Series Review ~ Presumed Innocent (2024)

In the wake of FX’s massive success with its revival of James Clavell’s Shōgun, it would seem like reviving a literary blockbuster that had previously enjoyed an enormously successful adaptation wouldn’t be such a bad idea.  In the years since Scott Turow’s twisty 1987 thriller Presumed Innocent first became popular on beaches, airplanes, and hunting lodges and its 1990 film version turned Harrison Ford into a could-be murderer, numerous copycats had come and gone.  All tried to duplicate Turow’s slick mix of heated courtroom dynamics and how screenwriters Frank Pierson and Alan J. Pakula (who also directed) capably brought a detailed mystery to white hot life. 

The one writer/producer who found the right formula was David E. Kelley and his ABC legal drama The Practice.  Along with its less serious spin-off, Boston Legal, the long-running series had the same snappy dialogue but more far-fetched cases.  It avoided the dark edges Turow/Pakula explored, but I wasn’t too concerned when Kelley was announced as writing and producing a new adaptation of Presumed Innocent for AppleTV.  This guy knew what he was doing.  Assembling a dream team of actors who appeared to fit right into this world and their assigned characters was also promising.  I looked forward to this series more than most in recent years. 

That this new Presumed Innocent is such a monumentally spectacular failure is almost a miracle in and of itself.  Stumbling at every possible turn, what was once a razor-sharp courtroom thriller has been transmuted into a clumsy, misguided, and, worst of all, dull series that squanders away its slam-dunk potential, failing to capture even a passing essence of the source material.  Produced by J.J Abrams and its star, Jake Gyllenhaal, it will leave viewers wishing for a deeper experience over the course of eight episodes and surely a more likable lead.  Remarkably flat, unsexy, and almost purposefully unwilling to understand the complexity that made the novel and film so intriguing, this series is guilty on multiple counts of foolishness.

It’s an ordinary day for Chicago prosecutor Rusty Sabich (Gyllenhaal, Nightcrawler) when he receives a phone call that will change his life.  His colleague (and, as we later learn, his mistress), Carolyn Polhemus, has been found murdered in her home, the victim of a horrific crime that mirrors one of her former cases.  Memories of his time with Polhemus (Renate Reinsve, Handling the Undead) haunts Rusty’s mind, clouding his judgment on the investigation so much that the finger eventually gets pointed at him by rival prosecutor Tommy Molto (Gyllenhaal’s brother-in-law Peter Sarsgaard, The Batman) working under new District Attorney Nico Della Guardia (O-T Fagbenle, Black Widow). 

Rusty’s life unravels as the investigation unfolds, revealing a complex web of deceit, ambition, and betrayal, orchestrated mainly by him to cover up his ongoing affair with Polhemus…but did it go further than that?  His wife, Barbara (Ruth Negga, Passing), stands by him, his two children take varying opinions on his public affair and accusation of murder, and his mentor, Raymond Horgan (Bill Camp, The Burial), represents him.  Horgan representing Rusty is a significant change from the book and not a good one.  Despite the rich narrative foundation laid by Turow, the series often obnoxiously deviates from its origins, omitting crucial characters and plot points in favor of convoluted, lackluster new ideas that go nowhere and are not enriching in the slightest.

Gyllenhaal’s Sabich is a far cry from the morally ambiguous protagonist of the novel and the way Harrison Ford chose to play him in the movie: a prosecutor trained to give a good poker face whose emotionless demeanor comes back to bite him.  Instead, Gyllenhaal’s depiction is of an outright nightmare – a man whose motivations are so insufferable and antagonistic you struggle to muster empathy for his plight.  It’s a miscalculation that kills this series outright and is emblematic of the broader issues plaguing the adaptation.  While Gyllenhaal’s talent as an actor is undeniable, his recent gravitation toward poor remakes of laudable originals (Road House, The Guilty) is perplexing.  His once-impressive range has been sacrificed for shallow creative choices.

The supporting cast, including usually reliable actors like Lily Rabe (Vice) as the Sabich family psychologist and Nana Mensah (Queen of Glory) as Rusty’s confidant on the police force, fails to elevate the material.  Only Noma Dumezweni (The Little Mermaid) as Judge Lyttle (played by the great Paul Winfield in the film) and Gabby Beans (Our Son) as Horgan’s second chair Mya manage to deliver performances that hint at the level the series could have risen to, had it been better written and directed. 

If I’m being vague about seasoned actors like Negga, Camp, and Elizabeth Marvel (The Color Purple, Camp’s life in real life, and this series), it’s because the series’ directionless narrative does them a massive disservice.  Fans of the source material know that Negga and Camp’s characters have critical parts to play. While the final episode hasn’t been provided to us to screen, I’ve only seen the actors given embarrassingly bad new arcs that I’m not sure any 50-minute wrap-up can fully fix.  Fagbenle is a particularly low point, with the London-born actor making an inexplicable attempt at a Chicago accent that grates on the ears and distracts from the already weak dialogue.

Of course, the series finds crackle in its courtroom scenes because that’s where Kelley is the most comfortable.  It’s too bad the entire series wasn’t staged within those hallowed walls because everything outside the halls of justice is poorly paced and uninspired.  The AppleTV sheen gives everything a matte finish, and there’s little vibrancy or drive to anything, least of all the affair between Gyllenhaal and Reinsve.  It would have been more interesting if Reinsve and Negga swapped roles because both actors are more inclined to the parts they aren’t playing.  Reinsve’s role has taken the biggest hit, with Carolyn Polhemus losing the sting that made her a perfect mistress and, maybe, an ideal victim.  Now, she’s just a beige shadow of what was once a complicated individual.

A painfully terrible entry in the remake genre, Presumed Innocent fails both as an adaptation and as a standalone series.  By the conclusion, viewers won’t need much time to deliberate to be ready to convict everyone involved and sentence them to atone for its mediocrity.  The shoddy construction and lazy direction alone are bad enough, but add in severely misguided performances and a script that discards the strength of its source material and dynamic characters, and the evidence is overwhelming.  Gyllenhaal’s career as a leading man takes another severe hit – it’s time for him to get back to the original material he was so impressive in and forget this remake nonsense.  Avoid this adaptation at all costs; some cases are best left cold.