‘The Bombing of Pan Am 103’ Netflix Series Review - Grief Reduced to Bullet Points

The very first thing that The Bombing of Pan Am 103 shows at the beginning of every episode is a line declaring that what you are about to see is the result of extensive research. This is important because the emphasis on "extensive research" also foregrounds the aesthetic of the show, which is filmed in a plain, documentary-like style that prioritizes dialogue over drama and a faux-observational mode over intense images. Created by Jonathan Lee and directed by Michael Keillor, The Bombing of Pan Am 103 finds virtue in a flat, conventional design that's presented as "realism." It takes in all the available material, compresses and modifies most of it under creative license, and generates a series that reaches for grief and catharsis only to fall short of its target. Early in Episode 1, when a bar starts to shake suddenly, people rush out onto the street and notice a big ball of fire. This is, of course, the result of the explosion of Pan Am Flight 103, and The Bombing of Pan Am 103 sensitively and powerfully depicts the moment. It is, in fact, one of the very few redeeming things—along with the scene where a mother says that she's happy her child "fell at a beautiful place"—in a series that's sorely devoid of creative inspiration.

Keillor undoubtedly wants to honor the victims and the investigators, but as a filmmaker, he parses his intentions with little spark or fervor. The sobriety with which he proceeds to do his job leaves you less engaged and more exhausted. The Bombing of Pan Am 103 is thoroughly occupied with putting forward the details regarding the measures that were taken, debates that were held, investigations that were conducted, and plans that were executed with as much sincerity as possible. Lee and Keillor revel in showing how Lockerbie and America initially argued about who should be leading the case and how Germany refused to share the luggage list to help with the investigation. Some women display concern about non-evidence items not being returned to the victims' family members, and we see Tom Thurman (Eddie Marsan), the FBI explosive expert, recreating the explosion by placing the bomb in different positions to check whether the explosive device got into the plane through Frankfurt or London. Keillor and Lee are so interested in the logistics and strategies that were implemented that they reduce the characters to mouthpieces giving voice to their research material.

The blandness that infects the images also extends to the performances. Every actor seems to be performing at the same monotonous pitch, except for Peter Mullan, who, as DCS John Orr, has a commanding presence (he knows how to shut people up), and Merritt Wever, whose Kathryn Turman has an air of authority that makes you want to pay attention to her. The fault, however, also lies with the script, which doesn't provide the actors with much room to express themselves. Rather than exhibiting distinct personalities, the cast is left looking thuddingly earnest, as if working with the notion that "the more sober you look, the more important you appear." But even this wouldn't have been a problem if Keillor had reached deep into the anguish of a tragic historical event. What he offers instead are bullet points that do nothing but convey that a particular event happened. For instance, only one reporter is seen harassing the father of Khaled Jaafar (the mental toll the family would have felt due to unwarranted negative media attention is just casually mentioned). There is another boy who has to hide himself from the sensational gaze of the journalists, and what it must have been like for him to navigate such an environment is once again touched upon in passing without an iota of conviction (the show heavily depends on the boy's grief-stricken expression to do the heavy lifting).

The Bombing of Pan Am 103 has zero interest in developing the relationships between its characters. Everybody is treated like a well-dressed puppet. Hence, when one of Ed's (Connor Swindells) colleagues dies, you struggle to remember who he is, and you accept the news with dry eyes. It's suggested that the tragedy emotionally overwhelmed Ed (and others), but again, this is simply discussed and quickly discarded. What's more, the characters' hair and makeup are always so perfect, so polished, that such hefty psychological charges or talks about physical stress never feel persuasive. Keillor ensures the series consistently has a prestige sheen. Its surface is spit-shined so well that even dirt doesn't look dirty. Where are the messy hairs? Where are the sweaty bodies? Everyone seems to have walked out of their vanity vans before the camera started rolling.

The series is so talky that it somewhat makes sense that it lands better during the finale, when it shifts toward the courtroom testimonies. It's here that The Bombing of Pan Am 103 looks a little energetic, yet it's too little, too late, and even then, not as riveting as it wants to be. If you don't know the real-life story, the ending will either take you by surprise or make you angry, but any reaction will arise solely from the facts, not from the story. It can also come across as anticlimactic, though this time, one can defend it with words like, "Given the actual verdict in real life, this is what the makers intended it to be." I would argue the whole show is anticlimactic, but this quality does work in its favor during the final scenes. Just don't ask me to trust the makers when they say they had planned it all from the beginning. From where I stand, it looks like an accident. If only such "accidents" were common in other places in the series. It wouldn't, then, have been so tiring; it wouldn't have felt like a chore that one has to do with dignity.