TV Review: "Kaos"
Netflix's new black comedy is a beautiful, heartbreaking, and terrifying reinterpretation of Greek myth that's sure to become a classic in its own right.
Hello, dear reader! Do you like what you read here at Omnivorous? Do you like reading fun but insightful takes on all things pop culture? Do you like supporting indie writers? If so, then please consider becoming a subscriber and get the newsletter delivered straight to your inbox. There are a number of paid options, but you can also sign up for free! Every little bit helps. Thanks for reading and now, on with the show!
As regular readers of this newsletter know, I’m a huge fan of retellings of classical myth, particularly when they take some creative risks that pay off. I was thus quite excited to see Kaos, which offers a marvelously fresh take on the myths and legends with which many of us are familiar. The world it presents at first appears to be a remarkably modern one, except for the fact that the the gods of old are still worshiped by the majority of the population, the polytheism of the Greeks having developed along similar lines to Christianity (in the sense that religion permeates all aspects of life). At the top of it all is Jeff Goldblum’s Zeus, who wields tremendous power and expects loyalty from both his fellow divinities and the puny humans on Earth. For hte most part he gets what he wants.
Until he doesn’t.
Things begin to take a very unpleasant turn when a new Kretan memorial to Zeus is vandalized by some nefarious Trojoans, leading Zeus to believe that an ancient prophecy is coming true and that his time as the ruler of all has come to an end. All Hades is about to break loose.
One of the things I’ve always appreciated about Jeff Goldblum is that he’s one of those actors who somehow manages to both himself and yet utterly unique in every role in which he appears. He’s perfectly cast as this series’ Zeus, a god whose power is as ill-gotten as it is toxic, and whose effortless cool quickly breaks down into a paranoid cruelty that threatens all of the gods and Zeus himself. This is a man who is willing to shoot the various pool-boys with which he has populated Olympus, who’s willing to nearly throttle his own wife, and who’s willing to nearly obliterate his brother with lightning. In other words, he’s a real asshole, and the more chaotic things get on Earth (and, it’s worth pointing out, the Underworld), the more his fragile world threatens to collapse.
Unbeknownst to Zeus, however, many of these troubling events are taking place at the instigation of Prometheus. Portrayed by Stephen Dillane (most famous as Stannis Baratheon in Game of Thrones), Prometheus has long borne a grudge against Zeus and the other Olympians and so has put a plan into action wherein the whole rotten divine edifice will come crashing down, bringing the corrupt Olympians down with it. At the heart of Prometheus’ plot are three mortals who he has moved into just the right position: Eurydice (known as Riddy and portrayed by Aurora Perrineau), the dry-witted and sardonic muse to husband Orpheus (Killian Scott); Underworld agent Caeneus (Misia Butler); and Ariadne/Ari (Leila Farzad), a princess of Krete who has labored under a lifetime’s mistaken belief that she killed her younger brother.
Obviously, this series is an embarrassment of riches when it comes to its cast, but for my money the best of them–and arguably the best character–is Janet McTeer’s Hera. McTeer is one of those women who has made a career out of playing badass women who know how the game is played and are willing to do what it takes to get ahead and make sure that they get their piece of the pie. She’s shown this to marvelous effect in such series as The White Queen (in which she played Jacquetta of Luxembourg, the mother of Rebecca Ferguson’s Elizabeth Woodville) and, even more notably in Ozark, in which her coldhearted lawyer Helen was a true standout. Like the other Olympians Hera is capricious and cruel and libidinous, prone to punishing those who sleep with Zeus by turning them into bees. However, she’s not particularly loyal to her brother/husband, and she has her own schemes in mind. The beauty of McTeer’s performance is that we simply cannot look away, no matter how cruel she is or how much pain she inflicts on those who displease her. She’s a woman of iron, and we love her for it.
There’s more than a whiff of tragedy to Kaos, which is fitting, considering how brutal and cruel and beautiful the original stories were. In this series, as in the myths themselves, characters (both divine and mortal) try to avoid or change or subvert their prophecies, only to find out that their actions bring about the very things they were trying to avoid. If this doesn’t scream Greek tragedy, then I sure don’t know what does.
What’s just as striking about Kaos is the extent to which it features queer characters, many of whom are just…trying to live their lives. This isn’t to say that they don’t have their fair share of struggles. To take just one example, Misia Butler’s Caeneus begins life among the Amazons but, as his true nature becomes clearer, ultimately must leave (recall that, in the ancient myths, the all-female warrior society casts out its male members, upon pain of death should they return). Even though Caeneus has managed to carve out a bit of a life for himself in the Underworld, it’s clear that he feels the sting of his mother’s betrayal (even if she did love him and offered her acceptance). Even Prometheus gets his own queer love story, though it’s marred by death when he murders his lover, Charon (Ramon Tikaram), so that he can go to the Underworld and fulfill his own part in the prophecy. These are stories that are queerly tragic but which nevertheless manage to be more than just a simple iteration of the tired old “bury your gays” trope.
Queerness also permeates the rest of the cast and characters. Dionysus is known to have dalliances with both men and women, Suzy Izzard plays one of the Fates (Lachesis, referred to fondly as Lachy) with her usual panache and scenery-chewing delightfulness. Even Theseus (Daniel Lawrence Taylor) is shown in a passionate love affair with Astyanax (though it’s worth noting that their romance ends in tragedy when the latter is thrown to the Minotaur and his body hanged in the public square as an example to the rest of the populace). It’s all deliriously queer and messy and fun and sad, and it’s all quite simply a delight.
Kaos is one of those things that’s all too rare on Netflix these days: a black comedy gem that manages to make the ancient myths feel new and relevant while also staying largely true to their original (very troubling) spirit. It also asks us some tough questions about the myths that we’ve come to know. In one particularly powerful moment, Persephone takes Hera to task for propagating the lie that she was either raped by Hades or at the very least taken to the Underworld against her will. To what extent does anyone get to tell their own story? Do any of us really have any agency at all? What agency can there be, when even the gods can’t control their own prophecies?
This is heady stuff, and Kaos manages to turn Greek mythology inside out. Even one of ancient myth’s most beloved love stories–that of Orpheus and Eurydice–is given a fresh spin, one that is, in its own way, even more achingly tragic than the original. Suffice it to say that I loved every minute of this strange and bleakly comedic show, particularly the way that it challenges us to think in new ways about the divine and the role it plays in our lives. The fact that it does all of this while giving us a season that is both complete but also leaves space for a continuation? That, my friends, is true mythic greatness.