommy Doomsday,” which concluded in March, Morrison says, “This story is about a woman—about people around her dropping like flies. It’s about a fringe religious group. It’s about the end of the world. . . . and zombies. It’s about lazy beaches in Kauai, the desert of Arizona, a frostbitten pet cemetery.” On TV, and in podcasts, “Dateline” values narrative convention almost to the extent of a genre novel, and “Killer Role,” about an actress who plays a killer in a low-budget film and is then revealed to be a killer herself, could be said to be the ur-“Dateline” product: a murder story about a murder story within a murder story. It’s a bit like “Hamlet” that way.

“Dateline” began in 1992, and—though it’ll occasionally surprise you with an episode about the hunt for El Chapo or the race for the covid vaccine—it has long focussed on true crime, and not the dreary kind. It airs on NBC primetime Friday and some Saturday nights, and, when you tune in, you’re expecting something like what it reliably delivers: a young woman who disappears after a Halloween party, a luxury-car dealer murdered in his bed. Perhaps relatedly, “Dateline,” in its great many forms—primetime, gratuitous syndication, streaming, and podcasts—is, for an exceptionally conventional network series, almost startlingly popular. Recently, two of the highest-charting podcast series have been from “Dateline”: “Killer Role” reached No. 2 on Apple, and “Dateline NBC” is regularly a top-ten true-crime series on Spotify. “Dateline” isn’t cool, exactly—it walks a fine line between stodginess and entertainment—but it’s somehow a mainstream stalwart and a cult favorite at once. (Bill Hader’s love of “Dateline” is well documented, from his over-the-top Morrison impression to his uncanny, hilarious Josh Mankiewicz; Twitter users post fan art and other tributes.) And it stands out for a reason.

On TV, where vérité true crime and murder dramas abound, “Dateline,” whose stories are often equally disturbing, takes care to respect the viewer, and also the subjects. It’s comforting because it has a certain gentleness; its format seems to wrap the hard stuff in several layers of bubble wrap. There’s an intro with a sturdy NBC anchor (“I’m Lester Holt”), and another intro from one of the correspondents; that wistful scene-setting, of which Morrison’s is reliably the most poetic, swiftly whisks us off to somewhere intriguing. The tragedy is explained with plainspoken drama that stops just short of lurid. The victim is introduced with images and remembrances from loved ones, and is often described as both an individual and a type: a “girly girl” or a “tomboy,” a dad who is also a “Mr. Mom,” a person whose smile would light up a room. The correspondents, some near-comically telegenic, are good listeners; the camera alternates between interviewer and interviewee, emphasizing empathetic connection. The correspondents often seem in synch with the victim’s loved ones—even to the extent of suggesting phrases that the interviewee repeats, nodding along. (This happens so much that I began recording it, in fascination. “Daddy’s girl?” “Daddy’s girl.” “Somebody’s gotta pay?” “Somebody’s got to pay.” “Could Tammy sell anything?” “She could sell anything.”)

And then there’s the story, which unfolds like a standard mystery: seeds of detail, gathering evidence, a potential suspect, a twist (“a dark suspicion wafted through the corridors of that old chocolate factory”), and so on, until we arrive at a graceful coda of life carrying on for those left behind. But the show’s takeaways can be unexpected. In the mostly middle-class, mostly white world that it’s often set in, more than one husband has pushed his wife off a cliff and made it look like an accident; more than one Christian has murdered a spouse to avoid the shame of divorce; more than one murderer has sent deceitful texts from the victim’s phone. Incredulity is heard over and over again: she’s never late for work. She would never not pick up her kids after school. She would never disappear and send a bunch of all-caps texts saying, Leave me alone, I’m on vacation. We see themes and beats and emotions recur; only the details are different. Every episode provides a strange combination of discomfort and solace, even as it flirts with camp. “Dateline” is full of clichés that remind us of another cliché: clichés are often clichés because they’re true.

