Like director Jean-Marc Vallée’s last mega miniseries Big Little Lies, gothic murder mystery Sharp Objects (9 p.m. Sundays, HBO), based on Gillian Flynn’s novel, centers on “complicated women” — characters whose stories are much more than meets the eye. Each episode peels back these layers like an onion, revealing bits of truth and misdirection.
It is said that you can’t go home again, but that’s exactly what St. Louis newspaper journalist Camille Preaker (Amy Adams) must do when tragedy strikes her hometown of Wind Gap, Mo. A girl goes missing months after another has been brutally murdered, leading to grumblings about a serial killer. Camille’s editor — one of the few characters who genuinely seems to care about her well-being — cautiously assigns her to cover the story with the thought that as a native she can get inside information, but also that a visit home might do her good. Instead, it forces Camille to confront her current demons and the ghosts of her past.
And Camille has a lot of them. She’s an alcoholic with a history of self harm, as evidenced by scrawled, scarred words covering most of her body like graffiti. Sharp Objects’ title takes a literal turn when her cutting is revealed, a subject handled with much care and responsibility throughout the series. There’s even a message regarding mental health and substance abuse resources after each episode.
We soon learn that death seems to follow Camille — or does she follow it? As a child, she witnessed the death of her young half-sister Marian, something she clearly and understandably still struggles with today. More recently, she lost a young friend while seeking help at a treatment center. Now she’s coming face to face, sometimes literally, with a rash of dead girls. It’s certainly Adams’ darkest, rawest performance yet.
Even more triggering for Camille, though, is reconnecting with her mother Adora (a pitch-perfect Patricia Clarkson). Heiress to a pig farm and slaughterhouse — the town’s main industry — Adora is the quintessential Southern belle who demands superficial perfection without much consideration for what matters below the surface. She seems embarrassed by Camille rather than concerned about her.
Adora is vehemently opposed to Camille’s presence, and goes out of her way to stop her daughter from doing her job as she learns her family is more connected to the victims than Camille realized. Surrounded by a docile husband (Camille’s stepfather) and house staff, no one questions Adora’s sometimes ridiculous behavior.
Then there’s Camille’s much younger half-sister, Amma (Eliza Scanlen), who plays a prim and proper, almost babyish role around her mother only to sneak out of the house as a whole new persona. She’s in her early teens, about the same age Camille was when she lost her sister, though she looks and acts much older. It seems like the sisters may share a lot in common, even if they barely know one another — Camille doesn’t even recognize her at first, so she’s clearly been out of the picture for years.
There is something sinister about Amma, more than just a teen mean girl with a secret wild streak. She’s way too good at lying and making adults feel uncomfortable, and in such a small town where everyone knows each other’s business, it’s shocking that she’s been able to hide her short-shorts and hard partying from her overbearing mother.
Small-town politics is a major theme here, where gossip, secrets and the idea of keeping up appearances are at play. Like many rural communities, the folks of Wind Gap aren’t too keen on outsiders — even as a native, Camille appears to fall into that category since she’s moved away. And it seems like she was an “other” even as a kid. Camille had “a reputation” growing up, but we still don’t quite know the extent of it because we, as viewers, are outsiders, too.
These characters aren’t going to give it up so easily to us. We must pay close attention and be patient, because Sharp Objects is a true slow burn. Halfway into the season, there’s still more mystery than answers. But with such spot-on casting of its stars (Elizabeth Perkins, Chris Messina and It’s Sophia Lillis as a young Camille round out the talent), it’s an intriguing character study and fantastic commentary on small towns and gender roles, if not a fast-paced thriller.
Contact Jac Kern: @jackern