Martin Cid's Blog: Martin Cid Magazine

Netflix’s Mantis: The Rules Are Broken. A New Killer Takes the Shadows

In the meticulously constructed cinematic universe of contract killers, where order is maintained by a rigid, almost corporate, set of rules, chaos is the ultimate contagion. Netflix’s new action thriller, Mantis, plunges directly into such an epidemic. The film, whose Korean title is Samagwi, operates not as a standalone narrative but as a calculated expansion of the world first delineated in the 2023 feature Kill Boksoon. It explores the power vacuum that follows the collapse of an established hierarchy, a premise encapsulated by its stark tagline: “The rules are broken. Who dares take the shadows?”. This is more than a simple genre exercise; it is a clinical examination of ambition and survival in a state of anarchic flux. The film functions as a significant artifact of a broader industrial strategy, one where individual stories are no longer disposable commodities but foundational elements in the cultivation of long-term, interconnected intellectual property. It signals a maturation in the global streaming paradigm, moving beyond the production of singular hits toward the deliberate architecture of entire narrative ecosystems.

Narrative Architecture: A Triangular Power Struggle

The film’s narrative economy is driven not by labyrinthine plotting but by the volatile triangulation of its central characters, whose psychological fractures and shifting allegiances provide the story’s primary engine. The catalyst is the death of Cha Min-kyu, the formidable leader of the assassin agency MK Ent., an event that sends the entire contract killer industry into a tailspin. Into this void steps Han-ul, an ace assassin codenamed “Mantis,” portrayed by Yim Si-wan. Returning from a prolonged hiatus, he perceives the systemic collapse not as a crisis but as an opportunity, promptly establishing his own startup, the “Mantis Company”. This entrepreneurial framing deliberately subverts genre expectations, mixing the killer’s story with the theme of a young person starting out in society, aiming to show a more human and less flawless side to its assassins. His re-entry forces a reunion with Jae-yi, played by Park Gyu-young, a former trainee and friend who has since become a formidable killer in her own right. Their shared history is a complex tapestry of camaraderie and nascent romance, made precarious by Jae-yi’s simmering jealousy over Han-ul’s innate talent. This dynamic is further complicated by Benjamin (Choi Hyun-wook), an external investor and CEO of an action gaming company who, recognizing Jae-yi’s skill, challenges her loyalty to Han-ul. Completing this unstable structure is Dok-go, a legendary retired founder of the original organization, played by veteran actor Jo Woo-jin. Disturbed by the crumbling of his legacy and hating to be “treated as an old man in the back room,” he emerges from the shadows to reclaim control. The narrative tension is amplified through terse, barbed exchanges that lay bare the characters’ mistrust, transforming the film into a tense exploration of personal betrayal where professional violence is merely a symptom of deeper emotional conflicts. This structure functions as a potent generational allegory. Dok-go represents the old guard, a figure of institutional memory attempting to restore a legacy system. Han-ul and Jae-yi are the disruptive new generation—the “MZ killers,” as the filmmakers have described them—who view the wreckage of the old world as fertile ground for ambition. The film thus stages a fundamental ideological schism, where the “broken rules” signify not just industry regulations but the erosion of societal traditions, elevating the narrative from a straightforward action piece to a nuanced social commentary.

Mantis

Directorial Vision: The Kinetics of Emotion

Mantis marks the feature directorial debut of Lee Tae-sung, whose apprenticeship as an assistant director on polished genre pieces like The King, The Policeman’s Lineage, and the film’s direct predecessor, Kill Boksoon, is evident in the final product’s visual confidence. Further ensuring a consistent creative DNA, the screenplay was co-written by Byun Sung-hyun, the director of the original film. Lee’s authorial signature, however, emerges in his treatment of action not as spectacle but as a physical manifestation of his characters’ internal states. He posits that the film’s narrative is propelled by subtle emotional shifts and personal judgments, and in a key directorial choice, instructed martial arts director Ryu Seong-cheol to design the fight choreography as a direct extension of those emotions. This philosophy is most clearly articulated through the characters’ signature weapons, each a carefully chosen signifier of their psychology. Han-ul wields a double-sided sickle, a weapon whose sleek, precise, and dualistic nature mirrors his own persona. Jae-yi’s weapon is an exaggeratedly long sword, its sweeping, attention-demanding movements a clear externalization of her ambition and underlying inferiority complex. Dok-go, the veteran, employs the tonfa, a practical tool of both offense and defense whose heavy, impactful strikes convey his resilience and grounded experience. This deliberate choice to arm modern assassins with almost archaic, personalized weapons is an act of stylization that removes the violence from the realm of gritty hyper-realism. Instead, the action sequences function as kinetic, non-verbal dialogues—operatic ballets of violence that articulate the power struggles, jealousies, and desperation that the characters are otherwise unable to express.

Character Study: The Ascendance of Yim Si-wan

The film’s gravitational center is unquestionably the performance of Yim Si-wan as Han-ul, a role that serves as the culmination of a multi-year career pivot. Originally a member of the K-pop group ZE:A, Yim built his formidable acting reputation on a foundation of earnest, empathetic portrayals in acclaimed projects such as the legal drama The Attorney and the seminal workplace series Misaeng: Incomplete Life. A decisive shift began with his turn as an undercover cop with wavering loyalties in the neo-noir The Merciless, a role that first showcased his capacity for moral ambiguity. This was the beginning of a calculated exploration of darker archetypes, including the unhinged bio-terrorist in Emergency Declaration, the chilling cyberstalker in Unlocked, and his internationally recognized villainous role in Squid Game. His portrayal of Han-ul in Mantis is a synthesis of this entire trajectory. He embodies the “representative MZ killer”—stylish, individualistic, and disdainful of convention. Yet, in a specific acting choice, Yim layers this persona with a concealed warmth, a vulnerability that is deliberately masked by a prickly, defensive exterior. This creates a compelling anti-hero whose internal conflicts are palpable. The performance weaponizes the audience’s expectation of sincerity, derived from his early career, to make his capacity for violence and moral ambiguity all the more unsettling. It is a meta-performance that draws power from the viewer’s familiarity with his filmography; the ghost of his Misaeng persona haunts the hardened shell forged in The Merciless, resulting in a character of profound and compelling complexity.

The Ensemble and the Ecosystem

While anchored by Yim Si-wan, the narrative integrity of Mantis is fortified by a meticulously curated ensemble whose dedication was such that, according to the lead actor, the set “smelled strongly of pain-relief patches”. Park Gyu-young, known for her roles in Netflix hits like Sweet Home, delivers a nuanced performance as Jae-yi, a character whose motivations are a volatile cocktail of ambition, affection, and profound jealousy toward Han-ul. Her portrayal provides the film with its crucial emotional counterpoint. As the fading legend Dok-go, Jo Woo-jin embodies the weight of history, a formidable figure who provides a grounded, intimidating presence that serves as a powerful obstacle to the aspirations of the younger generation. The film’s connection to its predecessor is solidified through the strategic use of cameos by Sul Kyung-gu and Jeon Do-yeon, who briefly reprise their roles as Cha Min-kyu and Gil Bok-soon. These appearances are more than fan service; they are a critical narrative device that firmly anchors Mantis within its established universe. The film also serves as a platform for emerging talent, featuring the feature film debuts of young actors Choi Hyun-wook, Bae Gang-hee, and Hwang Sung-bin. The casting of Yim Si-wan and Park Gyu-young, both alumni of the global phenomenon Squid Game, represents a particularly astute piece of marketing synergy. Though their characters did not interact in that series, their reunion here is a calculated move to attract a broad international audience, demonstrating a highly integrated approach to leveraging a global content library.

Industrial Context: The K-Content Gambit

To fully appreciate Mantis is to situate it within the macroeconomic landscape of the global streaming wars. The film is not merely a creative work but a strategic asset in Netflix’s high-stakes campaign to achieve market dominance through high-quality, localized content. South Korea has become the crown jewel of this strategy, backed by a staggering $2.5 billion investment pledge over four years. This influx of capital has dramatically elevated production values, with the average cost per K-drama episode surging from around $360,000 in 2015 to upwards of $2.4 million for Netflix originals like Sweet Home. Netflix’s success is predicated on a localization model that empowers local creators to tell Korean stories for a domestic audience first, which then find remarkable global resonance. This “ripple effect” has been shown to spark worldwide interest in Korean culture, language, and tourism, creating a potent soft-power feedback loop. Mantis, produced by SEE AT Film Co., LTD (the same house behind Kill Boksoon), is a quintessential product of this model: it is a high-production-value genre film; it elevates a first-time director, demonstrating a commitment to nurturing new talent; and it employs the franchise-building spin-off model to create a durable, long-term asset. This approach represents a solution to one of the streaming industry’s most pressing challenges: content saturation and the need for cost-effective IP generation. In a hyper-competitive market, the spin-off model is a more capital-efficient method for generating engaging content than the perpetual, high-risk search for the next mega-hit. By expanding the Kill Boksoon universe, Netflix is not just releasing another film; it is deepening the intrinsic value of its library and creating a network effect where one property drives engagement with another. This industrial logic—the strategic shift from producing shows to building universes—is the defining characteristic of the current phase of media consolidation, and Mantis is a perfect illustration of this strategy executed with precision.

Mantis is a sophisticated, character-driven action film that succeeds entirely on its own creative terms. It is a showcase for Lee Tae-sung’s confident directorial debut and a confirmation of Yim Si-wan’s status as one of the most compelling and versatile actors of his generation. Simultaneously, it serves as a fascinating indicator of the future direction of global streaming content, a testament to the symbiotic and world-conquering partnership between the creative vitality of contemporary South Korean cinema and the industrial might of its most significant global distributor.

The film premiered worldwide on Netflix on September 26, 2025.

French Lover: A Thoughtful Deconstruction of the Parisian Rom-Com on Netflix

In the saturated landscape of streaming content, the Parisian romantic comedy often arrives as a familiar, almost comforting confection. Netflix’s latest French-language original, French Lover, presents a premise that is, on its surface, the very essence of this archetype: a globally recognized movie star finds an improbable connection with a down-to-earth waitress in the heart of the French capital. Yet, to dismiss the film as a mere retread of a well-worn narrative would be to overlook its subtle and intelligent deconstruction of the very tropes it employs. The film frequently evokes comparisons to cinematic predecessors like Notting Hill, but it uses this shared generic DNA not for imitation, but as a cultural shorthand—a baseline from which to measure its own contemporary and compelling deviations. It is a work that leverages the global audience’s familiarity with the “celebrity-meets-commoner” fantasy to deliver what many have termed a “reverse, more empowered” version of the story, a more nuanced exploration of fame, authenticity, and the architecture of a modern relationship.

