‘Long Bright River’ Review: Amanda Seyfried Stars in a Philly-Set Peacock Mystery That Treads Water for Too Long

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Everything is not sunny in Philadelphia on the small screen this week.

Both Apple TV+’s series “Dope Thief” (review to be posted on Thursday) and Peacock’s “Long Bright River” contrast tales of gritty crime and despair with the glimmers of optimism found within the intricate bonds between their principal characters, set against a backdrop of blue-collar life.

One show excels in its opening segment, emphasizing the central relationship, but falters in its latter portions. On the other hand, another show stumbles during its early stages, but manages to conclude satisfactorily as it delves into the core of the narrative.

The second series is “Long Bright River,” which concludes with two impactful episodes that generally succeed, albeit with some plot twists that are overly apparent. The climax falls short compared to the ending of a superior prestige drama from last year, and there’s an amusing scene where a character finally utters the series’ title, which seems implausible. Despite this, I found myself tearing up at the resolution of the story about sisterhood, addiction, and decision-making, though not necessarily at the conclusion of the murder mystery.

If you find it sounding more like a mild compliment than a strong one, know that Nikki Toscano and Liz Moore’s adaptation of Moore’s novel is indeed earnest, yet overly expansive. With a bit of pruning, the first six episodes of Long Bright River could be condensed to just four, and with the decisive precision this narrative required, it could even be trimmed down to a succinct two parts.

At first glance, “Long Bright River” seems somewhat similar to a spin-off of ABC’s “The Rookie,” as Amanda Seyfried portrays Mickey, a former Kensington resident and cop, partnering with Eddie (Dash Mihok), a relatively inexperienced officer nearing 40, who is unfamiliar with the job’s procedures and etiquette. On the other hand, Mickey has a deep understanding of her community, recognizing that empathy is crucial for effective police work, or at least it can be.

In stories similar to this one, it’s not spontaneous for Mickey to feel empathy. Her compassion stems from a personal experience, as she’s watched her sister, Kacey (Ashleigh Cummings), gradually immerse herself in the lives of drug users and prostitutes over the years.

Mickey, with an immense fondness for the English horn almost bordering on obsession (not her own distraction, but rather the writers’ creative one), has a remarkably intelligent child named Thomas (portrayed by Callum Vinson). This youngster is unaware of Kacey’s existence and is starting to question why he only has a family consisting of his cheerful, beer-loving great-grandfather Gee (played by John Doman). However, explaining the complexities of the opioid crisis to a seven-year-old like Thomas proves quite challenging.

As events take a drastic turn for Mickey, the mysterious disappearances of girls from The Avenue coincide with Kacey’s vanishing act. Since the death of these individuals are likely dismissed by others as just another tragedy among junkies, it’s Mickey’s compassion and personal drive that sets her apart. In search of an ally she can confide in, she seeks out Truman (Nicholas Pinnock), a former associate with whom she shares a complicated past. Although the specific incident causing his injury, Mickey’s possible involvement, and her tendency to freeze during tense situations are alluded to initially but never revisited after the first episode.

You know what is mentioned repeatedly? “Choices.”

Long Bright River appreciates using intricate literary devices, sometimes disregarding if they translate effectively to television narratives. The initial episode involves Mickey educating Thomas about Faust (a simpler explanation of the opioid crisis) and tackles the theme of the devil (she’s an unusual yet involved mother). A scene set in 2017 shows Truman instructing Mickey on decision-making mechanisms. For the subsequent seven episodes, characters engage in discussions over which actions are chosen versus conditioned by psychology or physiology, and they often repeat the word “choice” frequently.

In the film “Long Bright River,” it’s clear that Director Hagar Ben-Asher understands the distinctions between literary and televisual techniques. For instance, she skillfully contrasts the grim reality of homeless encampments with the life on the other side of the tracks by panning the camera over actual railroad tracks. A subtle yet impactful scene depicts Mickey and Kacey together for the first time, with them standing on opposite sides of a convenience store refrigerator door, symbolizing the figurative sliding door of fate that has divided their life paths.

