Magnum PI is the TV equivalent of a tropical slap in the face. The freewheeling weekly adventure, which ran from 1980 to 1988, swings between postwar espionage and wacky hijinks with a jubilant, almost intoxicating degree of abandon. “No idea is a bad idea” must have been regularly repeated in the writers’ room. The premise is watertight: Thomas Sullivan Magnum IV (Tom Selleck) is a private investigator in Hawaii, masking his postwar PTSD behind cocky one-liners. He’s also prone to playing fast and loose; a bit of a rake, with his heart in the right place. Think a day-drunk Han Solo outfitted in a dazzling array of Hawaiian shirts. In the first episode, Magnum breaks into a beachfront estate, the sublimely extravagant home of Robin Masters, the world’s greatest (and most elusive) author. Upon Magnum skilfully pulling off this job, it is revealed that he actually lives in the guesthouse, where he operates as a PI under the waspish eye of the property’s caretaker, Higgins (John Hillerman), in exchange for occasional security checks. Magnum also has a network of ex-war buddies within spitting distance – namely a helicopter pilot Theodore “TC” Calvin (Roger E Mosley) and club owner Rick Wright (Larry Manetti). Both of them served with Magnum in Vietnam; now, they all solve mysteries. Simple as that. This dynamic cast of characters boast complex, compelling, fleshed-out backstories, meaning that the show will pivot from frantic 80s feelgoodery to storylines dealing with the consequences of our heroes’ time in Vietnam. Selleck’s ability to make Magnum an inveterate ladies man who somehow doesn’t come off as a total sleaze probably contributed to his Emmy for best actor in a drama series in 1984 (Selleck was nominated for the award five years in a row for Magnum). But let’s get real … so did his signature look. Nobody has managed to make moustaches as sexy as he did. In fact, when his contractual obligations for Magnum meant he couldn’t accept the lead in Raiders of the Lost Ark, the world lost something truly special: Indiana Jones with a moustache. Think about what we could have had. The relationship between Magnum and Higgins eventually became a highlight of the series. For one, you had a ridiculously handsome, intelligent, stylishly attired hero … then you had Magnum. Kidding. But the disparity between the two – one a suave, swarthy investigator, the other a terse, uptight ex-British Army sergeant major – was a constant source of frisson. Higgins could deprive Magnum of whatever the PI needed to do his job, or, indeed, enjoying his time at the Robin’s Nest at all, turning the power balance of the show on its head. Perpetually in debt, Magnum needed Higgins – but because Magnum was excellent at solving problems, Higgins needed Magnum too. Initially pitched as a James Bond-type playboy, Magnum is played by Selleck against type as a good guy. He has a real sense of propriety when it comes to women, is a massive softie when taking on cases for utterly lost causes and unfailingly pursues the truth. “One day, I woke up age 33 and realised I’d never been 23,” Magnum says in the pilot episode. The fast driving, drinking and womanising is a front for a man play-acting at being in his 20s, which he missed out on thanks to the war. Just beneath the surface, he is an officer and a gentleman. Maybe that’s why audiences loved him so much, signing up for eight seasons of high-octane adventures led by a hero with a ladies-man exterior and a chivalrous, marshmallowy interior. Magnum PI is so cheesy it’ll make your arteries harden. It’s a shlocky, unsubtle romp, sitting firmly within the borders of genre town. It also wasn’t afraid to go meta: Magnum frequently turns to the camera and shrugs when the shit has hit the fan, and there was even a pretty fantastic crossover episode with Murder, She Wrote, putting Magnum and Angela Lansbury’s Jessica Fletcher on the same case. In the end, Magnum PI is the perfect antidote to a bad day. It’s proof that there’s no problem that can’t be solved with a bit of guts, perseverance and with a knowing smile, delivered right down the barrel of the camera.