B.L. Stryker

Following a hugely successful movie career that saw him become the world's highest-paid actor between 1978 and 1982, Burt Reynolds made a rather unexpected but curiously fitting return to television in B.L. Stryker, a two-hour mystery series that aired on ABC as part of the network’s short-lived Monday Mystery Movie strand. For those who recall Reynolds's breakout television days on Dan August or earlier still on Gunsmoke, B.L. Stryker felt like a homecoming of sorts—albeit one that leant heavily on Reynolds’s movie persona.

Reynolds, whose box-office heyday in the '70s and '80s was marked by roles that celebrated a cheeky, effortless masculinity, plays Buddy Lee “B.L.” Stryker—a Vietnam vet and burnt-out former New Orleans detective. After a brutal run-in with a serial killer, Stryker throws in the towel and returns to his roots in Palm Beach, Florida, where he lives on a dilapidated houseboat, meanders about in a battered Cadillac, and picks up the odd case from rich clients who can afford his services (when he’s inclined to help, that is).

In the opening case, a tabloid journalist familiar with Stryker’s storied past ropes him into investigating a series of attacks on wealthy young women in the area. Palm Beach Police Chief McGee (Michael O. Smith) also tries to enlist Stryker, but the ex-cop initially resists. It’s only when the crimes begin to hit closer to home that he is reluctantly pulled into the fray. It’s a classic detective setup, and though hardly groundbreaking, it’s effective—largely due to Reynolds's laconic charm and the colourful cast surrounding him.

Helping Stryker is Oz Jackson (Ossie Davis), a retired boxer with fists as fast as his wit, acting as both confidant and muscle. There’s also Lyynda Lennox (Dana Kiminski), the free-spirited secretary with an eye for detail, his eccentric landlord Oliver (Alfie Wise), and his ex-wife Kimberly (Rita Moreno), whose own history with Stryker adds an emotional depth to the otherwise straightforward procedural format. After the pilot episode, Stryker begins dealing with local law enforcement officer Captain Cartrude (James C. Lewis), rounding out a quirky yet dependable supporting cast.

Stylistically, B.L. Stryker makes no attempt to reinvent the wheel—it doesn't need to. The series consciously nods to the NBC Mystery Movie format of the 1970s, which spawned hits like Columbo and McMillan & Wife. ABC, keen to replicate that success, launched its own mystery movie series in 1989 with a revival of Columbo leading the charge, followed by Gideon Oliver (starring Louis Gossett Jr.) and B.L. Stryker. When the format moved to Saturdays, Gideon Oliver was dropped in favour of Christine Cromwell (with ex Charlie’s Angel Jaclyn Smith) and another revival: Kojak. Though this approach meant Stryker aired infrequently—just once every three weeks during its first seven-episode run—its leisurely pace suited the easy-going style of Reynolds’s character.

Despite the prestige of the format and Reynolds’s star power, B.L. Stryker never became a runaway hit. That said, following a run of box office flops, it’s easy to see why Reynolds took the gig. The show was shot in Florida, where he lived, and ABC granted him considerable creative control—including the opportunity to direct several episodes. With each instalment taking about a month to film and six months off built into the schedule, it was a laid-back return to TV that mirrored the rhythm of the character himself.

Reynolds's casting is the primary appeal. Though long dismissed by critics during his cinematic prime as more of a charismatic presence than a serious actor, his later career—including work like Boogie Nights—proved he could deliver soulful, reflective performances. B.L. Stryker sits somewhere in between. His portrayal of Stryker trades on the “sunny mischief” Stephen Dalton so aptly described in The Hollywood Reporter but also hints at deeper regrets and emotional scars. This isn’t just Reynolds the movie star—this is Reynolds poking gently at his own legacy, creating a character as world-weary as he is wisecracking.

B.L. Stryker may not have broken new ground in the detective genre, but it didn’t need to. With a likeable lead, a breezy Floridian setting, and a cast of dependable oddballs, it was a comfortable and entertaining vehicle for a star whose charisma remained undiminished—even when puttering around in a clapped-out Cadillac. It's not Columbo, and it certainly isn't The Wire, but for fans of classic TV mysteries and Burt Reynolds in full post-glory charm, it's a gem worth rediscovering.

Percival Wexley-Smith