‘Jessica Jones’ kicks butt in sci-fi noir thriller
Noir and sci-fi are hardly strange bedfellows, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy to put them together on television. What’s credible in the pages of a Marvel comic book may be a stretch when you trade real actors for colored ink and speech balloons.
Yet “Marvel’s Jessica Jones” is an effective thriller. As you’ll see when the 13-episode first season becomes available on Netflix Friday, creator Melissa Rosenberg walks a dangerously fine line balancing the two genres in the same show.
Except for the fact she used to be a superhero, Jessica (Krysten Ritter) could have been created by Raymond Chandler or Dashiell Hammett. Hardbitten, dry, cynical and rarely without a bottle of cheap booze on her desk or at her bedside, she works out of a rundown office with cardboard standing in for the busted window in her door. She’s a brilliant private eye, but living from hand to mouth isn’t easy, so she’s often pushing her way into the well-appointed legal offices of Jeri Hogarth (Carrie-Ann Moss) begging for a case.
Something seems to be eating at her, the hound of her particular hell always nipping at her heels. Bit by bit, we learn she’s running away from her past and, in particular, a manipulative maniac named Kilgrave (David Tennant) who is supposed to be dead.
During a particularly dry period, Jessica seems to luck out when a pair of Midwestern parents hire her to find their daughter, Hope (Erin Moriarty), who’s gone missing in New York. Jessica quickly realizes the girl’s disappearance has all the earmarks of something Kilgrave would do, and not just because he’s a maniac. He’s trying to get to Jessica herself. They have a history, and it’s not pretty.
If this were a broadcast series, Rosenberg would be required to establish Jessica’s superhero status with a bunch of over-plotted feats in the first episode. But “Jessica Jones” steams along as a gripping thriller before we see much of Jessica’s powers, and when we do, they’re presented matterof-factly: She lifts a car off the ground to keep someone from driving away so she can serve him with court papers.
The tone is intentional. The gradual establishment of Jessica’s past enables Rosenberg to solidify the complexity of the deeply flawed character. She’s a hard case, shutting out her best friend, talk show host Trish Walker (Rachael Taylor); drinking too much; spying on strangers; and tumbling into bed with handy bartender Luke Cage (Mike Colter).
She’s also tough as nails, intensely sexual and smarter than anyone else in any room. She may be fueled by cynicism and self-loathing, but it makes her stronger.
Setting and design contribute greatly to the show’s credibility. While the dialogue and elements of the performances, especially Ritter’s, are rooted in the series’ comic book origins, the streets of New York’s Hell’s Kitchen are gritty and real and not at all stylized in a “Gotham”-like manner.
The series isn’t perfect; it drags a bit when Rosenberg is trying to increase tension. You’re likely to feel the opposite from time to time, thinking “Oh, get on with it.”
But stick with it. “Jessica Jones” may only have a dark side, but that’s why it works well on Netflix. It wouldn’t have passed muster on broadcast TV.