It’s a rainy Tuesday. You’re wearing a tie-dye hoodie that smells slightly of old dry cleaning. You’ve got a microphone that cost more than your rent and a neighbor who just turned up dead under "suspicious" circumstances. This is the vibe. Honestly, the only murders in the building podcast isn't just a plot device; it’s the entire heartbeat of the show.
Without the podcast, Charles, Oliver, and Mabel are just three lonely people living in a massive Upper West Side apartment complex called the Arconia. With it? They’re investigators. They're celebrities. They're a family. It’s meta-commentary at its finest. It pokes fun at our collective obsession with true crime while simultaneously feeding that exact same hunger. We’re watching a show about people making a podcast that we, the audience, wish we could actually subscribe to on Spotify.
The Podcast Within the Show: Meta-Storytelling That Actually Works
Most shows treat "media within media" as a gimmick. Think of those fake news broadcasts in disaster movies that look nothing like real news. But Only Murders in the Building understands the specific, quirky DNA of the true crime genre. They nailed the aesthetic. The hushed tones. The dramatic pauses. The sponsor reads for "Randall’s Cashews" or whatever artisanal snack is paying the bills this week.
Oliver Putnam, played by the legendary Martin Short, is the driving force here. He’s a theater director who hasn't had a hit in decades, so he treats the podcast like a Broadway production. He needs the drama. He needs the "stingers." Charles-Haden Savage (Steve Martin) brings the procedural rigidity of a man who spent twenty years playing a TV detective. Then you have Mabel Mora (Selena Gomez), the millennial proxy who actually understands how people consume digital content.
This friction creates the show's best moments. They aren't just solving a murder; they’re arguing over audio levels and episode titles. It captures that 2020s zeitgeist where everyone thinks they’re one "breaking lead" away from becoming the next Serial.
Why the "All is Not OK in Oklahoma" Parody Mattered
Remember Cinda Canning? Tina Fey’s portrayal of the reigning queen of true crime was a direct nod to the Sarah Koenigs and Poppy Parnells of the world. Her fictional podcast, All is Not OK in Oklahoma, served as the perfect antagonist for our trio’s amateur hour.
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Cinda represented the corporate, polished, and—let’s be real—slightly exploitative side of the industry. Her presence forced the only murders in the building podcast (officially titled Only Murders in the Building in the show’s universe) to stay scrappy. It kept the stakes high. If they didn’t solve the crime, Cinda would, and she’d make millions doing it while they just got evicted.
Realism vs. TV Magic: Could This Podcast Actually Exist?
If you talk to professional podcasters, they’ll tell you that the trio’s workflow is a nightmare. They record in hallways. They don’t use pop filters half the time. They interview suspects without legal counsel present, which is a one-way ticket to a defamation lawsuit in the real world.
But that’s the charm.
The only murders in the building podcast works because it’s tactile. We see the Zoom H6 recorders. We see the messy cables. In Season 1, when they’re trying to figure out the death of Tim Kono, the podcast is their only way to organize their thoughts. It serves as a digital "murder board."
- The Soundtrack: The show’s actual composer, Siddhartha Khosla, created a theme that sounds exactly like something a high-end podcast would use—whimsical, slightly mysterious, and repetitive enough to get stuck in your head for days.
- The Fans: The inclusion of the "Arconiacs"—the superfans who wait outside the building—is a brilliant touch. It mirrors the real-life Reddit communities that spring up around shows like Up and Vanished or The Jinx.
People often ask if there is a real version of the podcast you can listen to. Yes and no. Hulu released a "companion" podcast hosted by Elizabeth Keener and Selena Gomez’s makeup artist, Jackie Tohn. It’s a behind-the-scenes look at the making of the show. It’s great, but it’s not the fictional podcast. The fictional one stays inside the screen, which is probably for the best. If Charles and Oliver were real, they’d probably get cancelled for some accidental microaggression within three episodes.
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The Evolution of the Murder Podcast Across Seasons
As the show progressed into Season 2 and 3, and eventually the Hollywood-centric Season 4, the podcast changed. It stopped being a hobby. It became a brand.
In Season 2, they became the subjects of their own investigation. This is a classic true crime trope. Think of how many podcasters have had to defend their own ethics. The trio had to use their platform to clear their names after the death of Bunny Folger. It shifted the dynamic from "curious neighbors" to "desperate suspects."
By the time we get to the more recent arcs, the podcast is almost a burden. Oliver is chasing the high of his newfound fame. Charles is worried about the legacy of his character, Brazzos. Mabel is just trying to find a place to live that doesn't involve a crime scene. The only murders in the building podcast becomes a mirror for their personal anxieties.
Does the Podcast Glorify Crime?
This is a valid question that the show actually addresses. In Season 3, while dealing with the death of Ben Glenroy (Paul Rudd), there’s a sense of "here we go again." The characters acknowledge that they need someone to die so they have content. It’s a dark, cynical take on the creator economy.
They aren't just solving murders; they are feeding a monster they created. The show manages to critique this without losing its lighthearted, cozy-mystery feel. It’s a delicate balancing act that works mostly because the chemistry between Martin, Short, and Gomez is so incredibly grounded.
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Technical Accuracy: The Gear They Use
For the nerds out there, the show actually uses real equipment. You’ll see the Blue Yeti microphones in early episodes—the classic starter mic for every person who ever thought, "Hey, I have thoughts, I should record them."
Later, as Oliver gets more "professional," we see more sophisticated setups. They use the Shure SM7B in certain scenes, which is the industry standard for broadcasting. Seeing these real-world tools makes the world feel lived-in. It’s not just "TV tech." It’s the stuff you can buy at Best Buy or B&H Photo.
Actionable Takeaways for True Crime Fans
If you’re obsessed with the only murders in the building podcast and want to dive deeper into that world, there are ways to engage with the genre more thoughtfully.
- Listen to the actual companion podcast. Search for Only Murders in the Pod. It features the writers and costume designers. You’ll learn how they hide clues in the background of shots—like the color of a specific ring or a painting on the wall.
- Analyze the "Rules." Charles-Haden Savage has rules for the podcast. One of them is "no stories about the help." It’s a joke, but it’s also a commentary on the classism often found in the Arconia. Pay attention to who the trio ignores; that's usually where the real clues are.
- Check the Credits. The show often hides easter eggs in the animated intro sequence. Every episode's intro has a slight variation that hints at the killer or the theme of the episode.
- Explore the Real Arconia. The building is actually The Belnord on 86th Street. You can walk by it. You can't go in (unless you're a resident or very sneaky), but seeing the architecture helps you understand why the acoustics in the show are so specific.
The genius of Only Murders in the Building is that it makes us feel like we're part of the production meetings. We're not just viewers; we're subscribers. We’re waiting for the drop. We’re waiting for the twist. And as long as people keep dying in that cursed, beautiful apartment building, the podcast will keep rolling.
Keep your ears open and your microphones hot. Just make sure your neighbors aren't listening through the vents. One day you’re recording a teaser, and the next, you’re the lead story on the evening news. That’s the risk of the game. That’s the price of a hit podcast.