Sat. May 11th, 2024


The first couple episodes of “The Watcher” set it up almost as a riff on “The Shining” or “The Amityville Horror” (as it should be really) in that it’s primarily about the unraveling of a patriarch more than an actual, tangible threat. “Dad, can you keep us safe?,” asks the youngest Braddock, and Cannavale sells Dean’s disintegrating confidence in his unconvincing answer to that question. It’s an interesting approach to this true story in that it becomes about vulnerability, especially the kind that erodes traditional male roles. Dean struggles at work and can’t satisfy or protect his wife. He learns that the other male inhabitants of 657 Boulevard went through similar trauma, one even leading to family annihilation. The suggestion is that the modern suburban homeowner’s stability is dangerously fragile, the kind of thing that can destroy a family if it’s even looked at too closely. However, like so many things in “The Watcher,” and a lot of Murphy’s work lately, these themes are merely thrown out onto the table with no insight or thrust behind them, and then pushed aside by the clutter of other ideas like Satanism, infidelity, hidden tunnels, and, well, home fetishization expressed through poetry (yes, seriously). Murphy has always been a provocateur, but there used to be an artistic thrust that drove his provocations that seems to have been diffused by his workload, leading to a quantity over quality aesthetic.

The true story of “The Watcher” is a haunting one because of the primal fears into which it taps. We all want to feel safe in our own homes. We all want to be able to tell our kids that we can protect them. And, especially in the era of true crime paranoia, we’re all probably a little more fearful of what’s going on in our neighbors’ homes. What exactly are they doing over there? And why are they looking out the window all the time? All of these themes or commonly shared fears could have been applied to the story of 657 Boulevard, but “The Watcher” is made by people who don’t trust their audience. They might get you to watch, but they didn’t take the time to make something really worth remembering.

Whole series screened for review. On Netflix now.

By Dave Jenks

Dave Jenks is an American novelist and Veteran of the United States Marine Corps. Between those careers, he’s worked as a deckhand, commercial fisherman, divemaster, taxi driver, construction manager, and over the road truck driver, among many other things. He now lives on a sea island, in the South Carolina Lowcountry, with his wife and youngest daughter. They also have three grown children, five grand children, three dogs and a whole flock of parakeets. Stinnett grew up in Melbourne, Florida and has also lived in the Florida Keys, the Bahamas, and Cozumel, Mexico. His next dream is to one day visit and dive Cuba.