When the body of a barmaid surfaces in a river in London’s Chelsea district, the police realize they have their third murder “in a fortnight” — two weeks to you and me — with no noticeable connection. The dogged investigation by a young detective (Christopher Bramwell, TV’s The Lion, the Witch & the Wardrobe) reveals a theory too whacked-out to be true … except it is: The victim’s initials all match those of famous Chelsea residents.
Also, a homemade “God Bless This Crapper” sign figures into the plot.
Based on the same-named 1978 novel by Lionel Davidson, The Chelsea Murders was made for England’s Armchair Thriller anthology series. Whether you watch it in six episodes at 145 minutes or the feature-length version at 108, the mostly tell-don’t-show procedural of coppers, journos, artistes, dandies and, eventually, a “cuppa tea” is bone-dry.
Out of budgetary practicality, the pic is shot on video, except for the infrequent jaunt outdoors, shot on film. To or fro, the switch is never not jarring — certainly not the type of impact director Derek Bennett intended for a murder mystery. Only the killer’s choice of mask — something akin to fitness guru Richard Simmons banging a clown emoji — jolts interest; one sequence with a hapless woman catching its glimpse in the shadowed hallway of her apartment building is truly chilling (as is its opening Thames logo animation, a scarred-for-life fright). The rest is truly boring. —Rod Lott