Marvel noir

The murky world of 'Jessica Jones'

Jessica Jones is not a household name. The character first appeared in the comic book Alias, created by Brian Michael Bendis and artist Michael Gaydos. Her superpowers are super strength, hardly a unique ability. Yet, for a character without much recognition in and out of the Marvel Universe, “Jessica Jones” series creator Melissa Rosenberg has crafted her into a riveting lead.

This year’s “Daredevil” series—like “Jones,” a Netflix production—eschewed Marvel’s typically glossy, expansive cinematic universe for the gritty intimacy of a street-level crime drama. “Jones” builds on this aesthetic, crafting a noir detective story that goes even darker than “Daredevil.” The opening credits reflect the tone: shadowy specters slip in and out of New York City’s dark alleys. In the last frame, the omniscient onlooker is revealed to be the anti-heroine herself, Jessica Jones. The opening’s graphic novel etchings, tense jazz, and harsh lighting might conjure memories of Frank Miller’s “Sin City,” but Rosenberg answers Miller’s (and the genre’s) lazy misogyny with an energized feminist subtext. 

Jessica is played by Krysten Ritter, best known as Jesse’s girlfriend Jane in “Breaking Bad.” Jane was a damaged girl, struggling with vices and a dark past. Jessica suffers similar pains, but with a stark difference the show tackles with a sensitive but pointed critique: sexual assault (more on that in a bit).

Jessica is a freelance private investigator who runs Alias Investigations out of her crumbling Hell’s Kitchen apartment. PTSD leads to insomnia and insomnia leads to nights spent behind street corners snapping photos of cheating husbands. In the premiere, she’s hired by a Nebraska couple to investigate the disappearance of their daughter. An interview with a former roommate reveals that she ran off under the sway of a man with whom Jessica shares a past: Kilgrave.

Kilgrave (menacingly played by the Tenth Doctor himself, David Tennant) is one of the most terrifying TV villains in recent memory. Marvel’s typical villains often flail in their grandiosity; destroying the world is a rather impersonal and boring endgame. Kilgrave’s evils are much more intimate, and thus all the more disturbing. His power is mind-control, which he uses to obtain all his desires whether it’s a dinner reservation, fine wine, or a woman’s body. 

In flashbacks, we learn Kilgrave used his power to abuse Jessica. The assault is never shown, but the struggle to heal is. Rosenberg treats the physical act of rape and the psychological trauma it causes Jessica with a brutal honesty unusual for a so-called “comic book” show. 

Rosenberg nails the thrilling detective mystery at the heart of the show’s plot. Unfortunately, the momentum is squandered on lackluster developments outside of it; the show is too narrowly focused on Jessica and Kilgrave to make any of the subplots resonate. A side story involving Jessica’s boss (Carrie-Anne Moss) in an affair with her secretary attempts maximum drama with minimal time spent. Jessica’s relationship with fellow Marvel hero Luke Cage (Mike Colter) has sparks but avoids anything deeper. It feels like the main purpose of Cage and Jessica’s friend, the future “Hellcat” Trish Walker (Rachael Taylor), is to build interest for future offshoot shows (“Luke Cage” premieres on Netflix next year). 

“Jones” also takes a few too many pages out of the Christopher Nolan playbook. Gritty realism admittedly helps remove some of the fantastical from the superhero genre. Still, when used constantly it becomes punishing. Jones’s heavy subject matter could use more moments of levity and humor. 

Even if you’re not a Marvel connoisseur, “Jessica Jones” is a worthy investment. For better or worse, it’s the superhero show for people who don’t care about the superhero genre. No knowledge is needed about the Marvel Universe or even comic books in general. What is required is attentive viewing and a willingness to peer into the brutality of trauma. Flaws aside, in the male-dominated world of serial television, this kind of female-centric storytelling isn’t just welcome, it’s vital.

For more from Landry, read his review of Master of None.