And yet here, soon after Ride or Die (Killing Eve, but she’s brought a friend) and The Assassin (Killing Eve, but she’s your mum) is Kill Jackie, a show with one of Killing Eve’s directors, very nearly the same title, and yet another fabulous woman on a trans-continental homicide spree. This horse has been thoroughly flogged, and Kill Jackie confirms that it is quite, quite dead.
They don’t kill her – she kills them, because it turns out that before she was an elite art dealer she was an even more elite cocaine dealer, who acquired a deadly set of skills in order to survive. Having failed with their first attempt, whoever wishes Jackie ill doubles down by hiring a second team to finish the job, and this time it’s – dun dun duunnnn! – legendary murder squad the Seven Demons.
View Green Video on the source websiteIf that premise sounds awkward and contrived, it is, and Kill Jackie’s lack of a narrative rudder means it never knows exactly what it’s meant to be doing. It has a rough plan: its checklist includes chases, shootouts, semi-ironic needle drops of 60s/70s deep cuts, gadgets – given to Jackie by Poltergeist, a super-fancy global concierge service that can provide her with anything, anywhere – and ingenious subterfuges perpetrated in gorgeous European locations. But these bits of other, better shows are clumsy in isolation and a purposeless mess when tossed together.
Everything clangs. Your nose wrinkles and your eyes narrow as you watch. Almost every scene has a minor irritation stemming from an idea that needed more work, from Jackie subtly telling us how well she knows someone by asking them, “Remember last Christmas, when you came over to my place?” – it was less than a year ago Jackie, so yes, they do remember it; to the scene where she, while seated on a sofa, manages to shoot two armed and hostile drug dealers not with a concealed handgun, but a pump-action shotgun that she’s suddenly holding in both hands.
It is a script that badly needs help from a charismatic lead performance, but Zeta-Jones refuses point-blank. The tone she was going for was most likely cynical, world-weary insouciance, but what we get is more like catatonic boredom: as she flatly mumbles another line that barely makes sense, there’s no need for anyone to kill Jackie. She was never alive.
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