A meta-commentary on celebrity and the search for sincerity

At the film’s center is Abel Camara, an A-list actor portrayed by Omar Sy. Abel is a man adored by the public but privately adrift in an existential crisis, a pampered star whose life is a whirlwind of obligations and manufactured appearances. The casting of Sy, one of France’s most internationally celebrated actors, is a deliberate and resonant choice that imbues the character with an immediate layer of verisimilitude. The performance is less an act of invention and more one of curated reflection. Sy leverages his own charismatic persona and global stardom to explore the chasm between public perception and private reality, a theme he has acknowledged as a personal point of interest. This creates a potent meta-narrative; when Abel navigates a world of sycophants and struggles to find sincerity, the audience is implicitly invited to consider the lived experience of the actor embodying him. His on-screen crisis feels less like a plot device and more like a tender, insightful commentary on the machinery of the film industry itself. This is a departure for Sy from characters who have been unlucky in love, placing him squarely in the role of a romantic lead who must deconstruct his own self-involvement to find a genuine connection. His journey is supported by a cast that includes Pascale Arbillot as his manager, effectively illustrating the gilded cage of celebrity from which he seeks escape.

French Lover

The empowered pragmatist as a narrative anchor

The narrative counterweight to Abel’s gilded world is Marion, a financially struggling waitress and chef played with grounded conviction by Sara Giraudeau. Marion is constructed as the antithesis of the starstruck ingenue. She is a self-sufficient, matter-of-fact woman, navigating an acrimonious divorce, who is not merely unimpressed by Abel’s fame but is actively un-intimidated by its trappings. This characterization is the film’s most significant and refreshing inversion of genre convention. Where traditional narratives might position the “ordinary” character as someone to be rescued or elevated, Marion remains firmly in control of her own world, decisively setting the parameters for their affair. Giraudeau’s performance is crucial in making this dynamic credible; she projects a pragmatism that grounds the film’s high-concept premise in emotional reality. The palpable chemistry between the two leads arises not from a fairytale dynamic, but from a negotiation between equals who genuinely see and support one another. Marion’s refusal to be swept away by the spectacle of Abel’s life is what makes her compelling. The film posits that in an era saturated with celebrity worship, authenticity is a currency more valuable than fame, and Marion’s self-possession is not a barrier to romance but the very prerequisite for an authentic one.

A directorial debut marked by finesse and experience

The film marks the feature directorial debut of Lisa-Nina Rives, who guides the narrative with a finesse and tenderness that belies her first-time status. Her assured, heartfelt vision is not accidental but is rather the culmination of a long and distinguished career as a script supervisor on numerous major French productions, including films like Two Is a Family and The Chef. The script supervisor’s role, which demands a meticulous focus on narrative continuity and performance detail, has clearly provided Rives with a profound understanding of cinematic storytelling. Her direction is performance-focused and emotionally intelligent, a direct translation of years spent safeguarding the narrative core of other filmmakers’ work. This foundation is buttressed by a collaborative ecosystem built on pre-existing trust. Rives previously worked with Omar Sy on Lupin and the screenplay was co-written with Hugo Gélin, who also directed Sy and serves as a producer here, and Noémie Saglio, a seasoned writer and director known for creating the modern and engaging Netflix series Plan Cœur (The Hook Up Plan). This creative synergy results in a screenplay that is both witty and insightful, exploring the contrast between celebrity and the quotidian with a mature hand. A particularly telling detail is the inclusion of a scene where Abel is on a film set being directed by a female filmmaker, a subtle but significant choice that reflects a modern sensibility behind the camera..

The visual and sonic texture of a realistic Paris

The film’s aesthetic choices further elevate it beyond standard genre fare. The cinematography, by Renaud Chassaing, eschews picturesque clichés for a more textured and authentic vision of Paris.. Chassaing’s established style favors a realistic image imbued with a subtle poetry, often employing techniques that lend softness and character to the sharp precision of digital cameras. He has a passion for vintage lenses, such as the Canon K35 series, which he uses to add a sought-after “patina” and diffuse highlights for a more pictorial result, balancing precision with softness. His approach aligns with Sy’s stated desire to show a real Paris, the city of Parisians, rather than a romanticized backdrop. This visual storytelling is complemented by the score from composer Guillaume Ferran. Known for his work in the neo-classical style, akin to artists like Max Richter, Ferran’s compositions are typically atmospheric, emotional, and introspective, as heard in his work for documentaries like One Breath Around the World. This suggests a sonic landscape designed to underscore the characters’ internal states—Abel’s quiet melancholy and Marion’s resilient spirit—rather than to provide the upbeat pop soundtrack of a conventional comedy. Together, the sophisticated cinematography and contemplative score function as a form of aesthetic counter-programming, grounding the romantic story in a dramatic realism that gives it unexpected weight and sincerity. The supporting cast, which includes the comedic talents of Alban Ivanov, further enriches this textured world.

A heartfelt and intelligent update to a beloved formula

Ultimately, French Lover succeeds not by reinventing the romantic comedy, but by thoughtfully refreshing its core components for a contemporary audience. It maintains the comforting narrative beats of the genre while infusing them with a modern perspective on agency, celebrity, and the nature of connection. The film’s primary strengths lie in the magnetic, multi-layered performances of Omar Sy and Sara Giraudeau; the confident and empathetic direction of Lisa-Nina Rives; and an intelligent screenplay that champions a self-possessed female protagonist. It is an appealing and heartfelt film that finds its considerable charm not in grand gestures, but in the quiet, authentic moments that flourish even under the intense glare of the spotlight. It is a sweet, funny, and earnest love story that feels both timeless in its appeal and distinctly of its moment.

French Lover is available for streaming worldwide on Netflix. The film was released on September 26, 2025.

The Transposition of Scripture in Contemporary Cinema: Ruth & Boaz on Netflix

The new Netflix film Ruth & Boaz positions itself within the long and varied tradition of cinematic biblical exegesis, a twofold process of interpretation involving both the filmmaker’s production choices and the audience’s active reception. Rather than a historical reenactment, the work is a deliberate transposition—a strategy in modern biblical adaptation that closes the imaginative and emotional distance for contemporary audiences by shifting ancient narratives into a familiar cultural milieu. The film establishes a stark dichotomy between two such milieus: the high-stakes, commercially driven hip-hop scene of Atlanta and the pastoral quietude of rural Tennessee. These settings become the primary arenas for a modern morality play exploring themes of loyalty, grief, and redemption. The project’s conceptual origins are notable, stemming not from a conventional studio pitch but directly from producer DeVon Franklin’s theological engagement with the source material. The film was conceived while Franklin, who is also a preacher, was developing a sermon series on the Book of Ruth. In this process, he identified a significant lacuna in the cultural landscape: the absence of a modern adaptation of this particular story centered on characters of color. This pastoral insight converged with his professional search for an inaugural project for his faith-based film partnership with producer Tyler Perry, providing Ruth & Boaz with a distinct authorial intentionality rooted in ministry and cultural messaging.

A Narrative of Modern Redemption

The screenplay, penned by Michael Elliot and Cory Tynan, meticulously re-engineers the biblical archetypes for a modern audience. The protagonist, Ruth Moably, portrayed by Serayah McNeill, is re-envisioned as a rising hip-hop artist on the verge of signing a major record deal. A personal tragedy—the death of her boyfriend—serves as the catalyst for her to abandon this burgeoning career and the glamorous life it represents. Fulfilling the scriptural model of unwavering loyalty, she relocates to a small town in Tennessee to care for Naomi, her late boyfriend’s grieving mother, played by Phylicia Rashad. This new, unfamiliar environment is where she encounters the film’s kinsman-redeemer figure, Boaz, a vineyard owner portrayed by Tyler Lepley. The narrative arc follows their developing romance as Ruth confronts the unresolved trauma of her past and deepens her spiritual convictions. The choice to set Boaz’s domain in a vineyard, as opposed to the barley fields of the original text, is a potent and deliberate symbolic substitution. In the Judeo-Christian lexicon, the vineyard is a recurring and powerful symbol of divine blessing, fruitful labor, and God’s chosen people. This setting is placed in direct opposition to the Atlanta music scene Ruth leaves behind, a world depicted as transactional and ultimately unfulfilling. Her physical journey from the stage to the vineyard thus functions as a clear visual metaphor for her spiritual and emotional transition from a life of worldly ambition to one of healing, growth, and divine provision. The selection of the screenwriters further underscores the production’s strategic depth. Michael Elliot is the writer behind culturally significant films such as Brown Sugar and Carmen: A Hip Hopera, while Cory Tynan wrote Play’d: A Hip Hop Story. Their collective filmography demonstrates a specific and proven expertise in narratives that authentically fuse Black romance with the intricacies of music culture, ensuring the film’s foundational premise is grounded in credible world-building.

Performance and Characterology

The film’s thematic weight is carried by its principal cast. Serayah McNeill, whose work in Empire familiarized her with narratives of the music industry, portrays Ruth’s journey through grief, displacement, and the eventual rediscovery of purpose. Tyler Lepley, known for roles in P-Valley and Harlem, embodies Boaz not as a mythological savior but as a grounded, generous man whose love is presented as unconditional and non-transactional. Their on-screen chemistry is central to the film’s romantic core, a dynamic made more complex by its unusual off-screen origins. The two actors were cast while simultaneously co-starring as brother and sister in a horror film titled Goons. This pre-existing professional rapport, forged in a starkly different generic context, had to be transmuted into a romantic, faith-based connection, adding a unique intertextual layer to their performance. The veteran actress Phylicia Rashad, as the matriarch Naomi, serves as the story’s emotional anchor, lending significant dramatic gravitas to the proceedings. Further enhancing the film’s verisimilitude is the casting of several music industry luminaries in supporting roles, including Kenneth “Babyface” Edmonds, Jermaine Dupri, the Christian rapper Lecrae, and Yung Joc. Their presence lends an immediate authenticity to the scenes set within the Atlanta music world, grounding the narrative’s initial conflict in a recognizable reality.

