Who knew Taylor Sheridan's titan reign at Paramount was going to be such a disaster for Netflix? Well, just about everybody – and the new western series The Abandons completely proves that.

Let's set the scene. Instead of the usual Kevin Costner-style male dominated environment, two matriarchs rule this version of the Wild West. Wealthy tyrant Constance Van Ness (Gillian Anderson) rules the town of Angel's Ridge with an iron fist, determined to control every last inch of it.

Unfortunately for her, poor rancher Fiona (Lena Headey) is a woman who stands her ground. She's fighting to keep her found family's ranch in their hands, resulting in a fatal clash between the two women. Or a 'mother-off', as the kids on TikTok might say.

It sounds like an almighty spectacle, and in some respects it is. The action is big scale on a big budget, the ensemble is fully invested and the production of all seven episodes is absolutely outstanding.

But then there's the overarching storyline, and the overall effect. When you're releasing a western series in the 21st century, it will naturally be compared to 'Sheridanverse' juggernauts like Yellowstone, Landman and 1923. If you watch them all and remember The Abandons, I'd be very surprised.

The Abandons is cursed by an environment way out of Netflix's control

If any main streamer or broadcaster releases a western these days, we're watching it with intense scrutiny. A decade ago, nobody would have batted an eyelid, but the genre has been single-handedly resurrected by Sheridan and Paramount's partnership. As he continues to churn out smash hit shows, that doesn't really leave room for anyone else.

For Netflix, this means that any content that isn't an automatic smash hit is likely to be forgotten, and I think The Abandons falls into this category. It's had more success with new western-romance shows like Ransom Canyon, and I think if the streamer wants to be an industry leader in the genre, that's where it should direct its efforts.

This makes it sound like The Abandons is absolutely dreadful, and it's anything but. However, it doesn't stray to far from "fine". Every element of its composition is solid and delivers what it needs to, but exceptional? Memorable? I'm not so sure about that.

Part of the problem is due to how the overarching storyline unfolds. In episode 1, we're thrown into a myriad of plots that aren't properly explained – and I don't mean that we should naturally be kept in suspense, like a murder mystery.

As an example, Fiona comes from Ireland and has managed to congregate a found family on the Abandons ranch over the course of a few years. How she got to the US, and how they all found each other, becomes convoluted too quickly.

I'm all for a bit of "show don't tell," but I need enough of an understanding to full sink my teeth into the western illusion. Instead, I'm flailing around like a bystander caught in the middle of a gunslinging duel. This effect continues over the series, and that's not amazing incentive to keep on binging.

Gillian Anderson and Lena Headey mother the house down

However, it's not all doom and gloom – let's do my favorite thing in the world and talk about Gillian Anderson. I don't think this is her best role of the year (that would be in Trespasses on Channel 4 in the UK), but she never turns out a bad performance. Obviously, because she's Gillian Anderson.

Constance Van Ness is everything you want in an archetypal villain, and remains calculated, cold and cruel in every decision she makes. She's quite literally on her high horse here, metaphorically (and sometimes physically) kicking every person and mutt who dares to get in her way. For a Gillian Anderson fan, it's everything that you could possibly want, and I see new YouTube fan edits in her future.

Of course, Lena Headey isn't far behind Anderson. Fiona is as tenacious as she is decisive, almost single-handedly driving the plot forward with dangerous inciting incidents and turning points. At the same time, she's guarded and elusive, and the urge to learn more about her becomes overbearing. Scenes between the two are actually few and far between, but when they happen, they're golden.

Obviously, anything these two are in automatically holds more weight, but to say the good in The Abandons rests solely on their shoulders isn't fair. Their ensemble cast is strong, and the ranch, Angel's Ridge and the natural countryside beauty are almost all characters in their own right.

I don't think the new Netflix western will be the most satisfying TV binge this December, but you won't be wasting your time by watching, either. It's certainly a budget version of a Taylor Sheridan show (metaphorically speaking, not in production value), but if you're a fan of our leading ladies, The Abandons is a slam dunk.

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I'll tell you what wasn't on my Christmas list to Santa this year – unironically enjoying (nay, loving) a Netflix festive film. I've watched a lot of bad ones in this job, but My Secret Santa is undoubtedly the best of the sappy genre.

In a nutshell, it's Mrs. Doubtfire if Robin Williams decided to be a Santa drag king instead of a sassy Scottish pensioner. Instead of a man desperately trying to win his estranged wife back, single mom Taylor (Alexandra Breckenridge) needs fast cash to send her daughter to an elite snowboarding resort.

