A curious trend is taking hold in television crime dramas: a subtle, yet distinct, sidelining of experienced actresses. It’s as if a certain age automatically disqualifies a woman from the grit and intellectual rigor demanded of a lead investigator. The badge, it seems, is increasingly reserved for younger faces.
The latest example arrives with “Scarpetta,” a new adaptation of Patricia Cornwell’s sprawling series, starring Nicole Kidman. Kidman, a performer of undeniable presence, embodies the cool detachment of a seasoned professional. Yet, despite her talent, the series feels strangely…flat. The familiar questions arise: what hidden vulnerabilities drive this character, and what predictable domestic drama awaits her?
“Scarpetta” isn’t an isolated case. A glance at the landscape of recent crime dramas reveals a pattern. Kate Winslet in “Mare of Easttown,” Jodie Foster in “True Detective,” Sarah Lancashire in “Happy Valley” – all delivered compelling performances as complex investigators. But the question lingers: are we seeing a diminishing return on investing in the nuanced portrayals of women with experience?
The show centers on Kay Scarpetta, a forensic pathologist confronting a chilling case with echoes of a decades-old crime. The investigation unravels, shifting between the present day and flashbacks to 1998, where a younger Scarpetta, played by Rosy McEwen, grapples with her own early cases. The central mystery: did she get it right the first time, or is a shocking truth about to rewrite her past?
Unfortunately, the narrative struggles to justify its eight-hour runtime. The series is bogged down by extraneous subplots – an AI girlfriend, a bizarre “grief cult” operating from a vegetable farm – that feel less like enriching details and more like desperate attempts to fill space. The momentum stalls, and the promised “reveal” feels distant and unearned.
Supporting performances are a mixed bag. While Simon Baker and Bobby Cannavale offer serviceable work, Jamie Lee Curtis, as Scarpetta’s sister, Dorothy, is a jarring distraction. Her performance is a masterclass in overacting, a relentless barrage of histrionics that actively detracts from the investigation and poisons every scene she inhabits.
The show also relies heavily on tired tropes of the forensic drama genre. Flashbacks depicting Scarpetta’s “thought process” as she examines crime scenes feel contrived and visually garish. The reliance on speculative behavioral analysis is particularly troubling, raising the specter of flawed conclusions and potential miscarriages of justice.
There was reason for optimism. Liz Sarnoff, the showrunner, boasts a strong pedigree, having penned some of the most memorable episodes of “Deadwood” and “Lost.” One hoped she could elevate Cornwell’s popular novels beyond the confines of a standard procedural. Sadly, that potential remains unrealized.
“Scarpetta” ultimately succumbs to its own superficiality, drowning in a sea of clichés. It’s a disappointing experience, a wasted opportunity to deliver something truly compelling. The hours invested in this series are unlikely to be reclaimed, leaving a lingering sense of frustration and a renewed question: why are we so hesitant to trust experienced women with the weight of a compelling crime story?