The Cinematic and Sonic Landscape

The film’s aesthetic is shaped by a creative team whose prior work signals a commitment to dramatic substance. The direction is by Alanna Brown, whose feature debut, Trees of Peace, was a claustrophobic and harrowing survival drama about four women hiding during the Rwandan genocide. Her established facility with intense, character-driven storytelling and the forging of human bonds under extreme duress informs the emotional core of Ruth & Boaz, elevating it beyond the conventions of a lightweight romance. By engaging a director whose proven strength lies in depicting resilience in the crucible of suffering, the producers underscore an intent to excavate the deep psychological and emotional underpinnings of the biblical narrative. Brown’s directorial style often zooms into intimate settings to explore massive, horrifying situations, propelling a deeper understanding of humanity and handling mature subject matter with delicacy rather than shock value. This directorial vision is rendered through the visual language crafted by cinematographer Michael Negrin. His work establishes a clear thematic contrast between the film’s two primary settings, employing distinct lighting schemes, color palettes, and compositional strategies to differentiate the frenetic energy of Atlanta from the tranquil, restorative atmosphere of rural Tennessee. The sonic identity of the film is equally crucial. The score is composed by Kurt Farquhar, a veteran composer with a deep and influential history in scoring Black television series, having worked on shows from Moesha to Black Lightning. His approach is notably versatile; rather than adhering to a single style, he allows the story and characters to guide his musical hand, viewing himself as an instrument for the directors and producers. This adaptability, combined with a personal history that he credits with fostering deep empathy, makes his compositions particularly effective in dramatic contexts. The diegetic music is also a key narrative device. An original song titled “Faithful,” composed by Kenneth “Babyface” Edmonds and performed by Serayah, functions as a direct expression of the protagonist’s internal state, articulating her character arc and the film’s central thematic progression from despair to hope.

A Cultural Intervention

As a cultural product, Ruth & Boaz represents a significant and strategic initiative. It is the inaugural project from the high-profile partnership between Tyler Perry and DeVon Franklin, a collaboration explicitly designed to produce a slate of faith-based films for Netflix’s global platform. The film’s stated mission is to “spread some good” and “uplift the human spirit,” positioning it as an intentional counter-narrative to what the producers describe as an increasingly cold and polarizing world. This venture is a strategic convergence of three powerful entities: Tyler Perry’s formidable production empire and established audience, DeVon Franklin’s brand of mainstream inspirational media, and Netflix’s unparalleled global distribution and data-driven market access.

The film premiered on Netflix on September 26.

The Long Now: Saatchi Gallery Marks Four Decades by Looking Squarely at the Present

Saatchi Gallery’s fortieth year is being observed not with a retrospective but with The Long Now, a group exhibition that treats the institution’s history as an active platform for new work and renewed encounters with landmark pieces. Supported by De Beers London and curated by former Senior Director Philippa Adams, the exhibition spans two floors and nine galleries, combining special commissions with installations, painting, sculpture, and moving-image works. The stated aim is straightforward: to reaffirm the gallery’s role as a space where artists test materials, ideas, and publics—without turning the anniversary into a victory lap.

At the center of The Long Now is a preoccupation with process—how marks are made, how materials resist or enable, and how images come into being. Works by Alice Anderson, Rannva Kunoy, and Carolina Mazzolari set the tone. Each approaches facture as subject: Anderson’s labor-intensive wrapping and weaving, Kunoy’s atmospheric surfaces that catch and shed light, and Mazzolari’s textile-led compositions that blur drawing, painting, and sculpture. The effect is less about style than about showing the work of making, where the hand remains visible and the outcome is a record of attention over time.

A second thread follows artists who push at the edges of medium and message. Tim Noble, André Butzer, Dan Colen, Jake Chapman, and Polly Morgan appear as nodes in a longer conversation about experimentation. Rather than staging greatest-hits tableaux, the exhibition places these works as testing grounds for how meaning is constructed—through juxtaposition, through scale, through conceptual gambits that implicate audience expectations. Their presence underscores a consistent Saatchi tendency: to put risk on display and let the argument unfold in the galleries.

Painting, long a through-line of the gallery’s program, is represented with breadth and technical contrast. Jenny Saville’s Passage (2004) offers a concentrated study of the contemporary body—unidealized, complex, insistently present—reminding viewers why her work has anchored debates around figurative painting over the past quarter-century. Nearby, Alex Katz’s planar precision, Michael Raedecker’s stitched and painted surfaces, Ansel Krut’s off-kilter figuration, Martine Poppe’s ethereal veils, and Jo Dennis’s hybridized approaches present a spectrum of strategies. The grouping makes a plain point: painting is not a single discourse but a set of overlapping languages, continually revised.

Two installations provide the show’s clearest arguments about participation and transformation. Allan Kaprow’s YARD, a field of car tires historically activated by visitors’ movement, recasts sculpture as environment—a place to navigate rather than an object to behold at distance. Overhead, Conrad Shawcross’s Golden Lotus (Inverted) suspends a vintage Lotus car as kinetic sculpture, previously shown in the gallery’s Sweet Harmony: Rave Today exhibition. Read together, the works propose complementary models of agency. Kaprow invites audience intervention; Shawcross retools a piece of industrial design into an object for slow looking, suggesting that technological forms can be stripped of function and reassigned to reflection.

The show also acknowledges the present’s most contested terrains—surveillance, automation, and the ethical pressure points of artificial intelligence. Works by Chino Moya and Mat Collishaw examine how images are produced, sorted, and circulated by machines, prompting a basic question: what does it mean to delegate seeing to systems? Rather than offering didactic answers, the works foreground the apparatus itself—image capture, pattern recognition, distribution—and the way those processes alter how people understand the world and one another.

Environmental strain and material afterlives emerge as another recurring motif. Gavin Turk’s Bardo, presented in fragmented glass panels, reads as a meditation on transition and impermanence—stable enough to hold an image, unstable enough to suggest fracture. Light-based pieces by Olafur Eliasson, Chris Levine, and Frankie Boyle slow perception to a crawl, inviting viewers to register incremental shifts that usually pass unnoticed. Meanwhile, contributions by Edward Burtynsky, Steven Parrino, Peter Buggenhout, Ibrahim Mahama, Ximena Garrido-Lecca, and Christopher Le Brun address extraction, residue, and renewal from different angles and with markedly different materials. The curatorial through-line is pragmatic: climate and industry are not “topics” to be illustrated but conditions under which art is now made and seen.

Richard Wilson’s 20:50 functions as both a historical anchor and an experiential crescendo. The installation fills a room to waist height with recycled engine oil, its mirror-still surface reflecting architecture with disorienting precision. A narrow walkway carries viewers into a chamber where orientation is scrambled and edges dissolve; sightlines seem to extend into a second, inverted space. Previously installed at each of Saatchi Gallery’s three locations, the work reappears here in a new setting on an upper floor, altering the encounter while preserving its core effect. In this context, the material—oil—gains an added charge, but the work resists easy sloganeering. It is a lesson in looking: enter carefully, register the instability, and notice how perception reshapes what appears to be solid.

If anniversary exhibitions often default to institutional self-portraiture, The Long Now keeps the institution in the background and the artwork in the foreground. Adams’s curatorial scaffolding is clear but light, giving space for the installations to carry the argument. The gallery’s current status as a registered charity is noted in practical terms—ticket income is reinvested in programming and access initiatives—while support from De Beers London is presented as sponsorship aligned with a commitment to creativity and innovation rather than as a curatorial determinant.

The artist roster emphasizes intergenerational dialogue and range. Alongside those already mentioned, the exhibition features Olivia Bax, John Currin, Zhivago Duncan, Rafael Gómezbarros, Damien Hirst, Tom Hunter, Henry Hudson, Maria Kreyn, Jeff McMillan, Misha Milovanovich, Ryan Mosley, Alejandro Ospina, Sterling Ruby, Soheila Sokhanvari, John Squire, Dima Srouji, and Alexi Williams Wynn, among others. It is not a canon-building list so much as a cross-section of practices committed to probing how images accrue meaning and value in public space.

Programming and access are built into the exhibition’s frame. Saatchi Gallery Lates extend viewing hours and offer additional entry points for audiences who might otherwise miss the show. Tickets start at £10, with revenues directed back into the organization’s core activities. On the ground floor, a companion presentation organized with the Bagri Foundation—Myths, Dreams and New Realities—spotlights 13 emerging Asian artists, curated by Chelsea Pettitt in collaboration with the Saatchi team. Rather than operate as a satellite, the project runs alongside the main exhibition’s concerns: identity as a dynamic construct, materials as carriers of memory, and narrative as a tool for reimagining the present.

Taken together, The Long Now uses an anniversary not to codify the past but to clarify the present tense of art-making: process foregrounded, participation invited, systems examined, materials tested. The exhibition’s title reads as both description and instruction. Duration matters—not to defer urgency, but to hold attention steady enough for complex work to register. In that sense, the show offers a simple proposition. If a gallery’s value lies in the quality of encounters it makes possible, then the task at forty is the same as at four: bring together objects that demand time, arrange them so they speak across methods and generations, and trust viewers to complete the circuit.

Dates: The Long Now runs November 5, 2025–March 1, 2026. Saatchi Gallery Lates are scheduled for November 7, November 21, December 5, and January 23. The Bagri Foundation’s Myths, Dreams and New Realities is on view October 24–November 30. Tickets start at £10.

Netflix’s House of Guinness: Succession Meets Peaky Blinders in a Saga Forged in Stout and Ambition

A new historical drama from creator Steven Knight, House of Guinness presents a sprawling narrative centered on one of Europe’s most famous and enduring dynasties. The series, an eight-part drama, is set in a period of immense industrial and social change, with its action unfolding across Dublin and New York. The narrative is precipitated by the death of the family patriarch, Sir Benjamin Guinness, the man responsible for the brewery’s extraordinary global success. The engine of the drama is the far-reaching impact of his intricate and cunning will on the fate of his four adult children: Arthur, Edward, Anne, and Ben. The series positions itself as a complex family saga, exploring themes of wealth, poverty, power, and tragedy, framed as a story of succession where the heirs are tasked not only with preserving an immense legacy but with expanding it. This premise deliberately echoes modern tales of corporate inheritance, transposing a contemporary sensibility for the brutal mechanics of power and the psychological toll of legacy onto a historical canvas.

