During most of it's running time The Oxford Murders is a spectacularly bland and generic mystery complete with jumping conflict, far fetched deductions and a stupid Scooby Doo-like wrap up in the end. It also curiously features the most awkward pairing of food and sensuality since Adrian Lyne's 9 1/2 Weeks, in which Leonor Watling's chest becomes a serving plate for spaghetti bolognese.
Watching buggy-eyed Elijah fumble his way through a sex scene with a voluptuous (or any) woman is terrifying enough. Adding spaghetti into the mix is just retina burning pain. I'm off pasta for at least a month.