TV Review: "Sirens"
The new Netflix series is a heady and addictive blend of melodrama, black humor, and social critique, anchored by terrific performances from Julianne Moore, Meghann Fahy, and Milly Alcock.
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Warning: Spoilers for the series follow.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that if there is a project starring Julianne Moore that I will devour it. Along with Cate Blanchett and a handful of other actresses of a certain age, she is one of those Hollywood stars who command my absolute loyalty, so when I saw that she was starring in a new Netflix series I knew that I was going to watch it. The fact that it also stars Meghann Fahy and Milly Alcock made it even more appealing.
I can assure you that I was not disappointed. In some ways, Sirens is of a piece with the many other series of recent vintage that have explored the lives and dysfunctions of the rich–including Netflix’s own The Perfect Couple–but it also draws on some other strands as well. I saw more than a little bit of Rebecca in it (with Julianne Moore’s Michaela standing in for Rebecca), as well as a whole horde of women’s melodramas. Add in a dash of White Lotus type black humor, and you have the makings of a highly enjoyable series that does not disappoint.
Meghann Fahy stars as Devon DeWitt, a troubled young woman who’s been saddled with taking care of her father, Bruce (Bill Camp), who has begun to exhibit signs of debilitating dementia. Upon visiting her younger sister Simone (Alcock) on her employer Michaela’s (Moore) vast estate, she finds that there is something not quite right about her sibling’s relationship with her boss. As the series unfolds, Meghann acts as something of a chaos agent, even as all three women have to grapple with thorny questions about femininity, sisterhood, power, and wealth.
It probably goes without saying, but Moore is nothing short of incandescent in this role. This is exactly the type of woman that she excels at playing, all hidden depths and icy exterior, with just a dash of daffiness (among other things, she rehabilitates raptors and other large birds). At first we’re led to see Michaela as just another vapid and eccentric wealthy woman but, as the series goes on, she slowly reveals her inner layers. This is a woman, after all, who left a career as a high-powered lawyer to become the wife of an enigmatic billionaire, a man who wrapped her up in an NDA that made it clear, as she puts it so powerfully in the final episode, that he cared more about her ovaries than he did about her. When, in the end, Simone ultimately supplants her in her husband’s affections, she takes it all with a rather remarkable measure of calm. Given what we’ve seen of her thus far, however, it also makes sense. She isn’t a woman who is going to indulge in self-flagellation or self-pity. Instead, she’s going to charge into the future, even if she has absolutely no idea what it holds.
(As a total side note: someone needs to write an essay about Julianne Moore, her characters, and their relationship with mirrors. I don’t think I’ve seen a major production in which one of her characters doesn’t spend at least some time gazing into a mirror, often with a pensive look on her face).
While it would have been very easy for Moore to overshadow everyone else in the production, both Fahy and Alcock more than hold their own. Indeed, I’ve been quite blown away by just how Meghann Fahy has exploded into the public consciousness, first in The White Lotus and then in films like Drop. She has a real knack for digging deeply into her characters’ psychologies, and she is particularly striking as Devon. This is a young woman who has gone through tremendous tragedy and trauma in her young life and yet, despite the scars that she bears, and despite the fact that her younger sister has, by the end, become someone that she doesn’t know, she still makes it clear that she loves her. This role demands a fine balance between humor and pathos, and Fahy more than delivers.
Of all three women, Alcock’s Simone is arguably the most enigmatic, and the young British actress–who earned so much praise for playing the young Rhaenyra in House of the Dragon–is at the top of her game. Beneath her bright and competent exterior there is still the scared and scarred little girl who was nearly killed by her mother during the latter’s suicide and was essentially abandoned by her deeply depressed father. When, in the end, she finally supplants Michaela’s place in her husband’s affections, it seems that she has at last gained the security that she has always sought but never truly found. The haunting nature of the final frame–not to mention Peter’s tendency to abandon his wives in pursuit of new amorous adventures–suggests that her time in the sun might be brief.
The male members of the cast are also superb. Kevin Bacon is suave and yet a little menacing as Peter Kell, Michaela’s husband, a man who is clearly used to using his wealth to get what he wants. He’s one of those men who tends to see women primarily through the lens of what they can give him, and he is also one of those people who uses and disposes of those who he believes thwart his desires. Glenn Howerton is also suitably vapid as a wealthy dandy who pursues Simone, and Josh Segarra, Felix Solis, and Lauren Weedman are great supporting characters. It’s Bill Camp, though, who gives a scene-stealing performance as father Bruce, a man whose dementia is taking away his identity and his memories even as his daughters both struggle with the damage he has inflicted on them.
Aesthetically Sirens is very much in the Netflix style, and I couldn’t help but laugh at the review that said it was essentially The White Lotus but in pastels. To be sure, there’s some truth to that remark, but I also think that there’s more substance to Sirens than there is in many of the streamer’s other similar productions (including The Perfect Couple, which I found rather empty). This is a series that bites deep into the material. This is women’s melodrama at its best and most compelling.
In the end, I found myself quite enchanted by Sirens. It was the perfect blend of haunting and beautiful, emotionally resonant and bitingly funny, grounded by performances that gave us something more than just cardboard cutout characters. If I have one complaint, it’s that I don’t feel like 5 episodes was quite enough to do this story justice. Given that this is Netflix, though, it’s very possible that we might get a second season and, if we did, I certainly wouldn’t complain.