Narrative Architecture and Thematic Concerns

The narrative pivot of the series is the reading of Benjamin Guinness’s will. This event serves as more than a simple plot device; it is an act of posthumous manipulation, a strategic chess move from beyond the grave. The will is constructed to deliberately bind the heirs together, particularly the two eldest sons, chaining them in a shared responsibility that determines their future trajectories. This establishes the central conflict not merely as a corporate succession but as a complex psychological game orchestrated by a deceased father, where personal desires clash with dynastic duty. The series unfolds across two distinct but interconnected geographical and social landscapes: Dublin and New York. This dual focus is not for epic scope alone but functions as a thematic dialectic. Dublin is the seat of the family’s power, the historical heart of their empire, and the site of their complex, often contradictory, relationship with Irish society. It is a city of stark contrasts, where the Guinness name signifies both immense wealth and profound civic philanthropy. New York, in contrast, represents the harsh reality of the Irish immigrant experience, where newcomers faced hostility and were often blamed for the unsanitary conditions they were forced to endure. It is a world of global expansion and opportunity, but also one of squalid tenements and a brutal struggle for survival where illness and injury were rampant. This transatlantic structure allows the narrative to explore the two faces of the Irish experience during this era: the rarefied world of the Anglo-Irish ascendancy and the desperate plight of the diaspora. The accumulation of wealth and power in Dublin is thus held in constant tension with the struggle of their countrymen in the new world, posing critical questions about capital, national identity, and social responsibility.

House of Guinness

Ensemble and Character Dynamics

The series is built around the four Guinness heirs, each an archetype representing a different path for the family’s legacy. Anthony Boyle portrays Arthur, the eldest son, who is burdened by expectation and tasked with balancing business acumen against family loyalty. Historically a political figure, Arthur was elected as a Conservative MP for Dublin in 1868, but the election was declared void due to his agent’s misconduct, forcing his resignation. He is pitted against his brother Edward, played by Louis Partridge. Edward is depicted as the more reckless, assertive, and ambitious sibling, a wild card in the succession plan whose “lust for life” represents a modern, expansionist drive. Historically, it was Edward who would ultimately gain sole control of the brewery by buying out his brother’s share, becoming the richest man in Ireland by the time he retired at age 40. The dynamic between these two brothers, deliberately chained together by their father’s will, is positioned as the heart of the series.

Emily Fairn plays Anne, the only daughter, whose narrative explores the constrained but potent role of women in a patriarchal dynasty. Unable to inherit the business directly, her influence must be wielded through marriage, social connections, and philanthropy, reflecting the indirect channels of power available to women of her class. In reality, Anne became known for her extensive charitable work, helping to establish St. Patrick’s Nursing Home and educational institutions like the Irish Clergy Daughters’ School. The youngest sibling, Benjamin, portrayed by Fionn O’Shea, represents the search for an identity beyond legacy. His arc explores the challenge of carving out a personal space in the shadow of a monumental family name. The supporting ensemble populates this world with figures who challenge and reflect the Guinness dynasty. James Norton plays Sean Rafferty, an outsider whose relationship with the Protestant elite Guinness family is designed to expose the era’s deep-seated class and religious tensions. Jack Gleeson appears as Byron Hedges, a figure from the aristocratic world the Guinnesses navigate. Niamh McCormack’s Ellen Cochrane is a working-class character, grounding the aristocratic drama in the reality of the Dubliners whose livelihoods depend on the brewery. Dervla Kirwan portrays Aunt Agnes Guinness, a family elder who serves as the guardian of tradition and a keeper of secrets. The wider cast includes established talents such as David Wilmot, Michael McElhatton, Danielle Galligan, and Hilda Fay, each representing different facets of the series’ stratified world.

Creative Authorship and Directional Vision

As the sole writer and creator, Steven Knight’s authorial signature is imprinted on the series. His body of work, including Peaky Blinders and SAS: Rogue Heroes, demonstrates a preoccupation with historical grit, morally ambiguous anti-heroes, and the complex dynamics of power within male-dominated family enterprises. Knight is drawn to stories about intelligent individuals born into circumstances that do not require their intelligence, forcing them to find unconventional paths to power. Knight’s preference for writing every episode himself ensures a singular, consistent vision, distinct from the collaborative writers’ room model common in contemporary television. This authorial control is complemented by a strategic dual-director approach that shapes the series’ eight-episode arc into two distinct movements.

Tom Shankland, a director known for building atmospheric tension in dramas like The Missing and Ripper Street, helms the first five episodes. His established proficiency in navigating plot-heavy, genre-inflected storytelling is deployed to meticulously establish the world, the rules of the succession game, and the external pressures facing the heirs. Shankland’s style often focuses on finding the emotional richness within tight genre rules, creating empathy for characters in dysfunctional landscapes. This first block functions as the opening act, setting the board and moving the pieces. The final three episodes are directed by Mounia Akl, a Lebanese filmmaker whose work is distinguished by a more poetic, character-focused sensibility that often explores the human response to crisis. Akl’s filmmaking often examines how external societal crises create internal pressures that can suffocate a family from within. This directorial transition signals a deliberate narrative pivot, shifting the dramatic inquiry from the strategic machinations of the power struggle to its psychological and emotional cost. The structure suggests a climax focused less on who wins the empire and more on what is irrevocably lost in the process, promising a character-driven, emotionally complex resolution.

House of Guinness

Mise-en-Scène and Period Reconstruction

The visual world of House of Guinness is a critical component of its storytelling, designed to externalize the series’ central social conflicts. Production designer Richard Bullock, a frequent collaborator with Knight on projects like Peaky Blinders and SAS: Rogue Heroes, contrasts the opulent interiors of the Guinness dynasty with the grim realities of the world outside their gates. The aesthetic of “sumptuous upholstery, stand collars and chandeliers” serves as a visual manifestation of the family’s immense wealth and their isolation from the city they both dominate and support. The costume design, overseen by an experienced team including Associate Designer Nadine Clifford-Davern, reflects the sharp, stylish aesthetic seen in Knight’s other productions. The clothing functions as a form of armor, reinforcing social status and visually separating the family from the populace. Cinematography by Joe Saade, guided by directors known for their atmospheric and stylized approaches, uses light and shadow to create mood and underscore the thematic dichotomies of wealth and poverty, power and powerlessness. The production, filmed primarily in the north of England with locations in Liverpool and Manchester standing in for period Dublin and New York, transforms its setting and design from mere historical dressing into an active narrative tool, constantly reinforcing the social chasm that drives the drama.

Historical Verisimilitude and Societal Context

The series is anchored in the historical reality of the Guinness family and the socio-economic landscape of their time. The narrative launch point—the death of Sir Benjamin Lee Guinness—is historically grounded. Benjamin was the grandson of the brewery’s founder and the architect of its transformation into a global powerhouse. A noted philanthropist, he also served as Lord Mayor of Dublin and a Member of Parliament. The series uses the factual trajectories of his four children as a foundation for its dramatic interpretation. The Dublin they inhabit is a city of profound contradictions. By 1911, it had the worst housing conditions of any city in the United Kingdom, with great Georgian houses on formerly fashionable streets having devolved into slums. Nearly 26,000 families lived in inner-city tenements, with 20,000 of them crammed into single rooms, leading to a death rate significantly higher than London’s. In parallel, the New York of the era was a crucible for Irish immigrants, a place of opportunity shadowed by intense hardship, discrimination, and exploitation.

Against this backdrop, the Guinness brewery was a remarkable anomaly. It was a symbol of immense capitalist power in an impoverished city, yet it was also a uniquely progressive employer. Guinness salaries were consistently 10 to 20 percent above the Dublin average, and the company provided benefits that were unprecedented for the time, including pensions, free healthcare for employees and their families, paid holidays, and subsidized meals. This central contradiction is the series’ most fertile thematic ground. The Guinness family were simultaneously agents of a colonial-era power structure and benevolent philanthropists who profoundly shaped Dublin for the better. Their contributions included the £150,000 restoration of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, the transformation of St. Stephen’s Green into a public park, and the establishment of the Iveagh Trust, which replaced some of Europe’s worst slums with modern social housing. The narrative is structured to dramatize this very conflict, exploring the morally ambiguous space where immense corporate success coexists with genuine social conscience. The drama arises not from a simple binary of good and evil, but from the complex question of whether such benevolence can ever be fully disentangled from the systems of power that make it possible.

The eight-episode series House of Guinness premiered globally on Netflix on September 25, 2025.

Netflix’s Alice in Borderland Returns with the Enigmatic Joker Stage

The globally successful Japanese science fiction thriller Alice in Borderland premieres its third season, continuing the high-stakes narrative of survival in a parallel, dystopian Tokyo. The series, which has consistently ranked among the most-viewed non-English titles on its platform, reaching the Top 10 in over 90 countries, builds upon the established premise where individuals must compete in deadly games to live. These games, categorized by playing card suits and numerical difficulty, dictate the terms of existence in a desolate urban landscape. The new season pivots on the ominous reveal that concluded the previous installment: the appearance of a single Joker card. This development signals a paradigm shift in the narrative, moving beyond the finite objective of conquering a 52-card deck to a confrontation with an unknown entity that operates outside the previously understood rules, fundamentally escalating the psychological and existential stakes for all participants.

A New Reality, A Forced Return

The narrative framework of the third season begins with a significant temporal leap. Protagonists Ryōhei Arisu, played by Kento Yamazaki, and Yuzuha Usagi, played by Tao Tsuchiya, have returned to the real world and now live a peaceful, married life. However, their reality is fractured by a crucial detail: they retain no conscious memory of their traumatic experiences in the Borderland, though the events manifest as disquieting dreams and hallucinations. This fragile peace is shattered by the season’s inciting incident: the abduction of Usagi by a mysterious scholar named Ryuji, portrayed by Kento Kaku, whose research is focused on the afterlife. This act serves as the catalyst for Arisu’s voluntary return to the perilous world he once escaped, driven by the singular goal of rescuing his wife. Upon re-entry, the protagonists are immediately separated and forced to join disparate teams of players, compelled to navigate a new gauntlet of lethal games under the purview of the Joker.

