The real story of the Watcher is terrifying – but the series is just cringey

The programme tries to be flashier and more frightening than the already-terrifying true tale, turning it into a farce

When The Watcher story first became public in 2018, people around the world devoured it with a seemingly insatiable appetite as conspiracy theories exploded and armchair detectives fell down rabbit holes.

The tale – about a suburban family receiving a series of threatening letters from a person calling themselves “The Watcher” – resonated as particularly terrifying for three reasons.

One, at its heart was the fundamental feeling of security craved by everyone everywhere – safety in one’s own home. The Watcher seemed to be able to hear and see the Broaddus family at 657 Boulevard in Westfield, New Jersey; any sense of privacy or comfort was stripped away.

Two, there was no blood, no jump scares, no concrete threats – just creepy letters talking about “young blood” and “greed” in weird, sinister language. That vague, intangible sense of foreboding amounts to psychological torture and constant fear. Who was the writer? Why were they writing? Was it a joke? Were they inside? Where were they? Would tonight be the night they put their threats into physical action and harmed the family?

Three, it remains unsolved. It’s an irresistible mystery.

The new Netflix series The Watcher touches upon these elements – but completely destroys the scariest parts of the story by overcomplicating it. The programme tries to be flashier and more frightening than the already-terrifying true tale – subsequently turning it into a farce.

Naomi Watts as Nora Brannock in ‘The Watcher’ (ERIC LIEBOWITZ/NETFLIX)

By chance, I woke up before 3am on the day The Watcher was released and couldn’t go back to sleep – so I pulled up Netflix on my phone and watched all seven episodes. I’d written about the story earlier this year, talking to a previous owner of the home and Boulevard neighbours – including the brother of a man who’d been one of the main suspects. The brother was still so irate and indignant about the eight-year-old story that he launched into a profanity-laced tirade, complaining that his family deserved an apology.

That suspect, who has since passed away, and other real-life figures were twisted and amalgamated into an ensemble of characters in the Netflix series. Every episode throws major curveballs or introduces yet another eccentric potential Watcher with the only accomplishment of muddling the whole show.

To be honest, I was really surprised – and disappointed. The Watcher has an all-star cast: Bobby Cannavale, Mia Farrow, Margo Martindale and Naomi Watts. After finishing the series, I would’ve thought they’d have recognised the show as a mess from the first reading of the script. Maybe the script changed; maybe the director’s cuts resulted in the confusing and, at times, hilariously cringey final product.

Whatever happened, I found it increasingly ridiculous – so much so that I often found it hard to pay attention, too.

The creative license taken by the programme is overdone and unnecessary; almost the entire show is manufactured. And the additions detract from the true horror.

The show adds a barrage of physical threats and tragedies (spoilers ahead.) The Broaddus family pet is murdered. There’s a tunnel discovered under the house. They see a black-clad figure fleeing through it. A mysterious ponytailed girl appears in the home. An odd neighbour – an overall-clad, barely verbal older man resembling Uncle Fester – is found hiding in the home’s dumbwaiter. It’s all disjointed and distracting and completely fictionalised.

Jennifer Coolidge does what she does best, playing a selfish, scheming, voluptuous real estate agent who sells 657 Boulevard to Cannavale and Watts, who play a couple named the Brannocks; when they eventually sell the home because of The Watcher, she snaps it up for a song and immediately moves in – only to find her dog murdered and see a menacing, black-clad hooded figure looming over her in the house. Coolidge’s character runs screaming into the street.

I laughed aloud at that scene. The hooded figure and her reaction are reminiscent of Scream; her character’s nightwear looks exactly like the fashion choices of Stifler’s mom, the sultry Mrs Robinson type she played in the American Pie movie franchise.

The scene did not mark the only time I laughed at parts of the show. I’m not sure if the creators intended for it to come across as borderline parody, but it absolutely does.

I would be freaking out, however, if I had the misfortune to be anyone even remotely connected to the case – whether it be the suspects, the real estate agents, the neighbours, the cops or even the Broaddus family themselves. It’s safe to assume that viewers, because The Watcher is based on truth, may be unable to distinguish which parts of the film actually happened and which did not. Most of the real people still live in Westfield. They’ll spend years – and possibly the rest of their lives – correcting the perceptions of people who believe Netflix’s portrayals to be accurate.

The story didn’t need to be overdramatised, overcomplicated and overacted.

Everything about it was hair-raising enough already. And the real Watcher may still be out there.