“Dateline” also does many of the things that newer, and critically acclaimed, true-crime series such as “Serial” and “Making a Murderer” do—expose injustices caused by coerced false confessions, follow cold cases and investigate leads for years, focus on the victims more than the perpetrators. But its success, I suspect, has as much to do with its old-fashioned style. In the podcast landscape—a realm whose success has been driven in part by investigative true crime with a folksy aesthetic—“Dateline” ’s on-the-nose storytelling truly stands out. It doesn’t make the narrator a central character, it presumes a newscaster’s narrative authority, and it avoids the digressions germane to many deep-dive investigative podcasts (the moments when, as David Carr once memorably put it, a thread “would just sort of peter out and you’d go, ‘Huh!’ ”).

Keith Morrison stands out, too. He seems to revel in the form, and we, in turn, revel in him; his podcast series, including “Killer Role,” feel like a chance to float around in the warm bath of his voice. In “Killer Role,” he zooms in to those misty Siskiyou mountains to tell us of a father-daughter moviemaking team, a mysterious starlet named Wyn, and her uncannily believable performance in their horror movie. The story that unfurls is not a whodunnit but a whydunnit; as the episodes progress, we home in on a domestic drama (“It’s a story of family. . . . and how love, like money, is not always boundless”), interesting themes about performance, and a chaotic moment of violence witnessed by—of all people—a notary. It’s a fine tale, and a well-told one, even if its least appealing characters quickly take center stage. But, ah, no matter, as Morrison might say: we’re here for the “Dateline”-iness of it all. “Homicide detectives are, in a way . . . storytellers,” he says in the final episode, nearly singing. “Take a confusing jumble of facts, plot points like ballistics, blood spatter, witness statements; form them into a comprehensive narrative: beginning, middle, and end.” In a year when so little has made sense, and so little has felt resolvable, the lure of a beginning, middle, and end—even the presumption of one, delivered in a movie-trailer baritone—is powerful, and as persistent as the Siskiyou mountain rain.

I'm the contentment in being single, after watching so many homicidal spouses.

You & me both, R179. There's some value in not letting people get too close to you.

I don’t have any choice.

I'm the gas chromatograph mass spectrometer.

Oh sorry, that's Forensic Files.

I’m the same stock footage of a champagne glass pyramid and stripper pole dancer that are used in both Dateline and American Greed to represent a lavish lifestyle of partying and debauchery, courtesy of the insurance money.

I'm the life insurance policy sales rep that did a quick lookup about you on Google, and saw there was an episode on Dateline about you.

I'm the fake tears and cracked voice the deceased's friend tries in vain to muster when recalling the tragedy.

I'm a community shaken to its core, whatever that "core" is.

I'm the shallow grave found by hikers, who are then traumatized for life.

R161 As a MOTHER .........................................

We're the skeletons in Chris Hansen's closet that led him to go after others by committing entrapment.

I'm the displacement troll feeling better about my own crappy life because "at least I haven't murdered anyone like these people."

I’m plywood, found as the principal wall decor in most crime scenes.

I’m drive-in walk-up apartments. With the exception of some high profile murders that NEVER get covered in Dateline, all apartment murders happen in us, second level.

It’s happening right now - piano music in the background and all

I’m the 911 phone call - “My wife is dead!!” Meanwhile, he did it.

I’m the really hawt murderer.

I’m the best friend, who the victim sent to the returning client for a “massage” because she felt uncomfortable. She knew the victim was a prostitute and helped her run her escort service- but didn’t think it was important enough to mention to the cops.

I’m the grieving husband, wearing jail blues during all the interviews, who we don’t realize is the convicted killer until the end of the episode.

I’m the music trivia before and after the commercial break. It’s been I don’t know how long since I’ve been used.

I'm the Paula Zahn annoying lisp.

I’m the “revealing journals” that always implicate someone. Who the fuck keeps a journal in this century? The only adult I ever knew who did was my grandma who died in 2000 and was born in 1918.

Did grandpa kill her?

You know you read them!

