If I wrote the headline about the Taylor Swift-Travis Kelce engagement:
Dumb Jock Lands Mid-Looking Feminazi
**
In theory, I should love The Thursday Murder Club. The novel is a “cozy” mystery, with elderly protagonists, and I dig cozy mysteries by Agatha Christie with older heroes like Hercule Poirot and Jane Marple. I also enjoy the 1960s Miss Marple flicks with Margaret Rutherford.
But I was bored by Thursday the book and I was bored by the Netflix adaptation.
Being an old person doesn’t automatically make you interesting. Being Pierce Brosnan or Helen Mirren doesn’t mean you get to play interesting characters.
If you subscribe to the school of comedy in which older people cursing — or expressing an interest in sex — strikes you as hilarious, this movie is for you. I call it the “oldsters acting like teenagers” genre. That sort of thing was mildly amusing in 1971, when Ruth Gordon starred in Harold and Maude. Today, it’s an uninspired cliché.
I watched Thursday with cautious optimism. I thought British star power might overcome a weak story. After 20 minutes the movie became background noise as my thoughts drifted elsewhere. After 45 minutes I turned it off.
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