Dark, intense and gritty are all familiar words when it comes to thrillers, and yet they feel so at home when describing Netflix’s new offering, The Beast in Me. In the context of this eight-part-series, streaming right now on Netflix, they are more than just buzzwords: The Beast in Me gnaws on these sentiments, swallows them whole, and then spits them back out again.
Led by Claire Danes and Matthew Rhys, the series is starkly revealing yet with a devastatingly vulnerable core, with a big part of that down to Danes’ character Aggie Wiggs, an acclaimed author whose life has bitterly derailed following the tragic death of her young son four years before.
In steps her new neighbour Niles Jarvis (Rhys), an infamous real-estate mogul who can’t shake the rumours that he is responsible for his wife’s disappearance. In him, Aggie finds a new writing subject, one that helps her face up to old demons as she searches for the truth.
The Beast in Me asks more than just the central question of whether Niles was involved in what happened to his wife, however. It goes further to ask whether there could, in fact, be a beast in all of us, particularly when consumed by vengeance, grief or denial.
On a deeper level, the show explores morality. Does the line between right and wrong become blurred when one’s neck is on the line? What does culpability look like? And how much of ourselves, and that morality, are we willing to sacrifice, when the burden of responsibility becomes too much?
Aggie’s contorted and grief-stricken face is the first thing we see in the series, and while she is a dull shell of a human being, her pain remains colourful throughout. Niles feeds off that.
Whether out of intrigue and curiosity, or more from kindred familiarity, becomes clearer later down the line. But what is birthed between them both is a chemistry that is purposefully uncomfortable. They are drawn to each other in a harmful, scab-picking kind of way.
The Beast in Me is a thriller, and so there is of course the expected tension and squirm-inducing suspense. But its creator, Gabe Rotter, doesn’t utilise all the tools in that box straight away. The series is instead more slow-burning in its bloodlust, taking time to ensure that the uneasy atmosphere that is created is well and truly solidified before cranking up the danger.
Danes and Rhys are the perfect scene partners, inviting you to lock in to the intense dance they’ve unwittingly begun.
There is a stubborn quality in Aggie that is peppered with jitteriness, thanks to her emotional baggage, but she doesn’t let it stop her from matching Niles beat for beat.
Pitch Perfect‘s Brittany Snow is also wonderfully interesting as Nina, the overshadowed yet devoted second wife of Niles. As is the character of Martin Jarvis (Jonathan Banks), Nile’s dad. Just when you think you’ve figured out who’s in control, the layers slip away to reveal a more complicated father-son relationship.
But if you decide to invest your time in The Beast in Me, which you seriously should, don’t expect it to be packed full of wild and elaborate twists. While there are tiny pockets of surprise, the show doesn’t really rely on gimmicky tropes of the genre to hold your interest. The series’ focus is intensely concentrated.
Admittedly the conclusion leans more towards the predictable side, but honestly, the performances are so solid, and the story so deeply absorbing, you’ll forgive its inability to trick you, and appreciate its success in hooking and entertaining you instead.
