Like the alluring mythological creatures from which it draws its name, Netflix's Sirens wears a tempting facade, but conceals something darker at its core.
That facade draws on the pleasures of shows like Big Little Lies and The White Lotus: great actors — Julianne Moore! Meghann Fahy! Milly Alcock! — facing off against a backdrop of picturesque mansions and beaches. As in those series, showrunner Molly Smith Metzler (Maid) also looks to tackle thornier topics of class and trauma. Yet these subjects rarely get the depth they deserve, brushed over by a haphazard plot that delivers soapy fun, if not much else.
What's Sirens about?
Sirens kicks off with the world's most misguided edible arrangement. Devon (Fahy), fresh off her second DUI and learning her father (Bill Camp) has early-onset dementia, has appealed to her absent younger sister Simone (Alcock) for help. Simone's response? A basket of melon and berries, and a card telling Devon to "keep your chin up." The subpar gift and empty platitude are enough to make Devon travel several hours, rotting fruit in hand, to the luxurious island where Simone works as assistant to wealthy philanthropist Michaela "Kiki" Kell (Moore).
Simone doesn't just manage the staff who run Michaela's lavish Cliff House estate. The working relationship between the two is deeply personal — and frankly, creepy. Boundaries don't exist for them: Simone drafts Michaela's sexts to her husband Peter (Kevin Bacon). The pair share gum in order to have fresh breath.
If this is raising red flags for you, you're not alone: Devon is horrified by Simone's bond with her boss, and she's ready to drag her sister kicking and screaming from Michaela's grasp. But as a scrappy working-class interloper in Michaela's wealthy world — over the all-important, party-filled Labor Day weekend, no less — Devon is at a major disadvantage. As she attempts to protect her sister, dark secrets about their past (and dark rumors about Michaela's) come to light, prompting a whirlwind of dramatic revelations that ultimately don't hold the weight they should.
Julianne Moore, Meghann Fahy, and Milly Alcock are great in Sirens, but is it enough?
Sirens is at its best when it's a dark comedy with a touch of soap opera, and much of that comes down to Moore, Fahy, and Alcock's performances. Moore and Alcock make a perfect pair, channeling Stepford Wives creepiness in their pastel getups and matching athleisure sets. Alcock's Simone simpers and preens for her boss, while Moore commits fully to Michaela's frigid cult leader vibes. (Whether Michaela's bird preservation society is actually a cult is one of the mysteries Sirens presents, even if the resolution isn't particularly satisfying.)
Fahy's Devon, meanwhile, is a wonderfully prickly contrast to Simone and Michaela's rich girl acts. She's raw and unapologetic, unafraid to call out Michaela's bizarro rituals. When she and Simone are together, that rawness rubs off on Simone, too, highlighting their sisterly connection and the pain the two shared during their traumatic upbringing.
Discussion of that trauma results in some of Sirens' biggest tonal swings, as the show ranges from send-ups of the superficial rich — Glenn Howerton excels as Michaela and Peter's sleazeball neighbor, for example — to clichéd explorations of mental health, like Simone's panic attacks. Also predictable? Sirens' examination of unbalanced, predatory power dynamics within relationships. As soon as Bacon's Peter shows up on the scene, it's clear what will play out between him, Michaela, and Simone. The show treats this arc as culminating in a revelatory plot twist, but it feels more tired than anything.
Sirens isn't without interesting ideas. In keeping with the "sirens" motif, all three women are treated as monstrous at some point in the show's five-episode run, even though they're often at a disadvantage. (Especially Devon and Simone.) The mythological theme extends to a solid running joke in which two of Devon's loser suitors follow her around, as if lured by her siren song, despite her annoyed rejections of them. These contrasts between people perceiving Sirens' leads as near-mythic beings versus their actual, unfulfilling realities result in the show's most fascinating moments. But with only five episodes, Sirens fails to probe these contrasts as much as it could, and its song ultimately falls flat.
