In 2014, anonymous letters began showing up in the mailbox of Derek and Maria Broaddus, who had just bought a house on 657 Boulevard in Westfield, New Jersey, signed by someone who called themselves “The Watcher.”
In his notes, The Watcher detailed their apparent reconnaissance of the property and the Broadduses’ short time at it (they had only just closed on the house and hadn’t yet moved in). The first letter thanked the family for bringing children to the home—“young blood,” as the letter so terrifyingly put it—and stated that once The Watcher knew their names, they would call to the children and draw them closer.
After the Broadduses received two more hair-raising letters from The Watcher over the next few weeks, a police investigation was launched into the matter. The couple never moved into the house and spent countless amounts of money on mortgage payments and property taxes while trying to unload it. Their story was chronicled by New York magazine in late 2018, after which the case became highly publicized. Still, between a local investigation, private detectives, and amateur sleuths, no culprit was ever found.
Leave it to Hollywood’s trauma hound, Ryan Murphy, to sniff out the story and mine it for all it’s worth—which is to say exploit it for entertainment value and those sweet, sweet Netflix streaming views. Fresh off of last month’s wholly unnecessary Dahmer - Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story—which was as controversial as it was appallingly titled—Murphy has returned with the latest offering in his extensive Netflix production deal: The Watcher.
Murphy and co-creator Ian Brennen adapted the article into a seven-episode miniseries, plucking the important kernels from the Broadduses’ story to create a fictionalized retelling that extends beyond the confines of the real-life events. Its biggest creative gambit: wondering what might have happened if the family had moved in.
On paper, The Watcher might seem like a redundant Ryan Murphy production, here today and replaced by another literally next week. And though it can’t always escape its creator's rote trappings, The Watcher employs some major star power and enough chilling suspense to succeed not only as a tight thriller, but one of Murphy’s best in years.
Also set in suburban New Jersey, The Watcher stars Naomi Watts and Bobby Cannavale as Nora and Dean Brannock, who are looking to relocate from New York City to suburbia for a quieter atmosphere where they can raise their two children. 657 Boulevard is idyllic; there’s crown molding, a pool, and even an old-fashioned dumbwaiter to give the house some bucolic charm. The neighbors all seem a bit eccentric, but as far as the Brannocks can see, the only cons to the house are the Carrara marble countertops, which will have to be replaced so Dean can cook without staining the whole kitchen.
The sale happens quickly, thanks to the couple’s overly eager realtor, Karen (Jennifer Coolidge), an old friend of Nora’s from art school. But not long after moving in, the Brannocks start to receive letters from The Watcher, the first few of which are verbatim from the real-life notes left in the mailbox at 657 Boulevard. The Watcher immediately disturbs the couple with their stunted but familiar tone, asking questions like, “Have [the contractors] found what is in the walls yet? In time, they will.”
Suddenly, the neighbors on the street don’t seem so charmingly zany anymore. Mitch (Richard Kind) and Mo (Margo Martindale) lurk over the Brannocks' property lines, while Pearl (the legendary Mia Farrow) and Jasper (Terry Kinney) have it out for the couple, tattling on them to the local historical society every time they try to modify the house or the land it’s on. What’s more, Jasper has a less-than-welcome penchant for breaking in and hiding in the 657’s dumbwaiter. “Every owner for the past 60 years has let him do that!” Pearl shouts, as if that somehow makes finding a grown man hiding in your home any less piss-your-pants worthy.
Once The Watcher reaches the boundaries of its inspiration, it runs wild—but still clings to the searing tension at the heart of the real mystery. Thankfully, Murphy tempers his typical overexcitement. He and Brennan have stiffened their grips, resisting the urge to pour every possible thematic ingredient into the series at once, avoiding yet another overcooked and overcrowded melange of mediocrity.
By the grace of God, each episode is only around 47 minutes, with none of the seven total surpassing an hour. The Watcher doesn’t overstay its welcome, ramping up the disquieting suspicion just enough in each episode. There’s a palpable paranoia, as Murphy and Brennan layer new theories from unreliable past residents and useless investigators. It all creates a pleasantly obnoxious unease for the audience.
They do occasionally fall back on tired tropes. The characterization of Jasper as a menacing neighbor is ridiculous; he is depicted as a brutish simpleton, whose neurodivergence suggests wrongdoing and inherent malintent. What is this, an M. Night Shyamalan joint?
The Watcher’s fantastic cast is doing the heavy lifting here, while Murphy and co. go through the usual motions. Cannavale and Watts have great chemistry. This is another vehicle for Watts to show off her tremendous ability to make characters who are navigating extreme peril feel completely real and three-dimensional. Cannavale is as typically charismatic as he is hilarious, throwing out sarcastic one-liners with all the ease of taking a deep breath.
Coolidge, Martindale, and Farrow are all scene-stealers, as you would expect. Particularly Coolidge, who is continuing her well-deserved career renaissance among a new generation with another hilarious role, played with just the right amount of alarm. Karen’s greeting of Nora with, “I haven’t seen you since RISD! You were like, crunchy. Before that was a thing!” nearly made me choke. There is no one who can deliver punchlines like Coolidge, though Martindale comes close with a line shortly after about making salads.
But the biggest star of all may be The Watcher’s letters, which are narrated in the series by an unsettling, distorted voice, and remain the absolute scariest part of the show. They’re the grounding dread that anchors the series even when it stumbles into outlandish territory; a sickening reminder that all of this is inspired by a true story. The Watcher understands that the creepiest thing in the technologically inundated modern era is someone observing your every move, with no digital trace or physical presence at all.
It’s a bit frustrating then, that the series is so conventionally in Murphy’s typical and expected aesthetic. Its style is indistinguishable from most of Murphy’s other productions—though not necessarily to its detriment. I’d rather see the creator rest on his laurels than let a series drop with a splat on the ground while he tries to keep up the juggling act.
Still, one can’t help but watch the series and feel slightly off about it. It’s clean business to pay people money for the rights to adapt their story, but Netflix’s mega-fandom of loyalists hasn’t exactly proven themselves to be the most righteous of watchers themselves—especially over the last month alone.
The Watcher is fun entertainment, excitingly embellished to stretch a terrific long read into a miniseries. Let’s just hope that the family this actually happened to doesn't have to endure more of a living hell than they’ve already experienced at the hands of internet sleuths and amateur detectives. After all, the Netflix money didn’t even cover the combined losses from their years of torment.
The Watcher is the rare Ryan Murphy creation that actually benefits from his perverse sense of humor and fondness for gripping thriller drama. And while stalker stories are nothing new—this one basically shares a title with a near-perfect thriller from earlier this year—The Watcher has a chilling urgency to it that feels both modern and wickedly fresh. That used to be the expectation when it came to the Murphyverse; now, it’s a (refreshing, invigorating) shock.
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