Every decade needs its light-hearted, stacked cast spectacle. The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel with less vacationing and more Celia Imrie. The Thursday Murder Club fits the bill, then. A film which, had it not been dropped onto Netflix, would be an inevitable Sunday scheduling lull to add to the rotation of Hot Fuzz, Skyfall, and The Man from Laramie. An adaptation of Richard Osman’s book of the same name felt inevitable. An easy-to-follow murder mystery which wears its influences proudly, written by the ex-Pointless guru who used the laptop on that mid-afternoon quiz show as a prop to throw people off, for all the knowledge is contained in his head, not the internet. He uses this eerie knowledge of Poirot, Marple, and Columbo to create a world safe and light enough for Helen Mirren and Pierce Brosnan to adapt. A breezy Christopher Columbus-directed feature, which has his style nowhere to be seen.
That’s the point, though. All the clean Netflix murder mysteries of late have balanced bringing on a big name like Columbus or Rian Johnson with an easy-to-follow plot. It’ll not take a detective to work out the red herrings and twists of The Thursday Murder Club, and rightly so. This is a film featuring pensioners prattling around in search of answers beyond their station. All too many jokes at such an expense, but with Ben Kingsley and Jonathan Pryce joining the Mirren, Brosnan, and Imrie trio, it’s hard not to fall for the film’s lighter touch. It does make it a rather forgettable film, though. One you can watch after a long day and not think on too much. Osman’s book translates well to the screen. What is lost in character depth is gained in pace, a two-hour feature which floats by. Columbus is a master timekeeper and has enough stock in Brosnan and Naomi Ackie for a balance of audience explainers and comedic foil.
But those lighter moments do not excuse the film from its narrative fumbles. Coopers Chase, the building where the four protagonists live, becomes the focal point of the mystery and yet feels completely tertiary to the plot. Each of the four leads is one note enough to work, but when the clawing, inevitably emotional scene ties up the murder mystery and the film, it falls flat. Pryce is there solely because there is no time to give Elizabeth Best (Mirren) a complex backstory, while Kingsley is borderline redundant. An out-of-place Richard E. Grant and a very tiresome character trait, this time played to death by Daniel Mays, round off a set of welcome appearances. But underwhelming writing and a play up to cliché comedy throwdowns and gangster-like thrills make the film that little less special.
The Thursday Murder Club is at least entertaining in parts. It’s a breezy viewing which will leave no impact once finished. That is, apart from an ending so muddled and contrived it undoes the goodwill of the previous hour and a half. It’s a sign of trying and failing to fit all the happy endings in one place while also unravelling gruesome murder secrets. You cannot have your cake and eat it, and since Joyce (Imrie) has the sole characteristic of baker, there is enough of the former to go around. What’s left once the sweeter touch is removed is a sleight of hand Hot Fuzz used in its plot. What matters is that justice is served rather than the truth laid bare. Those wanting a satisfying end to the original murder plot, the cold case the four-piece try and solve, will be bitterly disappointed, and somewhat surprised by how much impact it has on the rest of this very light adaptation. Hardly elementary, more rudimentary. But that is exactly what Columbus and the cast were aiming for.
