A Deadly American Marriage Netflix Review – The Jason Corbett Case Is Anything but Clear

Netflix | 1 Episode | 2025

Rating: 3 out of 5– Powerful testimony, but not enough evidence.

Spoiler Alert

If you're new to the Jason Corbett story or prefer to approach this documentary without prior knowledge, bookmark this review for later. Beyond this point lies only ambiguity, trauma, and the kind of story that keeps the Zeigarnik Effect wide awake.

The Case at a Glance

A Deadly American Marriage focuses on Jason Corbett, an Irish father of two from Limerick, Ireland, who was killed in his North Carolina home in 2015. His American wife, Molly Martens, and her father, Thomas Martens—a former FBI agent—claimed self-defense after beating Jason to death with a baseball bat and a concrete paving stone inside the family home.

They told police Jason had attacked Molly, prompting them to intervene. But investigators weren’t convinced. Blood evidence and post-mortem injuries raised serious questions. So did Molly’s reported attempt to cremate Jason and her refusal to allow his family access to the children while filing for emergency guardianship.

Jason’s first wife had died from an alleged asthma attack in 2006, leaving him to raise their two children, Jack and Sarah. Molly was hired as a nanny in 2008 and eventually became Jason’s second wife. After relocating to the U.S., tensions grew. Jason resisted Molly’s efforts to adopt the children and made legal arrangements for custody to go to his sister in Ireland if anything happened to him—a decision that proved eerily prescient. After Jason’s death, Molly fought for custody and lost. The children were returned to Ireland and later claimed Molly had coached them to lie.

Even after the legal dust settled, the case continues to divide public opinion—especially in Ireland, where Jason’s death was front-page news for years.

Format & Pacing: Strong Story, Uneven Structure

The documentary opens with the 911 call from Tom Martens calmly explaining he struck Jason with a baseball bat. From there, it moves chronologically, with no narration, letting interviews with law enforcement, the DA, Jason’s family, the defense, Molly, and Tom speak for themselves.

The emotional weight comes from the people interviewed. The DA visibly struggles to discuss the crime scene photos. Jason’s children—now teenagers—recount the trauma of losing both parents and being uprooted from the woman they knew as "Mom." The kids are central here.

We see clips from the children’s original forensic interviews, where they said Jason was abusive. Later, we learn they’ve recanted those claims, stating Molly coached them. Molly insists Jason’s family brainwashed them. What’s clear is that someone influenced them—but it’s impossible to know who or when. That uncertainty defines the entire documentary.

Production-wise, this is standard fare. Clean editing, solid audio, no excessive B-roll. Courtroom audio clips are used to bolster the story without feeling manipulative. But I’m once again begging documentarians: leave the interviewee names and titles on screen longer and show them every time the interviewee is speaking. I clocked it—three seconds. Three. Fucking. Seconds. That’s how long the name and title stayed on screen. That’s all you get before you're on your own. If you blink or check your phone (guilty), you're playing Forensic Guess Who for 90 minutes. Put the damn names on screen long enough for a sneeze to pass. And do it every time. Rant over… for now.

The pacing? Off. The first 30 minutes are heavily weighted toward law enforcement and the DA’s version of events. Jason is painted as universally beloved; Molly barely gets a word in until much later. Her lawyer doesn’t appear until the 55-minute mark. The film makes an effort to circle back, but by then, the uneven pacing may have already colored the audience's perception.

For a case that spans nearly a decade, one episode doesn’t cut it. Too much feels glossed over. A three-part series would’ve better served the story and allowed space for deeper evidence and nuance.

Victim Centered? Who Is the Victim?

The documentary muddies the very idea of victimhood. Molly claims Jason abused her. She recorded secret audio, some of which we hear. One clip stands out: Jason yelling over dinner plans, slamming a chair while Sarah, his young daughter, cries and begs them to stop. Molly tries to deescalate. Jason keeps pushing. It doesn’t sound staged. It sounds routine. The kids seem accustomed to this dynamic.