I'm the triple doors locked to prevent Baba breaking in to bask in some other presenter's reflected glory.

I'm the detective, family member, or friend reviewing on camera key documents, photos, computer screens as if they were seeing them for the first time.

I'm the delicious tasting antifreeze that can be mixed with Gatorade and remain undetected until the body is exhumed 17 years later.

I’m the windows and doors that were never locked in this wholesome American town until “terror visited us” and changed our way of living forever. This type of stuff is supposed to happen in New York City or California - NOT HERE!

Why does this thread include references to Chris Hansen and Paula Zahn? Aren’t they on different shows?

Chris Hansen? On a different show?

Are you serious?

R207 uh.... yes? I’ve never seen him on dateline. I thought his show was called “to catch a predator.”

To Catch a Predator was under the Dateline umbrella, r208.

R209 Oh, I see. Must have been some time ago.

Yes, r210, the show was actually entitled,

Dateline: To Catch A Predator

Hansen moved on to the syndicated Crime Watch Daily.

I'm all of the men who should've just stayed single and fucked around with a string of girlfriends because marriage turned them into homicidal crazies.

I'm the gay guys watching and clucking their tongues in disapproval over how stupid and unsafe the female murder victims could be while I prep for my fourth Grindr hookup this week.

I'm the frau at r214 whose lifeless body will be found strangled in a public park. She was last seen buying Snickers and Soap Opera Digest at Rite Aid.

I'm R213 and R215 who will do every kind of mental gymnastics possible not to blame straight men for their violence and homicidal rage

I'm r213 who apparently thinks single men never do anything bad. I am dumb

I'm the husband's/boyfriend's flimsy excuse as to why my wife/girlfriend disappeared. I make even small town Mexican police who can't speak a word of Englishman say Sure, Jan and lock me up for life.

I'm r216 who gets her cunt in a twist over a fun thread about a tv show.

I'm modern technology such as DNA evidence and the like. I take all the mystery out of this show.

I'm r219, not listening to his own advice and using this thread to attack people

I’m the terrible acting in the husband’s phone call to police. “My beautiful wife is at the bottom of the pool!”

I'm an isolated ranch in the Southwest. Nothing good ever happens on an isolated ranch in the Southwest.

I'm Ed Gein and I'm going to make a lampshade out of r221 if the stupid cunt doesn't shut the fuck up.

I'm DATELINE!...the Musical

I’m a well written, heavily researched piece of investigative journalism covering political corruption and corporate malfeasance .... but them reality tv turned me into a long, boring, repetitive show stretching a 5 minute long story into an hour. The significant other/boss/employee/side piece/ child did it.

r226 it is amazing how many murders happen in this country among outwardly "respectable" people. Dateline is a fascinating look into the American psyche.

R227, not really. It's just that Dateline chooses to focus on the ones involving (mostly) middle class people. You don't see any murders involving drugs, gangs, or street crime. The vast majority of murderers and murder victims are poor.

That's what we like about most of these cases – they're unlikely.

r228 that's Dateline's specialty. There are other shows about street crime etc. Dateline is about middle class people (and the occasional wealthy people) who commit murder. It's a fascinating subject. Supposedly respectable, stable people being murderous sociopaths just under the surface. People will always be interested in that.

I'm the dented cardboard boxes brought up from storage, full of files from that cold case from 1977. The camera is pointed to the gung-ho new detective busy rifling through the dusty folders until they find that one detail that finally points to old Mr. Smith, the quiet neighbor, as the serial rapist.

LOL R215! Your humor is very specific

I’m an average white guy who resembles the average white actor who played the acquitted killer on Dateline.

Coworkers will ask if I’ve ever lived in New Hampshire every time a specific episode airs in syndication.

Anyone see the recent Pamela Fayed murder episode? How about that detective with the fedora. He and reporter Josh Mankiewicz together were very noir.

I'm the marble-mouthed hick accents that should require subtitles for viewers in the rest of the country.

I'm the establishing shot of a town at the beginning of an episode. I usually include a water tower.