This narrative structure represents a strategic adaptation rather than a direct translation of the source material’s sequel manga, Alice in Borderland: Retry. The manga establishes the post-Borderland marriage of Arisu and Usagi but triggers Arisu’s return through a personal, near-fatal accident. The live-action series adopts the core concept of their established relationship to ground the characters in a new status quo, but fundamentally alters the catalyst for their return. By substituting the manga’s internal, solitary incident with an external, antagonistic act—Usagi’s abduction—the series introduces a clear antagonist and a propulsive rescue mission. This pivot facilitates a larger, ensemble-driven conflict suitable for a seasonal television format, creating a logical mechanism for the re-engagement of other key characters and expanding the potential for complex interpersonal drama.

Alice in Borderland

The Returning Ensemble: Allies, Antagonists, and Citizens

The third season features the return of its principal cast, led by Kento Yamazaki and Tao Tsuchiya, whose characters must now contend with the reawakened trauma of the Borderland. They are joined by several pivotal supporting characters who survived the face card games. Ayaka Miyoshi reprises her role as Rizuna Ann, a former police forensic scientist whose rational thinking proved crucial in past challenges and who is instrumental in facilitating Arisu’s re-entry into the game world. Significantly, the season confirms the return of Hayato Isomura as the serial killer Sunato Banda and Katsuya Maiguma as the con man Oki Yaba. These two characters are unique among the survivors, as they were the only players who elected to remain in the Borderland as “citizens” at the conclusion of the second season, embracing the violent, lawless world as their own.

The curated selection of these specific returning characters establishes a foundational conflict between distinct philosophical factions. The second season’s finale presented every survivor with a definitive choice that tested their core values: return to reality or remain in Borderland. Arisu, Usagi, and Ann chose to return, seeking to reclaim their former lives. In contrast, Banda and Yaba, characters defined by their criminality and antisocial tendencies, chose to stay. By forcing these two groups back into the same narrative arena, the season creates an inherent ideological collision. Arisu’s objective is escape, whereas Banda and Yaba, now possessing an insider’s knowledge as citizens, may have entirely different motivations related to power, control, or the perpetuation of the games. This dynamic transforms the conflict from a straightforward “players versus game masters” structure to a multi-faceted struggle where the most unpredictable adversaries are fellow participants with irreconcilable worldviews.

New Players in the Final Game

A substantial new ensemble is introduced to participate in the lethal Joker stage. The most prominent new figure is the antagonist Ryuji, the scholar portrayed by Kento Kaku, whose actions directly precipitate the season’s central conflict. The wider cast of new players includes Koji Ohkura, Risa Sudou, Hiroyuki Ikeuchi, Tina Tamashiro, Kotaro Daigo, Hyunri, and Sakura Kiryu, among others, in roles that will be defined by the brutal logic of the new games. This influx of new participants serves a critical narrative function. A core component of the series’ dramatic tension is the constant and credible threat of character death. By introducing a large cohort of new players with no established narrative arcs, the series restores the high-lethality stakes that defined its earlier installments, ensuring the outcomes of the games remain unpredictable. Furthermore, each new character provides a fresh lens through which to explore the series’ recurring themes, with Ryuji’s academic obsession with the afterlife introducing a pseudo-scientific motivation not previously seen among the players.

Continuity in Cinematic and Production Authority

The series maintains its distinct cinematic identity through the continued stewardship of its primary creative team. Shinsuke Sato returns as director, ensuring a consistent visual and tonal grammar that has become a hallmark of the show. Sato also serves as co-screenwriter, collaborating again with Yasuko Kuramitsu, with production handled by ROBOT Communications. The season’s visual execution continues to rely on ambitious and complex visual effects, with new set pieces including a game staged at a shrine where participants are assailed by flaming arrows, and another challenge centered on tense, high-stakes dice rolls. This established aesthetic is the product of a long-standing collaboration between Sato and key department heads, including Director of Photography Taro Kawazu and Production Designer Iwao Saito.

The production’s visual effects philosophy is one of grounded spectacle, meticulously employing computer-generated imagery to create a hyper-realistic yet fundamentally altered version of Tokyo. The iconic empty Shibuya Crossing, for instance, was filmed on a large open-air set with only the actors and key set pieces being real; the surrounding cityscape is almost entirely a CG creation. The technical process involves a focus on photorealism, using advanced techniques like High Dynamic Range Imaging (HDRI) to create naturalistic lighting, Lidar scanning to model collapsed structures, and photogrammetry to generate 3D models of objects and characters. This approach enhances the psychological horror by corrupting a familiar, tangible reality rather than creating a purely fantastical world. The terror of the Borderland is amplified precisely because its locations feel recognizable; the corruption of these familiar spaces—including a vision of Tokyo progressively reclaimed by vegetation—is a core tenet of the series’ cinematic language, executed through sophisticated VFX.

An Allegory of Wonderland

The series continues to function as a dark, contemporary reinterpretation of Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. The parallels are deliberate, extending from character names to thematic underpinnings. The protagonist, Arisu, is the Japanese pronunciation of Alice, while his primary ally, Usagi, translates to “rabbit.” Other characters serve as analogues for Wonderland’s inhabitants, from the enigmatic Chishiya, whose demeanor evokes the Cheshire Cat, to the Hatter, the leader of the Beach. Beyond nomenclature, the narrative mirrors Carroll’s work thematically. Both Arisu and Alice are protagonists bored with their monotonous realities who are thrust into a surreal world governed by illogical rules and games, including a climactic game of croquet. Their journey becomes an identity crisis, forcing them to confront who they are in a world designed to break them, with the ultimate goal being a return to the reality they once wished to escape.

A Crucible of Wills: Thematic and Philosophical Evolution

The third season continues its deep engagement with philosophical and psychological themes, exploring the nature of humanity under extreme duress, the ethics of survival, and the existential pursuit of a meaningful existence. The Borderland is widely interpreted as a form of purgatory—a liminal space between life and death where the games function as a test of an individual’s will to live. The narrative has consistently explored a spectrum of philosophical responses to this reality. Characters like the King of Clubs, Kyuma, represent a form of existentialism, creating their own meaning and living freely in the face of oblivion. Others, like the nihilistic Niragi, embrace the chaos, finding purpose only in destruction. The series culminates in a form of absurdism, embodied by Usagi, who posits that a grand, abstract meaning for life is not required; the struggle and the search for it alongside others is what provides value.

The narrative structure of this season, however, evolves the series’ central existential question. While the first two seasons interrogated the value of life for characters who were largely disaffected with their existence in the real world, the third season pivots to a more nuanced inquiry: what constitutes a life worth returning to? By first establishing a peaceful, post-Borderland reality for Arisu and Usagi and then violently destroying it, the series forces them to justify their struggle not merely as an escape from death, but as a fight to reclaim a specific, tangible happiness they have now known. Their battle in the Joker stage is qualitatively different from their previous trials. The stakes have been elevated from an abstract conflict of “life versus death” to a concrete struggle for a “meaningful, chosen existence versus a meaningless, purgatorial cycle,” adding a crucial layer to the show’s philosophical investigation.

The Joker’s Gambit

The third season of Alice in Borderland is positioned as the culmination of the series’ narrative and thematic arcs. The Joker stage represents the final and most enigmatic challenge, structured as a championship with multiple elimination rounds designed to push the survivors to their absolute physical and psychological limits. The central conflict is defined by a forced return to a world they had escaped, the strategic separation of its central characters, and the inevitable collision between those who desperately wish to leave the Borderland and those who have chosen to make it their home. The series is poised to deliver a definitive statement on its sustained exploration of life, death, and the human will to forge meaning in the face of overwhelming despair.

The third season of Alice in Borderland was released globally for streaming on Netflix on September 25, 2025.

Netflix’s Disturbing New Thriller Exposes the Dark Truth Behind ‘Troubled Teen’ Programs That Parents Don’t Want You to Know

Canadian comedian and actor Mae Martin departs from the autobiographical comedy of Feel Good to deliver Wayward, an eight-episode limited series that unflinchingly examines the troubled teen industry. Debuting exclusively on Netflix, this production marks one of the platform’s first original series developed in Canada, and signals Martin’s evolution from personal memoir to social thriller.

A Seemingly Idyllic Facade

Wayward situates its drama in Tall Pines, Vermont—a town whose gentle landscapes and tight-knit community belie the horrors within the Tall Pines Academy. Detective Alex Dempsey (Martin) and their pregnant wife Laura (Sarah Gadon) arrive seeking refuge from urban life. Laura, a former academy resident, hopes to reconnect with her roots before their child’s birth. Yet the academy’s headmistress, Evelyn Wade (Toni Collette), wields her authority through a blend of maternal warmth and coercive control, subjecting troubled adolescents to psychological regimens masquerading as therapy.

“The series explores what happens when the characters from Booksmart are placed in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, as Martin described their conceptual approach”.

Protagonists and Antagonists

Abbie (Sydney Topliffe) and Leila (Alyvia Alyn Lind), two academy wards, catalyze the narrative when they attempt a harrowing escape. Alex, compelled by professional duty and mounting paternal concern, uncovers evidence of systemic abuse. Evelyn’s influence over both the students and Tall Pines’ residents complicates any straightforward exposure of the academy’s methods.

Martin’s Alex navigates a dual conflict: the protective instinct of an expectant parent and the investigative rigor of a detective. This role demands a performance that balances vulnerability with resolve—qualities Martin mastered in Feel Good and now applies to a character confronting institutional malfeasance. Collette’s Evelyn draws on her distinguished thriller résumé—her trauma-infused turn in Hereditary and her restrained authority in The Sixth Sense—to craft a villain whose benevolence conceals predation. Gadon’s Laura, whose polished exterior hides lifelong manipulation, embodies generational trauma as both cautionary tale and emotional anchor.

Wayward

Unpacking the Troubled Teen Industry

Wayward’s narrative springs from Martin’s research and personal connections: a close friend’s experience in a wilderness program during adolescence shaped the story’s core. The troubled teen industry—encompassing wilderness therapy, therapeutic boarding schools and residential centers—operates largely unregulated in the United States, facilitating practices ranging from coercive group therapy to physical restraint. High-profile advocacy, notably Paris Hilton’s legislative testimony, and investigative documentaries such as Netflix’s The Program: Cons, Cults, and Kidnapping, have illuminated abuses, yet survivor voices often struggle against institutional opacity.

“Critics describe Wayward as a series that demands to be binge-watched, noting its compelling examination of institutional abuse through thriller conventions”.

By exposing the mechanisms these facilities use to enlist parental anxiety—promising “safety” while inflicting trauma—Wayward achieves a blend of thriller suspense and social critique. The series interrogates how definitions of “problematic behavior” are weaponized to justify extreme therapeutic interventions, and how entire communities become complicit in perpetuating harm.

