Courteney Cox’s new film, Evil Genius, transforms the bizarre 2003 “pizza bomber” case into a heightened comedy of errors, though it trades humanity for broad farce. Sharing its title with the popular 2018 Netflix documentary series, the movie embellishes the facts of the true-crime saga with minimal emotional depth.
The film follows the ill-fated scheme of Marjorie Diehl-Armstrong, portrayed by Patricia Arquette, and her co-conspirator Bill Rothstein, played by David Harbour. While Arquette delivers an unmodulated, high-energy performance as the criminal mastermind who is anything but, Harbour offers a quieter, more shambling presence as her partner. Cox, making her feature directorial comeback since 2014’s Just Before I Go, assembles the story with little formal finesse, catering likely to rubberneckers fascinated by the case’s two-decade public allure.
The narrative structure jumps around, beginning with an unrelated murder involving Rothstein reporting a body in a freezer before loopily connecting to the infamous August 28, 2003, bank robbery. In that central event, pizza deliverer Brian Wells, played by Tom McCarthy, robbed a PNC Bank branch in Erie, Pennsylvania, wearing an explosive collar. He demanded $250,000 but took only a fraction, and the bomb detonated after his arrest, killing him.
Despite the wealth of material available from the original documentary series, Cox’s 97-minute runtime feels crowded. The script by Courtenay Miles focuses heavily on the toxic, on-off relationship between Diehl-Armstrong and Rothstein. Flashbacks feature Harlow Jane, Arquette’s daughter, as the younger Diehl-Armstrong, depicting her as an intelligent but misguided young woman. However, the film fails to convincingly bridge her past and present, leaving viewers unable to connect with a character who lacks clear motivation.
Tone-wise, the film is described as over-egged, punching down on the characters’ incompetence as criminals. The title serves as a snide irony, highlighting every miscalculation with a mocking smirk. Supporting characters, including those played by Garret Dillahunt and Danielle Macdonald, are treated as figures of fun with limited personality.
Visually and audibly, the film opts for harshness. Cinematographer Eigil Bryld uses intentionally rough framing and pitiless gray imagery, while the sound design frequently drowns dialogue in loud rock tracks from artists like Blue Oyster Cult and Radiohead. Critics suggest that a more humane, character-driven approach might have made the absurdities of the case resonate more strikingly, rather than casting the ugly story in its ugliest possible light.
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