The Residence brings murder mystery fun to the White House

There’s been a murder in the White House! The chief usher is dead on the third floor, under mysterious circumstances, while a state dinner is happening below, and nobody’s allowed to leave until a world-class detective cracks the case.

It’s such an obviously good premise that it’s almost shocking that Agatha Christie never got to it; and though The Residence doesn’t get up to her level, and Cordelia Cupp (played by Uzo Aduba) is no Hercule Poirot, it’s a lot closer than it has any right to be.

Out today on Netflix, this eight-episode show is a love letter to the murder mystery, with constant references to other fictional detectives and the episode titles borrowed from other famous entries. As the genre demands, our detective protagonist chases down clues, interviews various questionable suspects and dismisses red herrings in trying to find who killed the White House’s chief usher, A.B. Wynter, played by the ever-excellent Giancarlo Esposito, and it’s generally a great time. If you know the format, there are few surprises here – aside from the unnecessary addition of expository congressional hearings – though it’s so close to the classic format that, at times, it feels a little parodic. Our lead is a quirky detective in a tweed suit, with odd fixations – namely, birdwatching – and a non-traditional investigative manner that baffles and wows those around her. How novel! She’s great fun, though, and Randall Park plays a good role as the befuddled FBI agent trying to stay up with her.

Some of the more identity-obsessed might make hay out of her being a black woman, but such people are boring and to be dismissed; there’s nothing “woke” about The Residence. Also, though there are overlaps with plausibility, the showrunners clearly didn’t want the audience thinking about politics.

A gay president who is declining in popularity and incompetent, trying to pick up the pieces of a predecessor who tore up international relations? Could be a future President Buttigieg by another name. But the diplomatic issues being with Australia is so deliberately unrealistic to let you know “this isn’t a political show.” The one intrusion of real politics is Al Franken playing a senator; though it’s never made clear if this world’s version got #MeToo’d. As I said, it’s not a political show. The closest you get to satire are the lines:

“What are you doing in here?… This is a crime scene!”

“This an office.”

“We’re in Washington, same thing.”

The humor is the biggest weak point of the show. There are some fun jokes on the format of the murder mystery – notably, when the President’s elderly mother-in-law knows the exact time she heard a sound because she has a giant digital clock right beside her – but the writing lacks wit. If you were hoping for a laugh-out-loud comedy, you will be quietly disappointed, as the show hopes viewers will be placated with delivery, repetition and big facial expressions for well-written jokes. Having three butlers who all share the same first and last name is trying too hard to be funny without actually being funny, and the incessant repetition of Hugh Jackman references is obvious and boring.

The show’s attempts at sincere emotion are as unsuccessful as its humor, but these moments are infrequent too; and The Residence thankfully stops trying as hard to be funny as it goes along, letting you settle into the plot.

The politicians are inherently untrustworthy; it’s a setting you’re familiar with (the White House) but haven’t seen this side of (the residential side); and it has all the classic suspicious staff characters you get in a classic British manor murder mystery. Poison, missing knives, odd murder weapons, suspicious phone calls. There are your usual blend of plot twists and fun, location-specific revelations, including the reflection of red taillights on the White House windows; and though the characters are over-the-top caricatures, they’re not too exaggerated. Well, except the two chefs and the President’s brother, who are. Also, the maid character is a bad knock-off of Ana de Armas’s Marta from Knives Out, also on Netflix.

The ending is not particularly surprising, nor is it unsatisfying, and you won’t be annoyed. Hopefully, Netflix pulls Detective Cupp back for more, perhaps to solve a murder in Buckingham Palace.