Brazen

There is a very specific type of eyewear that only exists in the world of cinematic "serious writers." You know the pair: slightly oversized, thick-rimmed, and perpetually perched on the bridge of a nose to signal that the wearer is currently thinking about plot structure. In Monika Mitchell’s Brazen, Alyssa Milano dons these glasses as Grace Miller, a superstar mystery novelist who possesses "killer instincts." I spent the first ten minutes wondering if the glasses were part of her character’s contract or if they were meant to distract me from the fact that her character’s "instincts" mostly involve stating the obvious with extreme confidence.

I watched this on a Tuesday night while my cat, Barnaby, was obsessively trying to eat a crinkly plastic sourdough bag in the kitchen, and honestly, the rhythmic crunch-crunch-crunch of the plastic provided a more consistent tension than the film’s actual score by Jeff Tymoschuk.

The Streaming Era’s Algorithm Thriller

Brazen is a fascinating artifact of the current streaming dominance. It’s a Netflix original based on a Nora Roberts novel (Brazen Virtue), and it feels like it was grown in a petri dish specifically to satisfy the "I want a thriller, but I don't want to have to pay full attention" demographic. In an era of franchise saturation and $200 million blockbusters, there is something almost quaint about a mid-budget, straight-to-digital romantic thriller. It’s the spiritual successor to those 90s "woman in peril" movies you’d find on Lifetime, but with a slightly higher lighting budget and more modern trimmings.

The plot kicks off when Grace’s sister, Kathleen (Emilie Ullerup), is found strangled. It turns out Kathleen was living a double life as a prominent webcam performer named Desiree. Because Grace is a "master of motive," she naturally inserts herself into the police investigation, much to the initial chagrin and eventual romantic interest of Detective Ed Jennings, played by Sam Page. Sam Page has the unenviable task of playing a man who is essentially a sentient jawline. He’s charming, sure, but his chemistry with Alyssa Milano feels less like a burning passion and more like two very attractive people agreeing on a sensible real estate investment.

Mystery Writer vs. The Digital Void

The film tries to engage with the modern moment through its focus on the "Fantasy, Inc." webcam service. It attempts to comment on the dangers of the digital age and the stigma surrounding sex work, but it does so with the grace of a sledgehammer. The way the film portrays the "dark side" of the internet feels like it was written by someone whose only experience with a computer is seeing a picture of one in a 1998 Sears catalog.

When we finally meet our villain, Jerald Baxter (Matthew Finlan), the "hacker" elements are pure unintentional comedy. We are treated to scenes of a teenager typing furiously on a keyboard while glowing green code (probably just a scrolling CSS file) reflects off his face. It’s a trope we should have left behind in the era of The Net, yet here it is, thriving in 2022. Matthew Finlan actually puts in a lot of effort, leaning into a jittery, high-strung energy that almost belongs in a better movie. He’s genuinely creepy, but the script gives him so little to work with that he ends up feeling like a caricature of a "troubled youth" rather than a fully realized threat.

Performance and Pacing

Alyssa Milano is a seasoned pro, and she carries the film with an earnestness that almost makes you believe a civilian would be allowed to sit in on high-stakes police interrogations while wearing a trendy leather jacket. However, the drama often feels unearned. The film rushes through the grief of Kathleen’s death to get to the "fun" part—the investigation and the flirting. This is where the directorial choices by Monika Mitchell feel a bit disjointed; the tonal shifts between "my sister was brutally murdered" and "look at this handsome detective's kitchen" are enough to give the viewer whiplash.

The supporting cast, including Malachi Weir as Ben and Alison Araya as Captain Rivera, do their best to ground the proceedings. Alison Araya, in particular, deserves a medal for delivering lines about police procedure with a straight face while Grace Miller essentially solves the crime by reading her own books. It’s a "Masterclass" in patience.

The cinematography by Robert Aschmann is clean and functional, but it lacks any distinct personality. It has that flat, "high-key" digital look that has become the hallmark of Netflix’s mid-tier productions. It’s polished, yes, but it lacks the grit or the atmosphere that a true noir or thriller needs to stay in your brain for more than twenty minutes after the credits roll.

Brazen isn't a "good" movie in the traditional sense, but it is an incredibly watchable one if you’re in the right headspace. It’s a perfect example of contemporary "comfort-thriller" cinema—a film that engages with the current world’s technology and social shifts but handles them with the safety of a cozy mystery novel. It treats the concept of a police investigation as a mere suggestion rather than a rulebook, and while that leads to some massive plot holes, it also makes for a breezy 94 minutes. It’s the kind of film that will inevitably be forgotten in the depths of the "Trending Now" row, but for a rainy Tuesday night, it’s exactly what the algorithm ordered.