In the television series, the story revolves around two sisters, yet for the initial part of the season, the relationship between them remains submerged beneath the surface, despite numerous flashback scenes. Unfortunately, these flashbacks appear awkward, overly apparent, and are somewhat miscast. The challenge lies in replicating Amanda Seyfried’s unique appearance, but when younger characters lack any semblance to their older counterparts, it breaks the continuity that makes the flashbacks meaningful. Throughout the series, I never felt that the flashback versions of Mickey and Kacey were connected to their present-day selves, which is essential for a compelling narrative.

In the initial four episodes, there’s extensive focus on developing Mickey’s rather unexciting relationship with Truman, who appears to be on leave and seems to serve no purpose other than assisting Mickey during her undercover investigation. On-screen, he comes across as though his role was hastily written, like someone thought “Truman, the only True Man…” and moved on. In terms of character imperfections, Truman struggles with gambling addiction, but this aspect does not lead to any significant payoff in the storyline.

In the fourth episode, there’s a significant portion where Truman, a Black resident of Philadelphia, and Mickey, who lives in a rundown area of the city, spend nearly an hour grappling with the concept of police corruption. It seems as though they are encountering this idea for the first time, which does little to enhance my respect for their worldly wisdom.

The fourth episode features a prolonged scene where Truman and Mickey, two characters from Philadelphia, struggle to comprehend police corruption. This scenario gives the impression that they are encountering this issue for the first time, which doesn’t boost my admiration for their understanding of the world.

I appreciate complex, difficult, unlikeable characters. However, I’m less fond of such characters who seem to spend too much time apologizing for their actions, making it feel like they’re always apologizing, like Mickey does throughout the series. In the episode “Atonement”, I understand the need for redemption. But let’s delve into the messiness a bit more. After all, people aren’t perfect and sometimes make mistakes.

It’s not Seyfried’s fault for any of this. Mickey isn’t actually a natural detective, but Seyfried makes it seem almost effortless how she could still excel at the job despite her discomfort. She has a wonderful chemistry with Vinson, and their scenes together are excellent. Her performances with Doman are particularly noteworthy.

Born and raised in Philadelphia, Doman significantly elevates the authenticity of the show, despite being primarily filmed in New York and having a more “Urban Northeast” vibe than distinctively Philly elements. I appreciated a storyline featuring Mummers, and I find it deliberately comical when Mickey (played by Seyfried), who doesn’t adopt any accent at all, joins the Thanksgiving celebration that clearly represents the PHILADELPHIA side of the family, where everyone is in full Delco mode, discussing the Eagles and various sports. However, I was less entertained during a scene where Mickey visits someone and is offered “a Tastykake or something?” The specific type of Tastykake wasn’t specified, but if all that’s available is a jelly Krimpet when I prefer peanut butter Kandy Kakes, then no thanks.

Including Cummings more prominently in the series significantly enhances its depth. Her presence subtly roots some of the flashbacks in a sense of sorrow stemming from her past wounds, thereby infusing the narrative with an undertone that the earlier portrayal of misery on The Avenue hadn’t quite managed until then. She doesn’t save the show, but rather brings harmony to it.

The journey is excessively lengthy. It’s overly time-consuming to sift through unnecessary distractions and complexities in the mystery that often veer off into irrelevance. Time is wasted following characters who are underdeveloped, such as Aura (played by Britne Oldford), Mickey’s friend only when the plot demands it but otherwise invisible. Or Danjarat’s generally admirable detective, Joe Daru, whom we keep anticipating will play a more significant role than just being “admirable” (though having another “true man” in the story would mean two such characters).

It’s praiseworthy and gratifying that Seyfried and Cummings can lead us to a fulfilling end point. However, despite their talents, they couldn’t prevent the fact that this overly prolonged, dimly lit trip had the potential to be far more captivating.

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2025-03-12 10:25