If you’ve been scrolling through PBS Masterpiece or the BBC iPlayer looking for something that doesn't feel like a cookie-cutter procedural, you’ve probably seen the name. Moonflower Murders isn’t just another detective show. It’s a puzzle inside a puzzle, a "meta-mystery" that manages to be both a cozy British drama and a sharp, cynical critique of the genre itself. Honestly, it shouldn't work. It’s based on Anthony Horowitz’s 2020 novel, which followed his previous hit Magpie Murders, and the adaptation is remarkably faithful to the source material's chaotic, brilliant structure.
The premise sounds simple at first. Susan Ryeland, played by the consistently incredible Lesley Manville, has left her high-stress London publishing job to run a hotel in Crete. She’s bored. She’s tired of the plumbing issues and the heat. When a wealthy couple shows up claiming their daughter has gone missing—and that the key to finding her lies within a mystery novel Susan edited years ago—she’s sucked back into the world of Alan Conway’s fiction.
But here’s the thing.
The show doesn’t just stay in the present. It jumps back into the "fictional" world of the book Susan is reading. We get two mysteries for the price of one. We get the "real world" disappearance of Cecily Treherne and the "fictional" 1950s investigation of detective Atticus Pünd, played with a weary, Poirot-esque charm by Tim McMullan. It’s ambitious. It’s confusing if you aren't paying attention. It’s also the smartest thing on TV right now.
The Weird Genius of the Moonflower Murders Narrative
Most TV shows treat the audience like they have the attention span of a goldfish. They repeat clues. They have characters explain the plot to each other while staring at a corkboard. Moonflower Murders assumes you’re smart. It demands that you keep track of two separate timelines and two sets of characters, many of whom are played by the same actors in different roles.
This "dual-narrative" structure is the show's biggest strength. In the "real" world, Susan is investigating a murder that happened years ago at a hotel called Branlow Hall. A man named Stefan was convicted, but Cecily (the missing daughter) claimed the book Atticus Pünd Takes the Case proved his innocence. In the "book" world, we see the events of that novel play out. The actors who play the suspects in the real world often show up as different characters in the fictional world. It’s a bit of a meta-commentary on how authors take real people and twist them into caricatures for their stories.
Anthony Horowitz, who also wrote the teleplay, knows exactly what he’s doing here. He’s spent his career writing for Midsomer Murders and Foyle’s War. He knows every trope in the book. By making the protagonist an editor rather than a detective, he changes the perspective. Susan isn’t looking for forensic evidence; she’s looking for narrative inconsistencies. She’s looking for the "hidden meaning" in a dead man's prose.
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Why Lesley Manville is the Secret Weapon
Let’s be real. Without Lesley Manville, this show might have felt a little too gimmicky. She brings a grounded, slightly gritted-teeth energy to Susan Ryeland. Susan isn't a "gifted" amateur sleuth in the vein of Miss Marple. She’s a professional who is good at her job and happens to be incredibly frustrated by the people around her.
Her chemistry with Tim McMullan’s Atticus Pünd is fascinating because they aren't even in the same reality. Pünd is a figment of her imagination, a ghost of the literature she edited. When they share the screen, it’s Susan talking to herself, or rather, Susan using the logic of the detective she helped create to solve a real-life crisis. It’s a weirdly poignant relationship. Pünd is dying of brain cancer in his fictional world, and there’s a shared sense of mortality and "ending" that hangs over their conversations.
Breaking Down the Branlow Hall Mystery
The core of the "real world" mystery centers on the death of Frank Parris. He was bludgeoned to death in Room 12 of the Branlow Hall hotel. Stefan, a Romanian employee with a criminal record, was the easy target for the police. Case closed.
Except Cecily Treherne read the book.
The book in question, Atticus Pünd Takes the Case, involves a murder at a completely different location, but Horowitz (the character Alan Conway) planted clues that mirror the Parris murder. This is where the show gets deeply granular. It’s about anagrams. It’s about page numbers. It’s about the subtle ways a writer can insult someone without them ever realizing it.
Some viewers find the constant jumping back and forth jarring. I get it. You’ll be mid-interrogation with a shady hotel manager in 2024, and suddenly we’re in a 1950s drawing room with someone complaining about the tea. But that’s the point. The show is about how the past and fiction bleed into our present.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Series
There’s a common misconception that you need to have seen Magpie Murders to enjoy Moonflower Murders.
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Strictly speaking, you don't.
Each story is a standalone mystery. However, if you haven't seen the first series, you’ll miss the depth of Susan’s resentment toward Alan Conway (the author). You won't fully appreciate why she’s so hesitant to dive back into his work. But the show does a decent job of filling in the gaps.
Another thing: people think this is a "cozy" mystery. It’s not. Sure, it has the trappings—English countryside, posh hotels, eccentric characters—but it’s actually quite cynical. It deals with xenophobia, classism, and the predatory nature of the publishing industry. Alan Conway, seen in flashbacks, is a truly loathsome human being. The show doesn't shy away from the fact that he used his friends' darkest secrets to sell paperbacks.
The Production Design and "Vibe"
Visually, the show is a feast. The Greek sequences feel sun-drenched and slightly claustrophobic, reflecting Susan’s trapped state. In contrast, the Atticus Pünd segments are filmed with a crisp, almost hyper-real saturation that mimics the feel of a classic mid-century film.
- The 1950s sets: Painstakingly recreated, but they feel like a "set" on purpose. They represent a curated version of the past.
- The costume shifts: Pay attention to the colors. Susan often wears vibrant, modern tones that clash with the muted greys of the English coast.
- The score: It’s whimsical but has an underlying tension that keeps it from becoming parody.
How to Actually "Solve" the Mystery While Watching
If you want to beat Susan to the punch, you have to stop looking at the characters and start looking at the text.
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In Moonflower Murders, the solution isn't hidden in a bloody glove or a footprint. It’s hidden in the names of the characters in the book. It’s hidden in the way a specific chapter is titled. Horowitz is a master of wordplay. If a character says something that sounds slightly "off" or uses an unusual phrase, write it down.
Unlike Sherlock or Knives Out, where the "big reveal" often relies on information the audience didn't have, all the clues in this series are presented to you. You just have to be willing to look at two different stories at the same time and find the bridge between them.
The Future of the Ryeland & Pünd Universe
Fans are already asking if there will be a third installment. Horowitz has written Magpie Murders and Moonflower Murders as novels, and while there isn't a third "Susan Ryeland" book yet, the success of the TV show makes it almost inevitable that the story will continue in some form.
The challenge is that the "meta" hook is hard to sustain. How many times can a mystery novel solve a real-life murder? But with Manville at the helm, audiences seem willing to go along for the ride as long as the writing stays this sharp.
Critical Next Steps for the Viewer
To get the most out of your viewing experience, don't binge this show while scrolling on your phone. You will lose the thread within ten minutes.
- Watch the credits: The opening sequence is packed with visual metaphors that hint at the season's themes.
- Pay attention to the "doubling": When you see an actor appear in both the 1950s and the present day, ask yourself why Alan Conway cast them in that specific role in his mind. It usually reflects his real-life opinion of that person.
- Check the "book" details: If you can, pause on the pages of the novel shown on screen. The showrunners often hide Easter eggs in the props that aren't even mentioned in the dialogue.
If you’re looking for a mystery that treats you like an adult and offers a genuinely complex puzzle, Moonflower Murders is the gold standard. It’s a love letter to the genre that isn't afraid to poke fun at why we love watching people get murdered in quaint English villages in the first place. High-brow, slightly snarky, and deeply satisfying—it’s exactly what modern television should be.