The Thursday Murder Club review: Netflix wastes its star cast on a mystery that never lands

Richard Osman’s debut novel from 2020 was more than just a bestseller — it turned ‘cosy crime’ into a publishing phenomenon, offering readers the comfort of Agatha Christie-style puzzles wrapped in humour and warmth. It was smart, timely, and hugely popular, sparking a wave of sequels and celebrity imitators. Now, Netflix brings Richard’s creation to the screen with Chris Columbus at the helm, and a cast stacked with names like Helen Mirren, Pierce Brosnan, Ben Kingsley and Celia Imrie.

The adaptation, while undeniably watchable, rarely rises above the level of an amiable diversion. The film is set in Coopers Chase, a retirement community that looks less like a care facility and more like a grand English estate. It’s here that four residents have formed what they call the Thursday Murder Club: Elizabeth (Helen Mirren), a former intelligence chief; Ron (Pierce Brosnan), once a trade union leader; Ibrahim (Ben Kingsley), a retired psychiatrist; and Joyce (Celia Imrie), a nurse with a flair for extravagant cakes. Together, they pore over unsolved cases, supplied by a retired policeman now in palliative care. Trouble arrives in the form of Ian Ventham (David Tennant), the home’s shady owner, who wants to redevelop the grounds into luxury flats. His plans spark rivalries with business partners Tony Curran (Geoff Bell) and Bobby Tanner (Richard E. Grant), and when violence follows, the Thursday Murder Club suddenly find themselves caught up in a live case. Local detectives Chris Hudson (Daniel Mays) and Donna De Freitas (Naomi Ackie) are quick to investigate, but the pensioners soon prove they are sharper and braver than the police expect.

The good

The ensemble cast is easily the film’s strongest asset. Helen brings authority and wit, Pierce plays Ron with boisterous swagger, Ben grounds the group with his deadpan timing, and Imrie lends a sweetness that offsets the sharper edges. Together, they have a chemistry that keeps the film buoyant, even when the mystery itself falters. Jonathan Pryce also leaves a mark as Elizabeth’s husband Stephen, quietly depicting the effects of dementia with sensitivity.

Chris Columbus directs with polish and restraint, letting the star power shine. The production design is sumptuous: Coopers Chase, filmed partly at Berkshire’s Englefield Estate, is a picture-postcard setting, with sweeping lawns and grand interiors. For audiences weary of bleak crime dramas, the lightness and nostalgia here provide a refreshing alternative. A few self-aware jokes — including a nod to Mirren’s history as the Queen — add playful touches.

The bad

Yet beneath the glossy surface lies a frustrating lack of substance. Osman’s novel kept readers engaged with cleverly planted twists, but the film simplifies every clue to the point of banality. Exposition dominates the dialogue, and the humour rarely lands. By the time the narrative builds to its final act, the tone tips into silliness, undermining the stakes and leaving the mystery feeling more like a children’s matinee than an adult whodunit.

The depiction of Coopers Chase also raises problems. The film asks viewers to root for residents fighting redevelopment, but when the “retirement home” resembles a luxury resort, it’s hard to feel their struggle. Even its most potentially daring theme — a passing commentary on assisted dying — is raised only to be quietly brushed aside. What’s left is safe, predictable storytelling dressed up in expensive packaging.

The verdict

The Thursday Murder Club is pleasant, watchable and elevated by its cast, but it never captures the wit or intrigue that made Osman’s novel a sensation. It feels more like background viewing than essential cinema — the kind of cosy fare you put on with tea and biscuits, knowing it won’t demand much of you. Charming, yes. Memorable, no.