Crafting Suspense Through Design and Structure

Wayward capitalizes on contrast: Tall Pines’ pastoral exteriors, filmed in Toronto and Millbrook, Ontario, hide a labyrinth of corridors, surveillance and locked doors. The production, under its original title Tall Pines, leverages Toronto’s varied locales to evoke both Americana and psychological unease. The symbolic absence of interior doors in local homes underscores the erosion of privacy—an echo of the academy’s invasive protocols.

Spanning eight episodes, the series maintains a tight thriller pace while allowing character arcs to deepen. Directors Euros Lyn, Renuka Jeyapalan and John Fawcett orchestrate a visual language of shadows and unsettling wide shots, reinforcing the narrative’s thematic focus on surveillance and masqueraded benevolence. Writers including Evangeline Ordaz, Kim Steele and Misha Osherovich contribute distinct voices, ensuring thematic coherence without sacrificing episodic originality.

Cultural and Industry Significance

Wayward arrives amid Netflix’s strategic expansion into local-language and regionally produced content, with over half of its 2024 production budget allocated outside North America. The series exemplifies this approach: Canadian talent crafts a story with universal resonance, addressing systemic abuse in a format accessible to global audiences.

“Wilderness therapy programs alone enroll approximately 12,000 children annually, operating with minimal regulation despite documented cases of abuse and at least 10 deaths attributed to these programs”.

As public scrutiny intensifies and survivor-led campaigns seek stricter oversight of troubled teen facilities, Wayward’s fictionalized exposé underscores the urgency of reform. By dramatizing real-world patterns of coercion and trauma, the series amplifies advocates’ calls for transparency and regulation.

Wayward

Final Thoughts

With Wayward, Mae Martin cements a new creative era, merging psychological thriller conventions with incisive social commentary. Toni Collette’s commanding performance elevates the series’ critique of institutional power, while Martin’s multifaceted role as creator, showrunner and lead anchors the drama in lived experience. As Netflix subscribers confront the chilling realities behind adolescent “reform,” Wayward challenges viewers to question the cost of so-called salvation. The series premieres on Netflix on September 25, 2025.

Desire as a Weapon: Netflix’s ‘The Guest’ Deconstructs the Domestic Thriller with Colombian Stars Laura Londoño and Carmen Villalobos

The new 20-episode Colombian series The Guest arrives on Netflix not merely as another addition to the platform’s burgeoning international catalog, but as a statement of artistic and strategic intent. Produced by the acclaimed Colombian house CMO Producciones, the series is meticulously crafted as a psychological and erotic thriller, a genre choice that immediately signals a departure from the formats that have traditionally defined Colombian television for global audiences. The narrative is constructed around a classic dramatic fulcrum: the intrusion of an outsider into a fragile domestic ecosystem. Sonia, an enigmatic figure portrayed by Carmen Villalobos, appears unannounced at the home of Silvia (Laura Londoño) and her husband, Lorenzo (Jason Day), a prominent candidate for Attorney General. This arrival ignites a slow-burning fuse, threatening to detonate the family’s carefully constructed façade and exposing a past encounter that binds the two women in a web of desire and danger. The series premise, as articulated in its promotional materials, is an exploration of how “revenge can enter one’s home disguised as desire and fragility,” a thematic core that promises a sophisticated deconstruction of trust, memory, and betrayal.

“The series premise, as articulated in its promotional materials, is an exploration of how ‘revenge can enter one’s home disguised as desire and fragility,’ a thematic core that promises a sophisticated deconstruction of trust, memory, and betrayal.”

The very selection of this genre framework represents a calculated evolution in content strategy. For years, the international perception of Colombian television has been shaped by two dominant pillars: the narco-series, a genre Colombia itself largely defined, and the modern telenovela, exemplified by the global success of productions like Café con aroma de mujer. While these formats have proven immensely popular, they have also, to some extent, typecast the nation’s creative output. The Guest, by contrast, adopts the narrative language and aesthetic conventions of the international psychological thriller. This is a deliberate pivot, moving away from sprawling, multi-generational sagas or action-driven crime dramas toward a more contained, atmospheric, and character-driven form of suspense. Global streaming platforms have become crucial incubators for national industries to experiment with genres that might not align with the scheduling demands or demographic targets of traditional broadcast television. In this context, The Guest is not just a story; it is a strategic maneuver. It is an attempt by Netflix and CMO Producciones to reposition Colombian drama on the world stage, aiming to compete not simply as a compelling piece of “foreign television” but as a high-concept genre work in its own right, designed to engage a discerning global audience already fluent in the codes of psychological suspense.

The GuestThe Narrative Architecture: A Domestic Sphere as a Psychological Battlefield

The narrative scaffolding of The Guest is constructed with methodical precision, establishing a foundation of domestic instability that predates the titular guest’s arrival. The series opens on a family unit already fissuring under internal pressures. The marriage between Silvia and Lorenzo is in a state of advanced decay, a quiet battlefield of resentment and unspoken grievances, while their daughter, Isabela, is contending with a severe drug addiction. This pre-existing state of crisis is not merely background detail; it is the central vulnerability that the narrative is designed to exploit. The family home, typically a symbol of sanctuary, is presented instead as a pressurized container of secrets and anxieties, making it tragically susceptible to the introduction of an external catalyst.

That catalyst is Sonia. Her appearance is framed as the series’ primary inciting incident, a disruptive force that immediately alters the household’s delicate equilibrium. Sonia is not a stranger but a figure from Silvia’s recent past, a woman with whom she shared an “intimate and fleeting” connection during a trip taken alone. What might have remained a transgressive memory becomes a present and persistent danger. Sonia’s presence is revealed to be anything but coincidental; it is the calculated first step in what the series defines as a “carefully orchestrated threat”. Her objective is to methodically dismantle the family from within, weaponizing her shared history with Silvia to achieve a hidden agenda of revenge. This structure allows the series to delve into its core thematic concerns: the porous boundary between intense desire and calculated destruction, the weaponization of intimacy, and the ways in which past transgressions can metastasize into present-day threats. The narrative uses the claustrophobic intimacy of the domestic setting to stage a complex dissection of loyalty, memory, and the devastating power of a well-kept secret, challenging conventional moral frameworks along the way.

While the series operates effectively as a domestic thriller, its narrative ambitions extend into the political sphere, adding a layer of complexity that elevates it beyond a simple tale of personal vengeance. A crucial detail is Lorenzo’s professional life: he is not just a lawyer or a businessman, but a candidate for the powerful office of Attorney General. This single piece of information reframes the entire conflict. The family’s private crisis is no longer contained within the walls of their home; it is inextricably linked to the public domain and the high stakes of a political campaign. Sonia’s mission, as it becomes clear, is not limited to tormenting Silvia. Her ultimate goal is to “isolate Lorenzo from the family and destroy him completely,” targeting his public reputation and political aspirations with the same precision she applies to their domestic life. This narrative choice aligns with the established identity of its production house, CMO Producciones, which has a notable history of creating content that engages with the complex social and political realities of Colombia. Consequently, The Guest functions on two distinct but interconnected levels. On its surface, it is a taut, psychological drama about a romantic obsession that curdles into a dangerous game of cat and mouse. At its core, however, it is a political thriller in disguise. The erotic tension and psychological manipulation are not the ends themselves, but the means through which a sophisticated political takedown is engineered. The series leverages the suffocating atmosphere of the home to explore a narrative tradition deeply embedded in Latin American storytelling, where the personal is always political, and where the secrets buried within a family have the power to topple public figures and alter the course of power.

The Performers: A Strategic Reunion of Colombian Star Power

The dramatic intensity of The Guest is anchored by the performances of its two leads, Laura Londoño and Carmen Villalobos, whose casting represents a masterful stroke of strategic programming. As Silvia, Laura Londoño delivers a performance that marks a significant evolution of her established screen persona. Audiences have come to know Londoño through her leading roles in productions like the globally successful Café con aroma de mujer, where she played the resilient “Gaviota,” and the long-running legal drama La ley del corazón. In these series, she consistently portrayed women of immense fortitude and strong moral conviction. Her portrayal of Silvia is a deliberate departure from this archetype. Here, she embodies a woman compromised by her choices, frayed by her circumstances, and described as being “on the edge”. Londoño navigates Silvia’s descent into a vortex of fear and complicity with a nuanced vulnerability, capturing the psychological toll of a woman forced to confront the consequences of a past desire.

In the role of the antagonist, Sonia, Carmen Villalobos offers a magnetic and menacing performance that leverages her international stardom in a compelling new direction. Villalobos is globally recognized for her iconic portrayal of the heroine Catalina Santana in the Sin senos no hay paraíso saga, a role that cemented her status as one of Latin America’s most beloved television figures. Her casting as the manipulative and vengeful “guest” is a powerful subversion of audience expectations. This move builds upon her recent, critically noted turn as the villain in Café con aroma de mujer, where she first demonstrated her capacity for portraying complex antagonism. As Sonia, Villalobos embodies the series’ central threat, seamlessly transitioning from an object of sensual fascination into the chillingly methodical architect of the family’s destruction.

“The decision to cast Londoño and Villalobos opposite each other is more than just a pairing of two formidable talents; it functions as a form of meta-narrative.”

The decision to cast Londoño and Villalobos opposite each other is more than just a pairing of two formidable talents; it functions as a form of meta-narrative. The two actresses previously shared the screen as the central protagonist and antagonist in the 2021 remake of Café con aroma de mujer, a series that became a phenomenal global success after its distribution on Netflix. Their on-screen rivalry in that production became a proven and highly marketable commodity. The creation of The Guest appears to be a direct and intentional effort to capitalize on this dynamic. By reuniting them in a similar adversarial relationship, but within the darker, more psychologically intense framework of a thriller, Netflix and CMO Producciones are leveraging a pre-existing audience investment. The series is thus implicitly marketed on the promise of a “rematch,” a continuation of their potent on-screen chemistry, transforming their shared professional history into a powerful narrative engine and a cornerstone of the show’s global appeal. This core duality is supported by a distinguished ensemble of actors who lend the production significant dramatic weight. The casting of respected Peruvian actor Jason Day as the politically ambitious and increasingly besieged Lorenzo provides a strong third pillar to the central conflict. Furthermore, the inclusion of a roster of esteemed Colombian veterans—including the legendary Víctor Mallarino, Juan Fernando Sánchez, Margarita Muñoz, and Jairo Camargo—underscores the series’ commitment to high-caliber performance and signals its significant artistic ambitions.

