The Unfettered Critic – October 2025

FROM TIME TO TIME, the entertainment industry hits upon a brilliant notion and begins to churn out product along those brilliant lines. Lots of product. Until eventually it runs out of fresh twists and begins to eat itself.

Or so it seems.

Recently, the television arm of the biz has stumbled, face first, into a once novel (as in literary) category known as “murder clubs.”

We’re not sure when it started (did Holmes and Watson qualify?), but we now find ourselves drifting amidst a sea of amateur crime solving gangs that may owe their conception to a series of novels, the Women’s Murder Club, penned by author James Patterson. Adapted for television in 2007, Patterson’s tales involved four female friends who investigated murders in their spare time. The show didn’t last; the genre’s time had not yet come—but it did light a fire among writers and producers, and we’re still seeing the sparks these days.

As in Patterson’s works, these clubs are made up primarily of women. Two prime examples are on the tube right now. The Marlow Murder Club, currently airing its second season on PBS, concerns a trio of female friends who investigate murders in their small town. It’s a little light-weight, but a pleasant time-passer on a Sunday evening.

And then there’s the current biggie: Netflix’s The Thursday Murder Club. We say “biggie” because for several months the show has been the streamer’s Number One most-watched film. Yes, that’s right: it’s a TV movie rather than a series, but since it’s based on the first book of a best-selling series by Richard Osman, we expect it’ll go on for as long as its star-studded cast agrees to show up for work.

With talented vets like Helen Mirren, Pierce Brosnan, Ben Kingsley, and Celia Imrie on the screen, you’d think this murder club would rank Number One with us as well. But we can’t help feeling a little…cheated. Richard Osman wrote a fun and funny, criminally complicated novel. And yet most of the fun and funny parts seem to be missing from the production. Or perhaps from the adapted screenplay.

You, Dear Readers, may recall some months back when we were kvelling about The Residence, Netflix’s wonderful, and delightful, series about a murder committed at the White House. That miniseries earned high ratings, with its creator and cast expressing interest in returning for a new season. All that was required was a thumbs up from Netflix. But the network declined, choosing instead to focus upon what may have hinted at being a bigger winner: Osman’s best-selling novel. The Thursday Murder Club had triggered a bidding war for the worldwide story rights, and Steven Spielberg’s Amblin Partners acquired those rights before the tome even appeared at your neighborhood bookstore. Netflix’s involvement was predictable, with the streamer already having an established partnership with Amblin.

Financially, Netflix probably made the right decision. But as viewers, we have to say that neither Thursday (nor Marlow) engage our attention like The Residence had. They’re a bit predictable, with the big clue that ultimately reveals the big truth materializing more like a previously “unnoticed” bit of exposition than a carefully researched detection.

We surmise that there’ll be more Thursday episodes. And we’ll undoubtedly watch them, along with whatever other “murder clubs” come along. After all, we enjoy the genre.

In fact, as we hypothesize about our future in our own intriguing, small town, perhaps we’ll discover a need for “The Pioneer Village Murder Club.” Or “The Jacksonville Boosters Murder Club.” Or “The Jacksonville Review Murder Club.” Or…

Any volunteers?