With detective series like Bosch, Cross, and Ballard (not to mention kindred efforts such as Reacher and Jack Ryan), Prime Video has perfected a specific dramatic template centered on a charismatic hero.
Scarpetta (March 11) is the latest example of that blueprint in action, and it proves its durability, as well as the fact that the best recipe for the formula’s success is often as simple as casting, with Nicole Kidman, Jamie Lee Curtis, Bobby Cannavale, Simon Baker, and Ariana DeBose elevating this thriller about the hunt for deadly serial killers.
Adapted from Patricia Cornwell’s best-selling novels about Virginia’s Chief Medical Examiner Kay Scarpetta—in particular, the first, 1990’s Post-Mortem, and the 25th, 2021’s Autopsy—Scarpetta is two intertwined tales in one, with the legendary forensics expert played by Kidman in the present and Rosy McEwen in the past.
This structure begets a bit of imbalance, if only because the series’ A-listers are in just one of its timelines. Yet for the most part, it brings depth to showrunner Liz Sarnoff’s characterizations of her protagonists, whose personal and professional lives are as knotty as the crimes they’re tasked with solving.
After a lengthy sabbatical, Scarpetta (Kidman) returns to run the Virginia office where she first cut her teeth—a move that rankles long-time work adversary Elvin Reddy (Lenny Clarke) and his right-hand woman (and Scarpetta’s secretary) Maggie Cutbush (Stephanie Faracy).
The initial case before her involves a woman found beside train tracks in a manner (nude, hogtied, and missing hands) that resembles a decades-earlier string of slayings that she tackled with her partner Pete Marino, who, in a smart twist, is played by both Bobby Cannavale and his son Jacob, giving the sidekick a consistency of colorful, politically incorrect personality.
In the ‘90s, Scarpetta and Marino hunted a fiend who offed women in a similar brutal fashion, and whom Marino fervently believed was Matt Peterson (Anson Mount), the husband of one victim. In that investigation, the key clue was a glittery substance found on the dead and at the crime scene, whereas in the here and now, Scarpetta fixates on a crushed penny on train tracks as a detail of note, thinking it might be the killer’s signature.
Her focus, however, soon shifts once the cops deduce the identity of the train victim and, at her residence, locate the kettlebell used to crush her skull, which is covered in the fingerprints of an individual Scarpetta and Marino know well.
Scarpetta parallels its two threads throughout its eight episodes, and its dual track gives it unfailing momentum. It also allows the show to deepen its interpersonal drama, which is plentiful. Scarpetta is currently married to Benton Wesley (Simon Baker), an FBI profiler, and their home has become a tinder box courtesy of Scarpetta’s sister Dorothy (Curtis), a successful children’s novelist and lifelong wild child whose latest husband is none other than Marino.
They’re joined in the massive abode by Dorothy’s daughter Lucy (DeBose), a tech prodigy whom Scarpetta basically raised (while her sibling was galivanting about with her assorted prior spouses) and who is mourning the death of her wife Janet (Janet Montgomery), whom she continues to converse with via an AI replica.
This scenario allows for copious bickering, with Kidman’s cool, hard-edged, no-nonsense Scarpetta routinely clashing with Curtis’ loud, uninhibited, flamboyant Dorothy. As with the rest of the clan’s rapport, their dynamic has a lived-in vibrancy that enhances the material’s domestic fireworks.
Everyone’s on the verge of exploding at each other in Scarpetta over a wide variety of issues and hang-ups. They’re also grappling with the specter of death, whose presence in the household leads to unhealthy behavior.
That’s especially true when it comes to Lucy, who’s the proceedings’ weak link, not just because the supporting character is a corny device and her grieving-through-artificial-intelligence storyline is ridiculous (as is her budding connection to Tiya Sircar’s cop), but because DeBose’s flavorless performance strikes the series’ falsest note.
Kidman, Curtis, and Cannavale are so commanding and charismatic that their narrative is inevitably more interesting than McEwen and the younger Cannavale’s ‘90s saga (which includes the participation of Hunter Parrish’s twentysomething Benton). Nonetheless, Scarpetta is a propulsive genre affair that piles on the surprises, almost to the point of overload. There’s so much going on in both eras that things occasionally grow a bit messy.
Kidman makes for an ideal Scarpetta, her steely resolve and imposing intellect matched by her take-no-crap demeanor, and Sarnoff positions her as a distinctly feminist champion, standing up for the rights of women (in every respect) in a world that’s awash in male chauvinism, cruelty, and sexual violence, the last of which extends beyond the primary crime scenes and into other corners of this tale.
If Scarpetta benefits from its marquee actors, it gets an additional boost from directors David Gordon Green, Charlotte Brändström, and Ellen Kuras, who lend it a professional polish—complete with competent framing and low-light cinematography—that’s a rarity in today’s television landscape. Scarpetta’s mission ultimately goes down a host of unexpected paths, thanks to revelations about spies, hackers, biosynthetic organs, and orbital science labs. Though some of those avenues are less compelling than others—and eventually wind up being red-herring diversions—they constantly afford Kidman and company with something stimulating to do.
The most disappointing aspect of Scarpetta is ultimately its conclusions, which feel tacked on. Still, a solid cliffhanger conclusion indicates that Scarpetta has already mapped out its second season, and there are enough bright spots in this maiden outing to suggest that another go-round is more than warranted.
The most brilliant of those is Kidman, who embodies Scarpetta with such magnetic toughness and shrewdness that she makes even the driest of developments intriguing.
Add in an entertaining Curtis as the over-the-top Dorothy and a charming Cannavale as the scruffy and hotheaded Marino, and Sarnoff has assembled all the necessary pieces for a long-running franchise—one cut from a conventional mold but energized by skillful and captivating stars.