By being employed there, she'd get a staff discount, but the only opening is for a seasonal Father Christmas. Bing bang boom... she gets the job in a full Santa makeover.

Of course, romance is in the air too. Matthew (Ryan Eggold) recognizes former singer Taylor in a record store, and just so happens to be the new general manager at the resort – you can already guess how it's going to end just by reading this synopsis.

Whichever Netflix casting agent had the foresight to merge Virgin River and New Amsterdam's leading actors together deserves a massive festive bonus, in my eyes. Together Breckenridge and Eggold deliver a genuinely well-crafted tale that perfectly slots into the cozy sub-genre they've both whittled into shape over the years.

If anything, it almost makes up for the fact we're not getting Virgin River season 7 this month (if you squint hard enough, I'm sure Eggold would look enough like Martin Henderson).

My Secret Santa cements Alexandra Breckenridge as the Queen of Netflix

If you suggest I'm solely writing this review as an excuse to write a love letter to Breckenridge's work and further my cause to try and interview her in 2026, I don't know what you're talking about.

She carries My Secret Santa squarely on her shoulders, and she completely pulls off what is, rationally speaking, a completely implausible story. This is the kind of tale she was born to tell, and the movie's happy-go-lucky vibes underpinned by more authentic real-world problems suits her warm and engaging personality incredibly well.

In essence, I don't actually care about Taylor's character arc or her capers while wearing the baggy pants of Father Christmas – I'm just always buying what Breckenridge is selling. It's impossible to not be entranced by her screentime, exuding natural charm in everything she does. You want to be her, you want to be best friends with her... even when she's pretending to be an old man.

As far as Christmas movies go, this one is pretty original

The biggest compliment I can give My Secret Santa is that it feels current without trying too hard. There are no shudder-worthy TikTok jokes, no trends being jumped on, and nobody trying too hard to fit into a mould that isn't inherently them. Yes, the ending is undoubtedly cringe, but it's in keeping with the spirit of Christmas movies.

Tia Mowry isn't a natural fit as a villain, and there's no huge stakes aside from Taylor's daughter not being able to snowboard. However, we're here to get invested into a romantic connection, not be plunged into terror. Obviously, it's all a bit naff (lacking in taste and style, for my non-Brits), but that comes with the territory.

I can't believe I'm writing this, but I'm already contemplating watching My Secret Santa again (which is essentially the equivalent of pigs flying). I got so much joy, warmth and feel-good vibes from Netflix's latest festive offering, and that's how you know it's a job done well.

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When the first season of Squid Game: The Challenge came out, I thought it was the best reality competition show I’d seen in years outside of The Traitors. But in just two short years, the Netflix gameshow has fallen from the best to the worst.

The recipe for why is actually very simple – in 2023, we were enthralled by the idea that Netflix’s biggest K-drama could be replicated with everyday people and exceptionally detailed gameplay following in the footsteps of what we saw in each episode of Squid Game season 1.

The new games that were introduced fused dynamic action with familiar tactics (e.g. the use of Battleships in the third game) and we genuinely grew to love the alliances and band of characters we saw on screen.

Almost none of that is represented in Squid Game: The Challenge season 2. The original show's games are still well replicated, but they’re mundane compared to the big classics we saw in season 1. New twists and turns mostly fall flat, and our cast is too weak to be memorable or build an invisible rapport with the audience.

And if that all isn’t bad enough, where on earth is Red Light, Green Light?

All of the reality TV sparkle has gone in Squid Game: The Challenge season 2

Squid Game: The Challenge season 2 has taken a risk by getting rid of the show’s most famous games (think Red Light, Green Light and Dalgona) and replacing them with brand-new gameplay. Half of our cast of 456 players are immediately eliminated by the new game Count, which is merely comprised of two teams counting 456 seconds before pressing a button.

It makes for the most anti-climactic premiere episode of TV I’ve seen this year, and I’m absolutely baffled for why Netflix would choose to use a counting game over the brutal run-and-stop elimination we’re all looking forward to. Annoyingly, it’s not coming any later in the series either.

Games such as Mingle in episode 4 win back some level of tension, but it might be too little, too late. In the first four episodes alone, we only see two and a half games played out, with dorm challenges or recordings of the contestants filling our screens in the meantime. Normally, if there is a strong cast and genuinely shrewd surprises, this wouldn’t be a problem.

