A queer President. An occasionally profane Kylie Minogue. An unseen Hugh Jackman. A birder-obsessed detective. And a murder most foul.
An Agatha Christie-meets-Clue-like mystery series from the Shondaland factory (i.e. Shonda Rhimes, the figurehead behind such TV successes as Grey’s Anatomy, How To Get Away With Murder, and Bridgerton), The Residence is an intelligent, witty whodunnit that works as much as it does because Uzo Aduba is supremely committed to the cause of making the show’s central detective – the wonderfully named Cordelia Cupp – a fully realised character.
Cupp is noted as the being the world’s best detective, and in the capable hands of Aduba, we believe it. Equally brilliant as she is stubborn, far too patient for the White House staff around her, possible neurodivergent, but always refusing to give in to the scenario that seems the most convenient, Cupp is The Residence‘s most fascinating character; and given who she’s surrounded by, that’s not an easy feat.
From the offset of The Residence, we’re aware that a murder has taken place inside the walls of the White House, and because the victim is the residence’s longtime chief usher, A.B. Wynter (played with the usual refinement of the grand Giancarlo Esposito), the suspect list is, shall we say, extended. Not because Wynter, by any means, is the type of person you’d likely want to see bumped off, but because his role requires him to make some decisions that aren’t always universally accepted; “I’m going to kill you!” is a phrase often thrown out at him in some capacity, mainly out of frustration, but, it would seem, at least one insider took it to the literal end.
His body is discovered by the hard-drinking, bathrobe-adorned mother (Jane Curtin, always a treat) of President Perry Morgan’s (Paul Fitzgerald) husband, Elliot (Barrett Foa); yes, a gay president! But because this is the inclusive world of Shondaland, such a notion is treated as the most normal thing. Once it’s known that Wynter has died, and, on all nights, the Australian delegates are downstairs (which means an enjoyable cameo from Julian McMahon, an amusing multi-episode guest spot for Kylie Minogue – and certain titles from her music catalogue – and the unseen “Hugh Jackman”), the suspect list grows exponentially.
Cupp, who’s something of a deadpan iteration of the eccentric Benoit Blanc (Knives Out) or Hercule Poirit, enters the premise with a no-nonsense approach to solving the murder. But in that no-nonsense approach comes the show’s delicious humour, as Cupp (and it really can’t be stated just how splended Aduba is here) takes everything at literal value and expresses many of her thoughts without a filter; when the President’s best friend (a panicked Ken Marino) states how unique the White House is and that “There is no place like this on Earth” and that “It is bigger” than her, she retorts “Do you mean the house is literally bigger than me? Because that seems obvious. I’m inside the house.”
The aforementioned best friend has immediate prime suspect written all over his face, but that would be far too easy in such an intricately weaved web as The Residence, and as each episode gives us an insight into the dynamics of the staff and the sheer size of the house itself (there are some grand shots of the house layout from a more architectural standpoint), each member we meet recounts their own version of both Wynter and the events of the night leading to his death. The warring chefs (Mary Wiseman and Bronson Pinchot) of the residence’s kitchen both have serious motive as they feel respectively betrayed; the social media secretary (Molly Griggs), as entitled as you’d expect such a position to carry, wants to reinvent the White House’s image, but receives understandable pushback; one of the butlers (Edwina Findley) is a little too casual and chatty for Wynter’s liking; and competent deputy usher Jasmine Haney (Susan Kelechi Watson), as much as she’s the one guiding Cupp through the house itself, wasn’t granted the position she assumed she had in the wake of Wynter’s renegged retirement, meaning she too had a certain grievance with him.
And through it all is Cupp. Whilst I can see some audiences growing weary of her personality, or not believing how true a person Aduba is portraying, a later in the series episode close to the finale – which sets itself on a deserted beach, as she spends time birding with her nephew – truly speaks to the honesty and beauty of Cupp. We see the very human calling behind her specificities as a person and as a detective. This logic that she so fastidiously abides by is something of a love language for her, and it’s such episodes that help ground The Residence, with so much of what’s taking place bathing in a certain theatricality.
The Residence is the type of show you’d expect as a Shondaland-ised murder mystery, but even in that, Cupp is such a unique character, and there’s true joy in hearing how she pieces everything together, blowing theories open just as much as she shuts them down. Trust the fantastical realms of television to make us, in this day and age, to actually want to spend time in the White House, and, God willing, inviting us back should Cupp ever need to strike again.
FOUR STARS (OUT OF FIVE)
All episodes of The Residence are now streaming on Netflix.
