The Postcard Killings

  • 04 Apr - 10 Apr, 2020
  • Mag The Weekly
  • Reviews

There have been a lot of adaptations (primarily for TV) of megaselling author James Patterson’s pulpy fictions, none particularly memorable, with the possible exception of hit 1997 thriller Kiss the Girls. But then, his books seldom aim for much more than disposable entertainment, so it’s apt enough that their screen versions should follow suit.

By that standard, there’s nothing really wrong with The Postcard Killings, which derives from a one-shot 2010 collaboration with Swedish crime novelist Liza Marklund that hit No. 1 on the U.S. bestseller list. But there’s nothing very right about the British-American co-production, either. The movie stars Jeffrey Dean Morgan as an NYPD detective who is trying to track his own daughter’s serial killers across Europe.

A trite montage of jittery images suffices to convey the immediate grief, anger and binge drinking suffered by Morgan’s Jacob Kanon upon learning that his only child and her newlywed husband have been found slain in London. Famke Janssen shows up just long enough as Jacob’s ex-wife Valerie to add more histrionics, including irrational blame-casting at him for placing the couple in danger by funding their European honeymoon.

Vowing to find the killer or killers himself, Jacob stays on, pestering the British investigators, then travelling to Munich, Stockholm and beyond as more young couples are victimised. Each crime is preceded by a cryptic postcard mailed to a journalist in the relevant city. In Sweden, he forms a sort of sleuthing partnership with one such scribe, expat American Dessie (Cush Jumbo), as well as the local police. They eventually suspect that the murders are “staged” as references to various famous artworks, sending a message intended to be received by a wealthy albeit incarcerated art collector (Denis O’Hare) whom the equally dogged Valerie questions in the States.

Although, the storyline is strong but there just isn’t enough depth to the screenplay. And the film’s ending on a note that practically promises a sequel seems presumptuous, to say the least. No one is likely to be demanding any follow up, though Patterson and Marklund’s source material might be perfectly serviceable to launch a standard-issue TV detective drama series.

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