Crime does not play
What happens to humans after they’ve been stunned by murder or misfortune in the family, or an act of nature that totally upends their picture-perfect existence?
Do they rally as one behind the bereaved, the accused (because he is, after all, family) or do they unravel like a ball of yarn after a kitten has played with it?
Now streaming on Netflix are two limited series, one American, the other Mexican, that dive and delve into how a family comes together—or falls apart—when tossed over the coals of misfortune.
In The Perfect Couple starring Nicole Kidman as an icy, well-coiffed and rich East Coast wife named Greer Winbury, and Liev Schreiber as her happy-go-lucky but pedigreed husband Tag, murder and mystery unfold by a huge clapboard mansion by the sea that reminded me of the Kennedy House in Hyannis Port. Alas, their exclusive Nantucket enclave, where a beachfront wedding is to take place, becomes a murder scene.
Greer and Tag have the weirdest first names (after all, I come from a country where most people are named after saints)—and a weird life. On the surface, it seems they are indeed the perfect couple and she is the perfect mother to her three sons, Thomas, Benji, and Will. Thomas is the “douchebag”; Benji, the “decent” one; and Will, the most “normal” one. Greer is the take-charge wife, mother, and mistress of the house, and the lynchpin of the family.
Thomas is married to Abby, someone who at first seems like Greer incarnate with her blue eyes, blonde hair, and sense of entitlement. Benji is engaged and about to marry Amelia, a middle-class zoologist who has lots of secrets and reservations drowning beneath her beautiful blue eyes.
Will is dating the daughter of the police chief of Nantucket, where the Winbury compound is.
Hardly a spoiler—because it is established immediately—is the death by drowning of a guest after the rehearsal dinner, in the cold of night. Merritt Monaco, Amelia’s best friend and maid-of-honor-to-be, is found floating face down on the sea. The police swoop down on the Winbury compound, order a lockdown, and a Murder on the Orient Express-type of investigation ensues. Everyone but everyone is suspect, from the seemingly innocent Will to the loyal housekeeper Gosia. Of course, Greer and Tag are the primary suspects as both seem to have the most to gain by Merritt’s death.
But unlike the characters in the Agatha Christie novel, the characters in The Perfect Couple immediately succumb to moral and emotional termites till they all inevitably crack.
They are not who they seem. They act wantonly, stupidly, recklessly, adding to the mess of the already messy murder. Each is a victim in their own right.
Eventually, one of the main characters comes clean. Not about the murder but about her past, “pulling out the Band-Aid” in the process. She peels off her affectations till only her core remains. And yet in shedding the lies about herself, she frees herself from the clutches of suspicion. That way, she takes herself off the top of the whodunit list.
I couldn’t guess till the end who Merrit’s murderer is. By no means was one person the only one who would benefit from Merritt’s death. The motive was made even clearer than the Nantucket waters when it was revealed that Merritt was pregnant. And yet it’s not who you think, promise!
Despite the wealth of the Winburys and their guests, especially the Best Man Shooter Dival, no one gets away with murder. The imperfect but curious police pull it off.
My takeaway from The Perfect Couple? There could be perfect lies beneath perfect couples, but there could also be perfect lies beneath ordinary couples as well. Subterfuge isn’t just the domain of the rich and famous. Everybody has secrets. Even the working class where you and I belong put up fronts. It’s the one who first pulls off the Band-Aid, winces, exposes the raw truth and feels liberated by it, that makes the better, though not necessarily perfect, person.
The Accident
This Mexican limited series takes off on a “bouncy house.” Yes, a bouncy house where children jump and twist like they do on a trampoline.
In this well-to-do suburb named Santa Cruz, about half a dozen rich couples and their children gather to celebrate the birthday of Rodrigo, son of lawyer Emiliano Lobo and his wife Daniela, a detective. The Lobos are seemingly good people, they invite the children of their caretaker Moncho Gomez to Rodrigo’s birthday party.
In the first 30 minutes of the series, the premise is laid out. A freak wind barrels through the lawn and rips upward the bouncy house and hurls it to the sky, terrified children clutching onto it for dear life. Unfortunately, three boys slide to their death and a girl goes missing.
A group photo taken before the party shows that one of the four stakes of the bouncy house was not hammered to the ground, and immediately the bereaved parents look for someone to blame.
Who is to blame for the accident? In the terror following their children’s deaths, Emiliano blames Moncho, who was in charge of hammering down the stakes. The parents, in their rage, burn down Moncho’s house.
But everything is really not as it seems.
You will discover immediately who was at fault, and unfortunately, Moncho was only a scapegoat. One of the fathers of the dead children sent Moncho on an errand and offered to hammer in the stake—but a much-awaited call sealing a $40-million deal interrupted him. It was a deal of a lifetime that would have benefitted them all, and the other fathers were quick to cover the negligent father’s back. One of them even defended him in court, saying a wind that strong would have uprooted even eight stakes from the ground.
In the end, three fathers, including poor Moncho, ended up in jail. Guess who?
Like in The Perfect Couple, the lead characters in The Accident unravel. They self-destruct. Tragedy slices once-happy unions into two. Moral compasses lose their true North.
In both The Perfect Couple and The Accident, the lead characters are at play and when things do not go their way, one of them thinks crime will pay. Well, crime does not pay, and it does not play, either. Both fictional series prove crime is hard labor, before and after.
