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Nicole Kidman plays a forensic pathologist in TV series Scarpetta, debuting March 11.Connie Chornuk/The Associated Press
Nicole Kidman, stream queen. In the past nine years, the Oscar-winning actor, who is 58, has appeared on streaming series in a pattern that mirrors the way viewers sign up for trial subscriptions.
Sample Crave for Big Little Lies and The Undoing. Check out Hulu/Disney+ for Nine Perfect Strangers, and Paramount+ for Lioness. Bounce over to Netflix for The Perfect Couple, then Prime for Expats, Holland and her latest series, Scarpetta, arriving March 11. (Also, mark your calendars for April to try Kidman on AppleTV+, in Margo’s Got Money Troubles.)
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All of Kidman’s series have hallmarks of prestige TV – platinum production values, excellent supporting casts, luxe costume and set designs – but the vibe varies widely.
Big Little Lies is Full Prestige, with a marquee creator (David E. Kelley), auteur directors (Jean-Marc Vallée and Andrea Arnold), and a layered plot about spousal abuse and its effects, which hit the zeitgeist bullseye. The Undoing is Prestige Lite, remembered mainly for the stylish coats worn by Kidman’s character, a psychologist. Lioness and Expats are Prestige Adjacent, aiming for Homeland-level political intrigue but not quite getting there. The Perfect Couple and Holland are Prestige Cheese, delicious for snacking but leaving you feeling a little sheepish afterward.
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Bobby Cannavale and Nicole Kidman in a scene from Scarpetta.Connie Chornuk/The Associated Press
Scarpetta lands somewhere in the middle. It’s created by Liz Sarnoff, a writer/producer of good pedigree (Lost, Barry), based on a hugely successful series of thriller novels by Patricia Cornwell reaching back to 1990’s Postmortem, featuring the brilliant forensic pathologist Kay Scarpetta (Kidman), who employs cutting-edge science to solve crimes, and was inspired by a real chief medical examiner, Marcella Fierro (now retired).
The eight-episode series isn’t based on any one book, but draws from the novels’ mood and characters. It toggles between two time periods: present day, with Scarpetta newly reinstated as Virginia’s chief medical examiner after a stint in Boston, chasing down a maniac who’s murdering women; and 28 years earlier, with young prodigy Scarpetta, played by Rosy McEwen, contending with similarly grisly murders.
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The first episodes begin promisingly. Scarpetta has a quietly tense relationship with her husband Benton, an FBI profiler (Simon Baker in present day and Hunter Parrish in flashbacks); a loudly tense relationship with her flamboyant sister Dorothy, a successful children’s book author (Jamie Lee Curtis in present day, having a high old time in a terrible wig and tight wardrobe, and Amanda Righetti in flashbacks); and a sexily-simmering tense relationship with Dorothy’s current husband Pete, a former detective (Bobby Cannavale in present day, and his look-alike son Jake Cannavale in flashbacks). (Dorothy’s list of exes is as long as her cleavage is deep.) All of them are tensely worried about Dorothy’s daughter Lucy (Ariana DeBose), a tech genius grieving her late wife in a highly modern way.
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Nicole Kidman, left, and Jamie Lee Curtis star in Scarpetta.Connie Chornuk/The Associated Press
These relationships feel lived in, full of shifting alliances and old grudges. For some reason the two couples are sharing Benton’s ancestral Colonial mansion, with Lucy in the guesthouse across the grounds, and it’s fun to watch them bicker while swilling expensive red wine and brown liquor.
Having a younger cast in the flashbacks is a huge relief – de-aged 50 year olds would be risible – and McEwen captures Kidman’s straight-backed seriousness and sensible-shoe strides. She also looks a lot like the younger Kidman we remember, especially in profile.
Sarnoff gets in some good lines about the thankless task of being a woman in power, dealing with men who feel “entitled to their jobs just by breathing,” as well as some pointed reminders about how pervasive violence against women is.
When young Pete suggests that leaving windows open at night is how women get killed, young Kay replies tartly, “Violent men are how women get killed.” Later, when asked, “But he loved her, why would he kill her?”, older Kay sighs, “Men kill women they love all the time.” Kidman is pleasingly flinty, the right combination of passionate about her job yet over all the sexism that comes with it.
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The serial-killer plot is absorbing for the first four episodes, as we play catch-up figuring out what went down in the past and what’s happening now. But for all the series’ feminist bona fides, there are an awful lot of shots of naked, trussed-up female corpses – and no, the one or two shots we see of supine naked male corpses do not offset that, even though they’re full frontal. The men aren’t trussed, for one thing, and they’re filmed from high above, while the camera prowls all over the women.
In the last four episodes, plot twists start to wrap themselves into an unwieldly ball of yarn. There are Russians chasing biotech and a cult of grieving women on a farm; massive personality shifts arrive out of the blue and significant relationship turns don’t feel earned.
But the characters are worth the watch. DeBose is compelling and her grief is moving. Cannavale is never not fun. Bickering sisters are always good value, and Kidman looks fetching in glasses and tailored vests. Overall, it’s Prestige Enough.
