In the World of . . . Jack the Ripper History Channel, October 2008 A Review

by Kat Koorey

First published in November/December, 2008, Volume 5, Issue 4, The Hatchet: Journal of Lizzie Borden Studies.

The true Ripperologists, over at Casebook: Jack the Ripper online, are probably tearing their hair out at such a lost opportunity. This could have been a great TV show—a chance to delve deeper into the mystery, to deflate certain modern popular theories, and to focus on and evaluate all the new material published recently. Heaven knows Bordenphiles are always in the same state of disappointment when a new video on the Borden murders is produced.

A good chance was wasted, and the content is neither challenging, nor worthwhile. Even the world-renown expert, Donald Rumbelow, who introduces us to the case facts, is reduced to sounding blandly informative. How can that happen in a 21st century review of the sordid case of the infamous Jack the Ripper among the mean streets of old London? There is no enthusiasm for the topic, and Rumbelow sounds somewhat bored, and so is boring.

Through narration, we find out how horrible the living conditions were in the East End of London in the latter 19th century, how many itinerant drunks slept to a room overnight, how many prostitutes sold themselves for the equivalent of the price of a loaf of bread, how many tons of manure were created in the city streets by horses—and how awful all this smelled. By choosing this kind of emphasis for an hour-long show, the story of “Saucy Jack” loses its prominence, resulting in a rather shallow treatment of both topics, diluting them, and, in consequence, this program becomes merely an introduction to the case and times.

Oddly, a redeeming feature of the show actually takes place in the first few seconds at the viewing of each successive crime scene, when our tour guide is standing at the modern-day site. The scene quickly dissolves into a fantasy rendition of the old site from 1888, and proceeds from there. Yet, the contemporary London locations—how they look now—are the most interesting part of the program, and the quick fade into the more familiar past setting that we know from old photographs becomes a rather frustrating gimmick.

There is, toward the end, a new visual approach to Mary Kelly’s death—it is the use of computer graphics to depict the place of her murder.  After first explaining that the original photographs were so gory that they could not be shown on television, artists’ graphics are used that show four walls spattered every other inch with red like a Pollack painting, and the depiction of her body has no depth or perspective. All this is done in a subdued color that causes a psychological detachment in the viewer, rather than any emotional response to the atrocity. This manipulation of the crime scene lacks any sentimentality or humanity. It could have been a doll lying there on the bed.

Overall, it’s a bland show and a complete waste of time, unless the viewer is a youngster or teenager who has never heard of the case and is looking to be scared and in need of some inspiration for a Halloween costume with a tricky name of Jack the Ripper.