Critics say Molly baited Jason into arguments and hit record once he lost his temper. Maybe. But if this was manipulation, it was subtle. What you hear isn’t rage boiling over—it’s resentment simmering steadily.

Molly says Jason withheld adoption as leverage. That he knew she wouldn’t leave without legal rights to the kids. There’s also documentation of Jason seeking medical help for unexplained anger. It’s not a smoking gun—but it's something.

The Corbett kids are the most persuasive voices. They speak with tears in their eyes. They explain their confusion and pain. They say they now believe that their father was murdered in cold blood by Molly and Tom. Whether that belief is truth or trauma-based, we’ll never fully know.

So is this documentary victim-focused? Yes. But which victim? Jason? Molly? The kids? It doesn’t answer that. It just forces you to sit in the mess.

Public Reaction: The Court of Social Media

After watching the documentary last week, I made the mistake of posting to social media, I must tell you—dear reader, as I sit here eating my Toblerone—this is one of those cases. Not five minutes after I started writing this review today, someone commented on my social media post: “The Martens are murderers.” No nuance. No context. Just a confident declaration dropped into the comments section like a gavel slam.

And honestly? That kind of comment is exactly why this documentary and this story rattles people.

It’s one of those stories where people loudly insist they know what happened. Personally? After watching the doc, I have no idea. I leaned one way, then the other. Every time I thought I had it figured out, a new detail made me question everything. That’s not indecision—it’s the natural response to a complicated, emotionally messy case.

Another commenter warned me to “remember Molly’s megalomania.” Naturally, I went digging for anything remotely resembling a diagnosis. The only thing I found was a pre-trial interview with 20/20 where Molly mentioned having once been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. That information never made it into court. So where exactly did this person find “megalomania”? To be fair, they did say they were a psychology student—and I remember that phase well. Back in college for psych (several lifetimes ago), I too began spotting behavioral patterns in everyone I knew. It’s practically a rite of passage: diagnosing strangers without ever meeting them. But in that same article, a 2017 juror said, “I believe she can control her personalities, whether it’s bipolar or whatever.” Excuse me? That’s not how bipolar disorder works. That’s not how any of this works.

Other comments landed with similar energy—like “Nothing about the defense can justify the brutality of Jason’s killing.” And sure, it’s easy to imagine what you’d do while sipping chamomile on your cozy bed. But unless you’ve fought for your life—face-to-face, with adrenaline and fear in your veins—you don’t know. And declaring you do, just because you’ve seen a documentary or listened to a podcast is a reach. A loud, emotionally certain, factually fuzzy reach.

I’m not here to tell you what verdict to come to. I’m just here with my chocolate, my skepticism, and a reminder that real life isn’t a true crime fan theory. It’s messier than that. Maybe—just maybe—it’s time to admit: we don’t know. And that’s okay.

Final Thoughts: A Compelling, Frustrating Watch

This case is messy, and so is the documentary. It offers no closure—because maybe there isn’t any to be had. The people involved are too close. The rest of us are too far removed.

Psychologically, unresolved stories gnaw at us. Our brains chase answers like survival depends on it. That’s the Zeigarnik Effect in action; our brains remember incomplete tasks more vividly than completed ones, like a waiter who remembers unpaid tables but forgets the ones who’ve left. Unfinished stories leave our minds open like too many tabs in a browser, quietly draining focus and peace. We’re wired for resolution. But some stories refuse to give it.

Even the judge in the second trial said, “It’s very hard to find the truth in this case.” So if you weren’t in that house, or sitting through both court cases, maybe just sit with the uncertainty instead of screaming your theory.

A Deadly American Marriage is compelling. Emotional. Well-produced. But one episode isn’t enough. The “you decide” format needs more meat to feel fair. I didn’t hate it. I just wanted more.

Final Rating: 3/5 – Intriguing, but emotionally and narratively unfinished.

Case closed.🔍 Verdict delivered. ⚖️

Stay hydrated.💧  Don’t take sides without knowing the full story.🚪👀

🕵️‍♀️The Emerald Sleuth, calling it a night. 💚