Before we begin this recap, I want to share with you one of my favorite cinema rants, delivered by Truman Capote in the movie Murder by Death: "You've tricked and fooled your readers for years. You've tortured us all with surprise endings that made no sense. You've introduced characters in the last five pages that were never in the book before. You've withheld clues and information that made it impossible for us to guess who did it. But now, the tables are turned. Millions of angry mystery readers are now getting their revenge. When the world learns I've outsmarted you, they'll be selling your $1.95 books for twelve cents."
While it's an amusing look at the economics of the day (the day being 1976), the main lesson I took away as a young girl was this: My God, does Obi Wan Kenobi make an oddly beguiling woman. No, wait, that was a tangential observation. The real main lesson I took away was this: a truly well-written, well-executed mystery lays all the clues out in plain sight, but does so in a way that manages to simultaneously entertain the audience, while permitting them the opportunity to solve the mystery over the course of its unfolding. While last-minute revelations are handy for sloppy writers, they're far more shocking if the astute reader or viewer realizes the clues have been leading to that conclusion all along. Think about The Sixth Sense for a moment or the movie Malice, which is one of the most economically-written mysteries made in the last ten years.
Why am I telling you all this now? Oh, no reason.
Day breaks over Miami, and a pint-sized hottie is preparing for his job at a morning show, wondering why on Earth he left politics. Elsewhere in Miami, a woman is sleeping while someone whispers hoarsely, "Julisa" just out of camerashot. The alarm goes off at the ungodly hour of 6 a.m., and she pops right awake, rolling over and mumbling, "¿Aure?" to a pile of pillows. Plainly, she expects someone to be there. "¿Aurelio?" she calls. As Julisa walks down the hall, her name echoes in a hoarse whisper. I imagine if she were more awake, she'd be all creeped out. After one repetition of her name, Julisa asks, "¿Que estas haciendo aqui?" Which is, of course, not at all what the closed captioning said. How nice to know it's capable of bilingual gaffes. Anyway, Julisa asks why Aurelio didn't come to bed last night, and as she walks around to the front of the chair where Aurelio is sitting, the ominous synthesizer swells and we see that Aurelio's sporting a collar made of plumbing pipe. "Ayudame," he whispers. The camera pans down to the note pinned on his chest, which looks as though William Carlos Williams composed it in PowerPoint: