Review | A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder

Ever since its announcement in Sept. 2022, BBC’s TV adaptation of Holly Jackson’s New York Times bestselling YA novel “A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder” captured the attention of bibliophiles and mystery lovers alike. 

As a long-standing fan of the book, I approached the series with cautious optimism. But as a diluted version of Jackson’s original story and world filled my screen, it quickly became clear that “A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder” would fall victim to the adage “The book was better,” like so many promising adaptations before it.

“A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder” premiered on July 1 in the UK before being released internationally on Netflix Aug.1. The series, consisting of six 45-minute episodes, was directed by Dolly Wells and adapted by Poppy Cogan. It takes place in the small English town of Little Kilton five years after high school golden girl Andie Bell was believed to have been murdered by her boyfriend Sal Singh, though her body was never found. The grief of the case, while presumably “solved,” still hangs heavily over Little Kilton’s quiet cobblestone streets. 

Enter incurably curious, straight-A student Pip Fitz-Amobi, whose skepticism regarding Sal’s guilt makes the case, much like the still-missing body of Andie Bell, impossible to lay to rest. Pip, played by Emma Myers, sets out to prove Sal’s innocence by enlisting the help of Sal’s younger brother, Ravi Singh, played by Zain Iqbal.

Right from episode one, Little Kilton’s identity as a quaint, unsuspecting English village creates an almost disconcerting juxtaposition between the comforting aesthetic of the setting and the violence within it. Cinematographers Michael Filocamo and Seppe Van Grieken balanced calming landscape drone shots of the picturesque landscape with fear-inducing close-ups in order to portray the story’s duality and reflect its premise — in Little Kilton, an innocent appearance does not mean an innocent underbelly.

Importantly, the show stays true to the book in tackling complicated issues — violence, suicide, rape, drugs, drink spiking — with care and intention. However, the commendable depiction of such topics was greatly overshadowed by the show’s persistent weakness — the unfavorable and simplified portrayal of Pip and Ravi.

Throughout the series, Pip is dangerously rash and seemingly incapable of making the right decision if her life depended on it — and it did multiple times. Between her flippant handling of dangerous drugs, antagonizing a rapist and willingly becoming an accessory to a major crime by not reporting it, I couldn’t help but wonder if the mystery of the show was who killed Andie or how Pip survived despite having seemingly zero desire to do so. 

While Pip exhibits a tendency to make questionable decisions in the book, they are just that — questionable. She is a 17-year-old and bound to make mistakes, but her apparent disregard for her own safety and that of others in the show was so pronounced it negatively influenced her likeability. As I watched Pip follow a person of interest to a second location, having not told anyone where she was going, it was difficult to feel anything other than annoyance. With her level of knowledge regarding crime and safety, I was shocked to see her intelligence once again dumbed down, especially because it only served to change the location of the climax from the Bell’s yard — like in the book — to the ominous septic tank underground chambers. While I understand the cinematic desire for a more dramatic setting, it is a shame that desire for visual appeal came at the cost of Pip’s competence.   

Ravi Singh, who readers know as being sensitive, fond of witty one-liners and practically allergic to fragile masculinity, was watered-down and slightly changed in the series. While Pip and Ravi shared the detective work equally in the book, the series gave Pip’s school friends a more active role in the investigation, meaning Ravi’s involvement was reduced. 

Much to my chagrin, and to the show’s own detriment, most of Jackson’s original dialogue was absent from the adaptation. Fan favorites from Ravi, “Real men wear floral when trespassing” and “I’m ravishing. Get it? Ravi-shing. Ravi Singh,” which demonstrate his endearing personality, were among those not included. While Myers and Iqbal delivered emotional individual performances, neither that nor their lukewarm on-screen chemistry could compensate for the absence of genuinely witty, well-written banter.

Moreover, the show did not bring to life the final scene of the book, when Pip and Ravi reveal the truth of the Andie Bell case to all of Little Kilton and ultimately correct Sal Singh’s reputation and free his family from the ridicule they faced as a result of his assumed guilt. To me, the exclusion of this scene in favor of a Pip-Ravi kissing scene demonstrated the show’s failure to understand what moments from the book were thematically vital and needed to be included in order to maintain the integrity of the story. 

As a fan of intriguing mysteries, this series had promising characteristics — an idyllic backdrop, comedic relief, teenagers doing normal teenage things and an unexpected plot twist or two. If I had not read the book, I would have greatly enjoyed this series. But as a reader, watching “A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder” for the story that it was — knowing what it could have been — was a hard pill to swallow.