We love to watch rich people flounder, don’t we? TV’s favorite genre these days seems to be “soapy luxury satire with flawed women,” and half of them seem to star Nicole Kidman, from The White Lotus to The Perfect Couple to Nine Perfect Strangers. Now Netflix brings us Sirens (now streaming; I’ve seen all five episodes), with Julianne Moore leading an all-star cast wallowing in money and sex and bad behavior. All that glitters is not gold, though: The comedy aspects don’t really work, and the glamour gives way to a stark examination of psychological trauma,leaving us with a serious case of tonal whiplash.
The White Lotus alum Meghann Fahy plays Devon, a broke waitress with two DUIs who’s stuck at home taking care of a dad with dementia. Meanwhile, her sister Simone (House of the Dragon’s Milly Alcock) is living the Instagram-ready life as the loyal assistant to Michaela (Moore), an ultra-wealthy socialite who forbids carbs at her beachfront estate and leads a cult-like group of bird enthusiasts, complete with their own signature greeting. (“Hey hey”!) Simone and Michaela have become thoroughly enmeshed —they even share gum! —and Devon takes it upon herself to break the spell and bring her sister home… whether she wants to come home or not.
At first, Sirens plays like a seaside blend of The White Lotus and Big Little Lies, with a little Stepford Wives mixed in. Series creator Molly Smith Metzler also created Netflix’s acclaimed Maid, and she’s clearly interested in investigating the intricacies of wealth, privilege and class. The satire here is pitched a level too high, though, like it’s trying to make itself into a guilty pleasure. (And that never works.) The rich women in Michaela’s orbit are all airheaded drones, singing along to “WAP” in their custom Range Rovers. Plus, Devon’s dad and his dementia get played for laughs in a way that feels icky.
But the laughs don’t last, and Sirens gets pretty dark in later episodes, putting us through a series of intense trauma dumps that clash with the goofy satire surrounding them. The comedy and the luxury are really kind of a Trojan horse, to deliver a stealth psychological drama about women and how they relate to each other. (And Moore, Alcock and Fahy are good enough actors to almost make it work for a time there.) But by the end, Sirens shifts gears again and descends into bewildering melodrama with a nonsensical final twist that feels tacked on for the sake of having a big final twist. There’s potential here, especially in Devon and Simone’s fraught relationship, but it ultimately rings false.
Sirens’ length is confusing, too: At five hour-long episodes, it feels like a movie that’s twice as long as it needs to be. Like everything on Netflix, it’s built to binge, with pre-fabricated cliffhangers, but that just makes it feel all the more disposable. It tosses in a few ominous implications of murder, as this genre dictates,but most of them turn out to be red herrings intended to string us along until the end. In fact, several plotlines emerge and then just peter out without any real resolution.
Another glaring problem is Fahy’s casting as Devon: She simply does not compute as a drunk, aimless loser. The show works overtime to de-glam Devon —she smokes! Her phone has a “No F—ks Given” sticker on it! — but when she goes undercover as a polished rich girl, it’s not a surprise that she cleans up nice. It’s more like “Of course!” As Michaela’s hedge fund manager husband Peter, Kevin Bacon is really just an accessory to the women. Moore employs a hypnotically breathy voice as Michaela, like she’s in a haze of prescription meds, but she does eventually find some humanity within the prototypical boss babe. Alcock might be the best part of this, though: She has some nice moments when Simone lets the veneer of perfection slip.
I get it: Every network is trying to make their own White Lotus right now. But it’s not as easy as it looks. Lotus might grab our attention with murder and incest, but it’s actually pretty nuanced in the way it explores class differences and builds complex characters. Sirens tries, but it never quite gets there. It’s like a novel you buy at the airport and read on the beach —and then promptly forget all about once you get back home.
THE TVLINE BOTTOM LINE: Sirens tries to follow in The White Lotus’ footsteps with soapy drama in a luxury setting, but the satire falls flat, and the tone is hopelessly jumbled.
That’s our take, but what’s yours? Sirens is now streaming on Netflix: If you’ve already started binge-watching, give it a grade in our poll, and then share your thoughts in the comments.