The Beast In Me

Even without two astonishing performances from the lead actors – Claire Danes and Matthew Rhys – the script, the sheer style and confidence of it all, would be things of beauty. But add what that pair are doing, and this clever, taut eight-part psychological thriller moves seamlessly into top-tier television.

It's a deeply appreciated bonus that The Beast in Me happens to be excellent: genuinely suspenseful, surprising enough to overcome any murder show tropes that occasionally creep into the narrative, and, obviously, well acted, not only by Rhys and Danes.

When they’re onscreen together, as they are through much of this eight-episode Netflix series, they produce a palpable crackle of matching wits and complete commitment. “The Beast in Me” is hardly a two-hander; it boasts a strong supporting cast, and the assured tone of showrunner Howard Gordon (who co-created “Homeland,” the series for which Danes won two Emmys) and creator Gabe Rotter. But the fire comes from Danes and Rhys, who won his own Emmy for “The Americans.”

Danes and Rhys do a bang-up job, no doubt, of bringing two incredibly damaged people to life in very different ways. But the series could have taken more risks in blurring the lines between good and evil; after all, few of us are all good or all bad all the time. ‘Tis a mere quibble; this November, set aside your second screens and your laundry basket to give thanks for this artistic bounty.

This is a cerebral thriller of the highest order, and that’s reflected in the writing, acting — Danes, Rhys and Snow are all deserving of accolades — and the direction.

Danes’ work feels familiar (she can really cry on a dime, huh?), but she still makes Aggie’s tension and trauma feel new and lived-in. And Rhys is enigmatic as he gets lost in Nile’s thornier, more sociopathic side, with a jolting finale monologue that rivals the one he delivered in The Americans‘ sendoff. And anchored by those performances, The Beast In Me‘s snappy premise turns into an evocative and binge-worthy exploration of the human condition.

The idea that these characters would ever really be friends is helped along by the fact that Danes and Rhys are eating up these roles, reaching nuclear levels of mutually generated Gen X charisma in their scenes together. .... If the twists and turns come to seem a little bit predictable around Episode 5 of this eight-episode miniseries, at least you can always look forward to Aggie’s interplay with Rhys’ plain-spoken, forceful Nile.

“The Beast in Me” is especially good, but it’s got Claire Danes and Matthew Rhys, and there would have had to have been some serious malpractice behind the camera for it to be otherwise.

The Beast In Me benefits from a focused story that puts its Emmy-winning leads in a good position to do their best work, especially when they’re on screen together.

By the middle of the season, I wished Rotter and Gordon would pare back the side stories to delve deeper into the psychology of the attraction and repulsion Aggie feels towards Nile. I wanted the show to give me more reason to be worried, as she is, that she really is a hateful person. But what isn’t on the page is there in Danes’ layered performance, and in Rhys’ and Snow’s and that of other key cast members, as characters bound together by self-deceit.

“The Beast in Me” crackles when it zeroes in on Aggie and Nile, either separately or together. .... When the show zooms out at the other moving pieces on the chess board meant to fill an eight-episode order, things get a little less interesting. .... But in the broader landscape of crime thrillers, this original story is well-deserving of a furious binge with performances that will have you yelling “Emmy!” at your television.

The Beast in Me is a series that underscores how a well-paced and tightly written story can keep us invested.

Too much talk can be fatal to a crime thriller, but the extended interplay between Aggie and Nile provides Ms. Danes and Mr. Rhys the room to create singular characters—neither very cuddly, but multifaceted and even recognizably human. .... The writing, by Mr. Rotter and others, and the direction, mostly by Antonio Campos (“The Staircase,” 2022), does enough narrative bobbing and weaving that we’re on the ropes for hours wondering who is guilty, innocent, complicit or treacherous.

With each revelation that's made, including one shocking discovery that Brian makes in the third act, the series becomes more of a nail-biter.

Despite all of this, Rhys is having so much fun, Danes makes such a good sparring partner for him, and the story moves at such a good clip prior to that ill-conceived flashback episode, that The Beast in Me is pretty engaging for most of its eight hours. It's an example of why tropes become tropes in the first place: because they work.

While the show feints in the direction of Janet Malcolm’s “The Journalist and the Murderer,” it never seriously interrogates the way authors can betray their subjects. Still, it’s a very entertaining watch.

Some questionable storytelling choices and uneven execution make it an at times frustrating watch. It's not the next Homeland, but it's worth your time if your looking for a thriller to devour over a rainy weekend.