The Creative Vision: A Synthesis of Cinematic Realism and Melodramatic Intensity

The distinct aesthetic of The Guest is the product of a deliberate fusion of sensibilities, embodied by its co-directors, Klych López and Israel Sánchez. These two filmmakers bring complementary, yet divergent, experiences to the project, and their collaboration is central to the series’ hybrid identity. Klych López is a director with a background steeped in cinema, known for his visually sophisticated approach and his thematic interest in Colombian social history and collective memory, most notably in his acclaimed opera prima, Siempreviva. His work is characterized by a commitment to realism, a nuanced exploration of complex characters, and an innovative method of working with actors to achieve profound psychological depth. His influence is palpable in the series’ pervasive atmosphere of suspense, its grounded performances, and the claustrophobic tension that defines its visual language.

Conversely, Israel Sánchez is a veteran director with extensive expertise in the narrative rhythms and emotional architecture of serialized television, particularly the modern telenovela and melodrama. With a filmography that includes highly successful productions like Hasta que la plata nos separe and Lady, la vendedora de rosas, Sánchez is a master of crafting compelling, long-form narratives, managing complex interpersonal dynamics, and sustaining heightened emotional stakes over multiple episodes. His hand is evident in the series’ propulsive pacing, its addictive plot mechanics, and the potent emotional core of the relationships that drive the story forward.

The decision to pair these two directors represents the series’ core aesthetic experiment. It is an intentional synthesis of two distinct and powerful Colombian audiovisual traditions. The project aims to forge a new, hybrid language for serialized drama, one that can be best described as a “premium telenovela” or “super-serie.” This approach seeks to retain the elements that make the telenovela a globally successful format—its intricate plotting, long-form character arcs, and high-stakes emotionality, all hallmarks of Sánchez’s work—while simultaneously elevating the form with the sophisticated visual grammar, thematic gravity, and performance nuance of international prestige television, which is López’s domain. This fusion is not merely a stylistic choice but a strategic one, designed to create a product that can satisfy the expectations of the traditional audience for Latin American melodrama while also appealing to the global viewership for sophisticated, cinematic thrillers. This ambitious vision is built upon a solid narrative foundation provided by creators and writers Darío Vanegas and Lina María Uribe. As seasoned screenwriters with a portfolio of successful international productions, including the acclaimed series La Reina del Sur, their involvement ensures a robust and meticulously plotted 20-episode arc, one capable of sustaining both intricate suspense and the complex, evolving psychology of its characters.

The Production Identity: The Cinematic Signature of CMO Producciones

The aesthetic and technical execution of The Guest is a direct reflection of the established identity of its production house, CMO Producciones. Over more than two decades, the company, founded by Clara María Ochoa, has cultivated a distinct reputation within the Colombian and international markets as a “boutique” producer. This identity is defined by a consistent prioritization of cinematic quality, high production values, and a commitment to telling stories that possess a strong sense of social relevance and contemporary urgency. CMO has consistently produced films and series that not only achieve commercial success but also engage with complex national themes, from the armed conflict and its aftermath in La Niña to the issue of human trafficking in La promesa. The Guest continues this tradition, embedding its psychological drama within a narrative that touches upon political corruption and the fragility of societal institutions.

The series’ technical craftsmanship is a testament to this production philosophy. The visual atmosphere, crucial for any psychological thriller, is expertly rendered through the cinematography of Diego Jiménez and Andrés Gutiérrez. Their work emphasizes shadows, tight framing, and a muted color palette to create the sense of a beautiful home transforming into an inescapable prison. This is complemented by the meticulous production design of Eleonora Barajas, which imbues the domestic setting with a character of its own—a space of affluent comfort that becomes progressively more menacing as Sonia’s influence grows. Every element, from the art direction to the sound design, is calibrated to heighten the pervasive sense of unease and psychological entrapment.

This level of artistic and technical achievement is made possible, in part, by the economic framework supporting high-end productions in Colombia. The Guest was a beneficiary of the CINA (Certificado de Inversión Audiovisual) incentive, a crucial government program administered by Proimágenes Colombia that provides a 35% tax rebate on production spending within the country. This financial mechanism is a cornerstone of the modern Colombian audiovisual industry, enabling local production companies like CMO to finance projects with the high production values necessary to compete on the global streaming stage. By reducing the financial risk associated with ambitious, high-concept projects, incentives like CINA not only attract international productions but also empower local creators to elevate their storytelling and technical execution, fostering a virtuous cycle of growth, talent development, and the creation of exportable content that can stand alongside productions from any country in the world.

‘The Guest’ as a Bellwether for Colombian Streaming Content

In the complex and rapidly evolving landscape of global streaming, the premiere of The Guest marks a pivotal moment in the relationship between Netflix and the Colombian television industry. The series represents a significant and highly visible investment in original, high-concept Colombian content, a strategic move that signals a shift beyond the platform’s previous, and highly successful, model of licensing a deep back-catalog of popular telenovelas. It is a project conceived and executed from the ground up as a global Netflix Original, designed to meet the aesthetic and narrative expectations of an international audience while being authentically rooted in Colombian creative talent.

This strategic pivot can be interpreted as a direct and sophisticated response to a well-documented disparity in the platform’s Latin American operations. Industry analysis has consistently shown that while licensed Colombian content—particularly long-running, classic telenovelas—generates enormous volumes of viewing hours globally, Netflix’s direct investment in the creation of new, original productions in Colombia has historically trailed behind its spending in other major regional markets, such as Mexico and Brazil. This has created a situation where the country’s television industry contributes significantly to the platform’s engagement metrics without receiving a proportional level of developmental investment. The Guest appears engineered to address this very issue. It is a high-budget, star-driven, original series developed specifically for the platform, not an acquisition from a local broadcaster. Its 20-episode format is itself a hybrid, more concise than a traditional 100-plus episode telenovela, yet substantial enough to allow for deep character development and intricate plotting, distinguishing it from the typical 8-episode prestige drama.

Therefore, The Guest is more than just another series; it is a strategic bellwether. It serves as the flagship for a new, and potentially more sustainable, model of content creation in Colombia. By financing a project that intentionally fuses the proven narrative engine of the telenovela with the high-production values and genre conventions of a global thriller, Netflix is attempting to cultivate a new category of exportable Colombian intellectual property. This “premium telenovela” model leverages the nation’s deep-seated strengths in serialized, character-focused storytelling and combines them with a cinematic finish that is both culturally specific and universally legible. The performance of The Guest on the global stage will be closely watched, as its success will likely have a significant impact on the platform’s future investment strategy in the country. It has the potential to validate a new pathway for Colombian creators and to shape the next wave of the nation’s television for a global market, proving that the future of Colombian content lies not just in its celebrated past, but in its ambitious and evolving present. The series premiered globally on September 24, 2025.

“Therefore, The Guest is more than just another series; it is a strategic bellwether.”

Where to Watch “The Guest”

Netflix

Netflix Launches Crime Scene Zero, Rebooting a Celebrated Korean Mystery Format for a Global Audience

The South Korean role-playing mystery series Crime Scene Zero has premiered globally on Netflix, introducing one of the country’s most influential unscripted formats to audiences in 190 nations. The series operates as a hybrid genre, blending the improvisational dynamics of reality television with the narrative complexity and high production values of a scripted crime drama. Its central conceit places a cast of celebrity participants into meticulously constructed murder scenarios. Within each case, every player must navigate the dual roles of suspect and detective, tasked with unmasking a hidden culprit among them through investigation, deduction, and high-stakes psychological warfare. The programmatic objective is a competitive game of wits where correctly identifying the murderer results in a prize for the successful detectives, while failure allows the culprit to claim the entire reward.

The Aesthetics of ‘Situated Variety’

The series’ arrival on a global streaming platform marks a significant test for the international viability of the “situated variety” genre, a sophisticated format popular in South Korea. This production model places unscripted performers within a highly controlled, often scripted, environment to generate authentic reactions and improvisational storytelling. The success of Crime Scene Zero could therefore signal a new potential for other complex, culturally specific Korean formats to find traction beyond their domestic market.

A key component of this genre is its distinctive post-production, which employs an interventionist editing style. Unlike many Western reality formats that strive for an observational or “fly-on-the-wall” aesthetic, Korean variety editing actively guides the viewer’s experience. On-screen text and captions are used extensively, not merely for transcription, but to add editorial commentary, inject humor, and direct the audience’s interpretation of a scene. This is often paired with cartoon-like sound effects to punctuate reactions and instant replays of key moments from multiple camera angles, ensuring the audience does not miss critical details or subtle character interactions. The producers have noted the challenge of translating culturally specific elements, such as intricate Korean wordplay, for a diverse global viewership, making the efficacy of this unique aesthetic a central question of its international reception.

The Core Ensemble and Strategic Variables

The foundation of the series is its principal cast of five, described by the production team as “legendary experienced players” who are the “faces of the show”. This casting strategy anchors the global debut with the franchise’s most skilled participants, ensuring a sophisticated level of gameplay. The ensemble is composed of distinct archetypes whose real-world professions and extensive history with the game inform their strategic approaches.

Film director Jang Jin, a distinctive voice in Korean cinema known for his “theatrical” style mixing quirky characters, dry humor, and sharp societal observation, functions as the “Architect.” He employs a writerly, narrative-driven logic to deconstruct cases and create cinematic moments within the game’s unscripted framework. Park Ji-yoon, a former announcer and the sole participant to appear in every season since 2014, is the franchise’s anchor and “All-Rounder,” renowned for her superior deductive reasoning and immersive role-playing abilities.

Comedian Jang Dong-min, a celebrated two-time champion of the intellectual game show The Genius, serves as the “Agent of Chaos.” His style, characterized by witty, often harsh gags and psychological pressure, introduces unpredictability that both disrupts and advances the investigation. Actor Kim Ji-hoon, returning to the series after a decade, is the “Nostalgic Veteran.” Leveraging an extensive career in both romantic comedies and thrillers, he utilizes method acting and high-level psychological warfare to heighten the dramatic tension. Rounding out the core cast is An Yujin of the K-pop group IVE, who represents the “Prodigy.” After debuting in the previous season, her performance in Crime Scene Zero is framed as a narrative of remarkable growth, with producers highlighting her evolution into a player with top-tier logical reasoning, a reputation bolstered by her success on other variety shows and a Baeksang Arts Award nomination for her entertainment work.

