‘The Thursday Murder Club’ Review: Disappointing Netflix Mystery Is Too Posh to Be Quaint
I’m genuinely surprised Netflix doesn’t have more British mystery selections. Of course, Netflix being Netflix, there are ways they nibble around this genre with stuff like “Glass Onion” or “Man on the Inside,” but there are entire streaming networks like Acorn and Britbox offering hours upon hours of cozy British hamlets where crimes can be solved by your local vicar or gardener.
But these shows also retain the small-scale charm of British productions. That’s not to say they’re shoddy, but their stars tend to be known primarily to a British audience, and the production values aren’t meant to dazzle the audience. Chris
Columbus’ “The Thursday Murder Club” seeks to emulate these shows but misses all their personality in favor of overbearing prestige. It’s like having a pick-up basketball game with your friends and suddenly you’ve got NBA all-stars on the court. Obviously, they can play, but that’s not why you came down to the rec center.
Set in the luxurious retirement community of Cooper’s Chase, pensioners Elizabeth (Helen Mirren), Ron (Pierce Brosnan), Ibrahim (Ben Kingsley) and Joyce (Celia Imrie) spend their Thursdays trying to solve cold cases. Their latest one is particularly vexing as it bedeviled their friend Penny, a former detective inspector, who is now comatose in hospice care. The group also takes on a far more recent case with the murder of a property developer that risks the land falling into the hands of the avaricious Ian Ventham (David Tennant), who wishes to oust the pensioners and build condos. The group hopes that by solving the mystery, they can also save their home. The quartet ropes in a young police officer (Naomi Ackie) as they seek to gain more information about the case.
Although he’s American, Columbus isn’t the oddest choice to helm a British-set story. He certainly didn’t Americanize his adaptations of the first two “Harry Potter” books, and his emphasis on camaraderie between ensembles would seem like a good fit here. The trouble is that in terms of tone, Columbus’ vision feels far grander than what the story demands. “Harry Potter” was a worldwide phenomenon, and there was no question that any adaptation would need to be a blockbuster affair. Similarly, “The Thursday Murder Club” is based on the first book in a bestselling series of novels by Richard Osman, but that doesn’t inherently mean a film adaptation must be a lavish affair.
Columbus feels like he’s wildly overshooting his mark here, losing anything immediate or personable in favor of rich interiors and famous names. The underlying idea here of, “Oh, these elderly pensioners are solving murders at their retirement community; isn’t that quaint?” gets lost when you’ve got two Oscar winners and a former James Bond on the case.
What’s more confusing is to then take these great actors and give them almost nothing to do. “The Thursday Murder Club” is largely a plot machine with only glancing nods to ideas about aging, losing friends and loved ones to dementia or hospice, and the encroaching loneliness of the twilight years. Columbus wants to keep everything cheeky and quaint, and so there’s rarely a moment for pathos or a deeper consideration of why these four people would want to solve a murder. Their past jobs only inform plot points rather than coloring how a former spy (Elizabeth) or a former union leader (Ron) may feel about having less power than they once held in their younger years. Every piece of biographical detail feels
designed more to inform plot than character. There’s a strained relationship between Ron and his ex-pro athlete son Jason (Tom Ellis), but Jason’s presence is more important for how he connects to the case rather than any catharsis between a parent and child.
Rather than be in the vein of cozy mysteries, “Thursday Murder Club” seems more set on emulating “Only Murders in the Building” with its fancy interiors and famous names, but even here, it misses the mark. The success of “Only Murders” comes from not only its terrific use of Steve Martin and Martin Short’s comic talents but also knowing how to tinge the comedy with a hint of melancholy. There’s a distinct vision for what that mystery story should be, and Columbus’ take here is utterly flavorless. We feel nothing for these characters as they go through the motions of solving their mysteries. Even when the story threatens to become interesting like some morally questionable choices Elizabeth makes at the climax, the film glosses right by them, unwilling to add any texture or nuance.
Perhaps “The Thursday Murder Club” will rope in fans of the novel or people looking for an undemanding mystery (a place where Netflix has more offerings, albeit not specifically British), but the “whodunit” of a piece can be its least interesting aspect. We’re flooded with stories of unsolved murders, both fictional and nonfictional, and what sets stories apart is the level of care in defining the personalities and setting involved. “The Thursday Murder Club” just feels like Columbus took a cozy British mystery, cranked it to MAXIMUM QUAINTNESS, and walked away. Instead of finding distinctions that would give this film a personality, we’re left with some rather weak tea.
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