When Peter Falk put the tan raincoat back on in 1989 after an eleven-year hiatus, the world was a different place. The gritty, 35mm film grain of the seventies had been swapped for the neon-soaked, high-contrast gloss of the late eighties. Fans were nervous. Could the rumpled detective actually survive the transition to the era of big hair and synthesizer soundtracks? Honestly, Columbo: Murder, Smoke and Shadows didn't just survive; it proved that the formula was bulletproof.
This isn't your standard detective procedural.
It’s meta. It’s flashy. It’s basically a love letter and a middle finger to Hollywood all at once. If you’ve ever wondered why this specific episode is consistently ranked as a top-tier "New Columbo" entry, you have to look at the man behind the camera—and the man in front of it playing the villain.
The Young Spielberg Energy of James Frawley and Steven Bochco
People often forget that the original Columbo run was a breeding ground for legendary directors. Steven Spielberg famously directed the first episode of the first season. By the time we get to Columbo: Murder, Smoke and Shadows, the show was trying to reclaim that cinematic prestige. They hired James Frawley to direct, but the real star of the production design was the setting: a fictionalized version of Universal Studios.
The plot is tight. Alex Brady, played with a terrifyingly smug charisma by Fisher Stevens, is a boy-wonder film director. He’s the kind of guy who thinks he’s a god because he can manipulate a camera crane. He’s essentially a parody of the "Brat Pack" era directors—arrogant, tech-obsessed, and completely devoid of a moral compass. When an old friend from his past shows up with a piece of film that proves Brady was responsible for a girl's death years earlier, Brady does what any director would do.
He scripts a murder.
The killing itself is a masterclass in 1980s practical effects. It happens on a movie set. It involves high-voltage electricity and a faked rainstorm. It’s over-the-top. It’s theatrical. It is exactly the kind of "perfect crime" that Columbo loves to pull apart with a single, annoying question about a cigar butt or a piece of string.
Why the Fisher Stevens Performance Works
Let's talk about Fisher Stevens for a second. In the late eighties, he was everywhere. In this episode, he plays Alex Brady as a man who is literally unable to stop acting. Even when he’s talking to the police, he’s framing the conversation in his head as if it’s a scene.
He underestimates Columbo.
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They all do, right? That’s the trope. But Brady’s dismissal of the Lieutenant feels particularly sharp because it’s based on aesthetics. To Brady, Columbo is "bad casting." He’s a low-budget character in a high-budget world. This creates a fantastic friction. You’ve got the old-school, analog detective wandering through a world of motion-controlled cameras and pyrotechnics.
Actually, the chemistry between Falk and Stevens is what carries the middle act. Falk plays Columbo with a slightly more eccentric edge in the Season 8 era. He’s older, he’s perhaps a bit more performative in his "confusion," but the steel is still there. When he stares at Brady across a crowded soundstage, you can see the wheels turning. He isn't dazzled by the movie magic. He’s looking for the wires.
Deconstructing the "Perfect" Movie Set Murder
The technical details of the crime in Columbo: Murder, Smoke and Shadows are surprisingly grounded in reality, even if the execution is flamboyant. Brady lures his victim, Leonard Fisher, to a private beach set.
He uses:
- A remote-controlled environment.
- High-tension wires hidden in the "rain."
- A precise timeline based on a film script.
Columbo starts pulling at the threads almost immediately. He notices the discrepancy in the "weather." He looks at the way the body was positioned. But more importantly, he focuses on the human element—the ego. He realizes that a director like Brady couldn't help but leave his "signature" on the crime.
There’s a great bit where Columbo gets obsessed with a piece of film. It’s classic investigative work. No DNA. No fingerprints. Just logic and the realization that people who think they are geniuses usually leave the biggest messes.
The 1989 Aesthetic: A Blessing or a Curse?
Some purists hate the Season 8 episodes. They find the music too "synthy" and the lighting too bright. They miss the brown-and-grey palette of 1973.
I get it.
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But Columbo: Murder, Smoke and Shadows uses that eighties gloss to its advantage. The episode is about artifice. It’s about how Hollywood creates illusions to hide the truth. The bright colors and the "fake" sets are the point. The episode looks like a movie being made because it is a movie about a movie being made. It’s layers on layers.
Also, can we talk about the wardrobe? Fisher Stevens is wearing some of the most "1989" outfits ever captured on film. Oversized blazers, weird patterns, the whole nine yards. It contrasts perfectly with Columbo’s raincoat, which looks like it hasn't been cleaned since the Nixon administration. This visual clash reinforces the theme: the timeless truth vs. the trendy lie.
The Famous "Final Act" Twist
Without spoiling every single beat for the three people who haven't seen it, the ending of this episode is legendary. Usually, Columbo catches the killer with a "gotcha" moment involving a physical piece of evidence.
In this one? He uses Brady’s own tools against him.
He stages a scene. It’s one of the few times where Columbo becomes the director. He manipulates the environment, the lighting, and the audience (the other characters) to force a confession. It’s a brilliant inversion of the power dynamic. Brady thinks he owns the studio; Columbo proves that the truth owns the room.
It’s satisfying. It’s theatrical. It’s why we watch.
Common Misconceptions About Season 8
A lot of people think the 1989 revival was a "cash grab." They think Falk was just going through the motions.
Wrong.
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Falk was an executive producer on these. He had immense control. If an episode like Columbo: Murder, Smoke and Shadows feels different, it’s because he wanted it to. He knew that the 1970s Columbo couldn't exist in the 1990s. He had to evolve. This episode is the bridge. It keeps the core of the character—the humility, the sharp mind, the dog—but places him in a world that is increasingly obsessed with image over substance.
The Actionable Insight for Columbo Fans
If you’re doing a rewatch, don't skip the "ABC years." Many fans stop after the original NBC run ends in 1978. That’s a mistake.
Here is how to actually enjoy the Season 8 experience:
- Watch for the cameos. This era is packed with stars who grew up loving the show.
- Pay attention to the "duel." The revival episodes lean harder into the psychological battle between Columbo and the killer.
- Look at the sets. Since they were filming at Universal, they had access to incredible backlots that make the episodes feel much larger than your average TV movie.
The reality is that Columbo: Murder, Smoke and Shadows holds up because it understands its own genre. It’s a mystery about the making of mysteries. It’s smart, it’s a little bit cynical about the film industry, and it features one of the most punchable villains in the series' history.
Go back and watch the scene where Columbo first walks onto the movie set. The way he looks at the "fake" sunset with a mix of awe and suspicion tells you everything you need to know about why this character is immortal. He knows it's a lie. He just wants to know who told it.
To get the most out of this episode, pair it with a viewing of the original 1971 pilot Ransom for a Dead Man. You’ll see the evolution of the character’s confidence and the show’s willingness to experiment with the format. The "New Columbo" might be shinier, but the heart—and the headache he gives killers—remains exactly the same.
Check the credits next time you watch; the attention to detail in the "film within a film" sequences is actually higher than most theatrical releases of the same year. It’s a testament to the crew’s respect for the source material. They weren't just making TV; they were making Columbo.