This season revives the guest player system, a mechanism designed to introduce a strategic “variable” into the established dynamic of the veteran cast. Guests, including actors Park Sung-woong, Joo Hyun-young, and Ha Seok-jin, are new to the format, ensuring their actions are unpredictable and challenging the sophisticated strategies of the core ensemble. The show’s appeal is thus layered; viewers are not only solving a fictional crime but are also witnessing a long-running metagame of intellectual competition between these well-defined celebrity personas.

Deconstructing the Gameplay: A Framework of Scripted Reality

Each case in Crime Scene Zero follows a structured, multi-phase format designed to facilitate both systematic investigation and unscripted social dynamics. The game commences with the players receiving a “case briefing” and selecting their character roles from a list of suspects. They are provided with detailed backstories, motives, and alibis; the player assigned the role of the culprit is the only one who must consistently lie to conceal their identity.

Following this immersion phase, the players conduct a timed, on-site investigation of the meticulously designed crime scene set, often working in pairs to gather physical evidence and formulate initial theories. This is followed by a period of information synthesis, which includes structured briefings where each participant presents their findings, and free-form discussions where alibis are challenged and interrogations occur. The gameplay is built on the principle of asymmetric information, where each player possesses unique knowledge unknown to the others. The strategic revealing or concealing of this information is the core mechanic, transforming the game from a simple puzzle into a complex battle of social manipulation and psychological endurance. The competition culminates in a final, secret vote to identify the murderer. The resolution is binary: if the majority votes correctly, they share the prize; if they are wrong, the culprit escapes and wins the entire pot alone.

A Franchise Reimagined: The Significance of ‘Zero’

Crime Scene Zero is the fifth installment in a franchise with a decade-long history in South Korea. The series first aired on the cable channel JTBC from 2014 to 2017 before being revived in 2024 on the domestic streaming platform Tving with the title Crime Scene Returns. The “Zero” in the new title reflects a dual philosophy from the producers. Primarily, it signifies a “back-to-basics” approach, returning to the core elements of mystery and immersive role-play to provide an accessible entry point for a global audience unfamiliar with the show’s legacy.

Concurrently, the “Zero” denotes an “evolution with a beginner’s spirit,” reflecting the creative team’s ambition to reimagine the format for a global platform while preserving the authenticity that cultivated its dedicated domestic fanbase. This evolution involved navigating the complexities of international distribution, including commissioning high-quality translations to capture the nuances of Korean wordplay and carefully considering cultural sensitivities around certain themes. The producers’ stated goal was not to dilute the show’s Korean identity but to present its authentic form to a worldwide audience, trusting in the universal appeal of its core deductive gameplay.

Cinematic Ambition in Unscripted Production

The most significant evolution for the franchise is its investment in production design on a cinematic scale. To meet the standards of a global streaming service, the production team constructed the largest and most elaborate sets in the show’s history. This marks a departure from theatrical backdrops toward fully realized, functional environments. Sets for this season include a full-scale hospital and a recreation of a Han River bridge engineered to support the weight of vehicles, details that underscore a commitment to verisimilitude.

This elevated mise-en-scène serves a critical technical function beyond aesthetics. The realistic and expansive environments are designed to deepen player immersion, which, combined with grueling 24-hour shooting schedules, elicits more intense and authentic unscripted performances. This production philosophy highlights a broader trend in the premium streaming era: the aesthetic convergence of unscripted television and high-end scripted drama. By investing in cinematic-quality sets, complex episodic narratives, and character-driven performances, Crime Scene Zero is positioned to compete for audience attention not just with other reality shows, but with the entire catalog of prestige series available on the platform. It represents a strategic elevation of the unscripted genre, adopting the visual and narrative language of prestige television to engage a sophisticated global audience.

Distribution and Premiere Schedule

The series consists of 10 episodes, which are being released on a staggered schedule over three weeks. This hybrid distribution model combines the binge-watching appeal of dropping multiple episodes at once with the sustained weekly conversation of a traditional broadcast. The first four episodes premiered on September 23, with episodes 5-8 set for release on September 30, and the final two episodes concluding the season on October 7.

Where to Watch “Crime Scene Zero”

Netflix

David Zwirner Announces Presentations for Frieze London and Art Basel Paris

David Zwirner will participate in Frieze London and Art Basel Paris with focused presentations of new works, recent series, and historically significant pieces from across the gallery’s program. The London booth foregrounds sculpture, painting, and works on paper by Huma Bhabha, Chris Ofili, Oscar Murillo, and Portia Zvavahera, alongside works by Lucas Arruda and Wolfgang Tillmans. A concurrent solo exhibition by Victor Man is on view at the gallery’s London location, the artist’s first with David Zwirner since the announcement of his representation.

At Frieze London, newly created sculptures and works on paper by Huma Bhabha are presented in dialogue with her recent institutional visibility. The stand also includes new paintings by Chris Ofili, Oscar Murillo, and Portia Zvavahera, with additional works by Lucas Arruda and Wolfgang Tillmans. Together, the selection spans materially experimental object-making, painterly research, and lens-based image construction, offering a cross-section of methods that address form and perception through distinct material languages.

A major London survey provides wider institutional context for the fair presentations: the Royal Academy of Arts is showing Kerry James Marshall: The Histories, the largest exhibition of the artist’s paintings outside the United States. After London, the survey is scheduled to travel to Kunsthaus Zürich and the Musée d’Art Moderne in Paris, marking a transnational itinerary that complements the gallery’s emphasis on museum-scale narratives.

In Paris, David Zwirner will present an exhibition of works by Gerhard Richter at the gallery’s Paris location, the artist’s third show with the gallery since the announcement of his representation. The exhibition brings together new works on paper with multiple, distinct painted series from the 1990s through the 2010s, including photo paintings, Abstrakte Bilder (Abstract Paintings), and reflective glass installations. The grouping highlights variation in scope, scale, and technique while tracing a sustained investigation into image production and perception across media. A press preview and walkthrough are planned in advance of the opening.

The Richter exhibition coincides in Paris with a major retrospective at the Fondation Louis Vuitton, curated by Nicholas Serota and Dieter Schwarz. In conjunction, the gallery show and museum survey offer complementary vantage points on Richter’s practice: one emphasizing serial procedures and material experimentation within a gallery context, the other presenting a broader retrospective arc within a museum framework.

At Art Basel Paris, David Zwirner will debut two new three-panel, large-scale edition works by Richter—Wolken (rosa) (Clouds [Pink]) and Wolken (blau) (Clouds [Blue])—extending the artist’s decades-long engagement with prints and multiples. Editions have figured prominently in Richter’s oeuvre since 1965, when he created Hund (Dog), his first editioned work. The new editions are based on a 1970 photo-painting triptych of the same title and dimensions that depicts a naturalistic, clouded sky; that earlier work itself drew on a source image from Atlas, Richter’s evolving archive of reference material. The appearance of these editions at the fair situates Richter’s iterative image-making within a public platform that foregrounds reproduction, translation, and the circulation of motifs across formats.

The Art Basel Paris booth will also feature major works by Ruth Asawa, Marlene Dumas, On Kawara, Joan Mitchell, and Bridget Riley. This intergenerational selection expands the presentation across media, placing woven sculpture, figurative and abstract painting, date-based conceptual practices, and optical investigations into proximity without collapsing their distinctions. The juxtaposition is designed to register correspondences around repetition, seriality, duration, and process, allowing each artist’s method to remain legible within a dense fair environment.

Citywide programming in Paris parallels the fair with projects that intersect with the gallery’s artists and their contemporaries. As part of Art Basel Paris’s offsite program, the Musée national Eugène-Delacroix has invited Nate Lowman to present After Delacroix, a project that stages new works in dialogue with the Romantic painter. A central oil painting reimagines Delacroix’s palette as both a material archive and a record of decisions. Surrounding light sculptures—assembled from hand-printed T-shirts, paint cans, and other studio materials—translate cultural fragments into new symbols, while a painting in the shape of a car air freshener references a canvas by Cecily Brown. The project treats art-historical influence as an active material, tracing how references shift across generations and contexts.

Several museums are presenting exhibitions that echo themes visible on the fair floor. The Musée national Picasso–Paris is showing an exhibition dedicated to Raymond Pettibon, bringing together approximately seventy drawings and a dozen fanzines that survey a graphic vocabulary oscillating between irony and unease. At the Musée d’Orsay, Bridget Riley: Starting Point examines Georges Seurat’s formative influence on Riley’s practice, noting that an early copy of The Bridge at Courbevoie functioned as a method of analysis and a catalyst for later investigations into perception. Also on view, the Bourse de Commerce—Pinault Collection presents Minimal, mapping the diversity of minimalist practices since the 1960s and including works by Dan Flavin, Felix Gonzalez-Torres, On Kawara, Bridget Riley, Robert Ryman, Richard Serra, and Merrill Wagner.

Across London and Paris, the gallery’s presentations and the parallel institutional programs establish a set of correspondences between individual practices and broader art-historical currents. In London, new work by Bhabha, Ofili, Murillo, and Zvavahera—shown alongside Arruda and Tillmans—highlights how contemporary artists test boundaries of form, medium, and subject. In Paris, Richter’s new editions and the gallery exhibition foreground seriality, reproduction, and the status of the image, while museum-scale shows across the city revisit lineages from Delacroix to Seurat and survey minimalist legacies. The result is a networked view of contemporary practice in which editions converse with paintings, archives inform new series, and fair booths are mirrored by museum investigations across the city.

Dates (for reference as stated in the materials): Kerry James Marshall at the Royal Academy of Arts remains on view through January 18, 2026, and will travel to Kunsthaus Zürich and the Musée d’Art Moderne, Paris. The Gerhard Richter exhibition at David Zwirner Paris includes a press preview and walkthrough on Thursday, October 16 at 5 PM. The Fondation Louis Vuitton’s Richter retrospective runs from October 17, 2025 to March 3, 2026. Nate Lowman’s After Delacroix at the Musée national Eugène-Delacroix is on view from October 22 to November 2, 2025. The Musée national Picasso–Paris’s Raymond Pettibon exhibition remains on view through March 1, 2026. The Bourse de Commerce’s Minimal remains on view through January 19, 2026.