Get the latest entertainment news, reviews and star-studded interviews with our Independent Culture email
Get the latest entertainment news with our free Culture newsletter
Get the latest entertainment news with our free Culture newsletter
There are three things you need to know right away about Malice, Amazon’s new six-part psychological thriller. One is that it is trying to infiltrate the TV zeitgeist of “wealth porn”, riding on the sumptuous, elegant coattails of shows such as The White Lotus and Succession. The second is that it’s not so much a whodunit, or even a who-snuffed-it, but rather a whydunit. And the third is that it stars Jack Whitehall playing it (almost) straight as a male nanny.
Leaning into his toff-boy shtick, he is the manny-slash-private tutor who inveigles his way into the life of David Duchovny’s boorish venture capitalist Jamie Tanner, before cunningly wreaking havoc on the Tanner family’s luxury holiday on a Greek island. It’s pantomime stuff, with Whitehall embracing the role with cartoonish gusto, his Adam by turns charming and obsequious.
Nuance is not in Malice’s dictionary. Which is a surprise, actually. It’s written by James Wood, the man behind the unassumingly excellent British sitcom Rev. Yet this has the feel of one of those daft US imports shown on E4 about a decade ago: shiny and overblown in the same mould as, say, Revenge.
The plot gets its drive from the mysterious reason behind Adam’s actions. What is it that compels him to terrorise this family? What terrible thing did Jamie inflict on Adam that could have inspired such a taste for vengeance? Gaslighting, poisoning and seducing – Adam doesn’t waste any time, as his palpably obvious ulterior motive somehow goes undetected. While the lush vistas may temporarily distract you from the story’s thudding lack of credibility, they can only do so much.
Cartoonish gusto: Jack Whitehall as Adam in ‘Malice’ (Amazon Prime Video)
Yes, the gender-flip on the hackneyed toxic-nanny theme is intriguing, but too often the dialogue creaks with exposition and plot contrivances, the cast unable to breathe life into stilted exchanges. Duchovny, as a domineering businessman with a wandering eye and questionable parenting technique, is decent enough. And when Jamie finds himself in a strip club, necking shot after shot of sambuca, his drunk-acting is certainly on point. Less so is Jamie’s 180-degree pivot from being wary of Adam to vouching wholeheartedly for him. Playing Jamie’s glamorous wife Nat, meanwhile, Game of Thrones’ Carice van Houten veins her performance with an underlying sadness and longing. There’s a wistful air about her character.
Perhaps I’m taking this too seriously, though. After all, in an age of casual viewing – with streaming insiders claiming they’re being forced to rewrite scripts for those who use their phones while watching – this kind of preposterous, sun-drenched escapism could be catnip for certain audiences. Just don’t expect Malice’s version of wealth porn to have the same allure as the shows it aspires to be.