However, we’re presented with labored and anti-climactic developments between cast members we can’t remember from one minute to the next.

Let’s address the changes first. There are a variety of new dorm challenges introduced to try and stoke up drama between players – the most successful of these being a secret boiler room where players are sent to enact eliminations or receive coins to use in a snack-filled vending machine. We also see players presented with a chance to swap meals for “scratchers” or pass around Russian dolls, both of with lead to potential disadvantages in the next game.

Despite the fact that none of these make the level of impact that Netflix is hoping for, it all feels too pre-meditated – and that’s the same problem we see with the casting. In short, it’s all gone a bit too X Factor, putting the pedal to the emotional medal so hard that nothing feels genuine. Everything we’re seeing feels overly contrived, and Netflix is trying far too hard to keep our attention.

Where season 1 introduced players we could connect with (think mother-son duo Leanne and Trey), Netflix is clearly trying to fit the same character profiles, but with less success. As soon as I can remember that somebody exists, they’re killed off, and that’s always been the downside of a gameshow with such a big cast. The finalists don’t become clear until the last moment, but this time there’s nobody in the interim to tide us over.

What does this mean for Squid Game: The Challenge season 3?

In short, this all isn’t amazing news for the already-renewed Squid Game: The Challenge season 3. It feels as though season 2 is following the original series slump that came at the same point (at least, in my opinion), which wasn’t completely clawed back by the time season 3 dropped six months later.

But it’s not all hopeless. Game stalwarts like Marbles returns, offering up the most emotional turning point we’ve seen across all iterations of the game, and the production design is still beyond astounding. We know season 3 will likely replicate the jump rope horror from the first season of Squid Game, and that’s got the opportunity to be the jewel in Netflix’s reality TV crown.

In the meantime, I’d rather rewatch the original series than get ready for the rest of Squid Game: The Challenge season 2 in the coming weeks.

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As a press delegate at London Film Festival, your watchlist usually passes double figures – but after two weeks, the movie I'm still thinking about is Train Dreams. In all honesty, there's not a higher compliment you can give a film, especially one that most people haven't seen yet.

In an age where we want everything in an instant (including answers to the questions movies ask of us), it's a brave move to opt for a slow-burn story. It's even braver when said story isn't one familiar to most people, demanding that we go in with no prior knowledge to watch a deeply personal journey.

This is how to best experience the new Netflix movie, based on the Denis Johnson novella of the same name. Combined, the streamer and the story are demanding that we leave our brains and baggage at the door to live out the life and death of Robert Grainier, a lumberjack working on the railroads in the early 1900s.

Sure, there's plenty of steel being fashioned into tracks that ferry bemused passengers from A to B, but Grainier's occupation is the least interesting thing about his life. Joel Edgerton plays him with such an unguarded sense of masculinity that you cannot help being invested in his love of life, love, and the world around him (and that's just in a nutshell).

Train Dreams is the most beautifully understated Netflix movie of the year

On the whole, I cannot tell you how impressed I am with Netflix for gifting us Train Dreams. I was initially skeptical about whether a streaming platform would be the right fit, but being able to watch in the privacy of your own home echoes the personal intimacy we see reverberate through Grainier and the film itself.

Edgerton runs away with this, and it's all thanks to his commitment to vulnerability. On the surface, Grainier is the archetypal man's man – he routinely leaves his wife and kid at home to work seasonal lumberjack jobs, embodying the traditional masculine values of physical labor and strength, responsibility and self-reliance.

Yet Edgerton strips that all away to reveal a man who would do anything for his wife and daughter, revering them with just as much authority and respect as he would give to any man working alongside him. He's open about his emotions, letting himself break down in front of Gladys (Felicity Jones) and Claire (Kerry Condon) respectively as life becomes something he doesn't recognize and cannot grasp. He has wronged, and his conscience is restless because of it.

It's an astonishing portrait of a man enveloped in a lifetime of turmoil, and I cannot think of a better point in time for us to quietly unpack what it means to be a man than now. Life is tough, and Grainier has it a lot harder than most, and it all feeds into a beautiful invitation for introspection... something that's still actively shaping my worldview a few weeks on.

It's all about the meaning, but don't discount what you're seeing on screen

While the meditating on the not-so-brilliant fruits of Grainier's life of labor, what we're seeing on screen aptly reflects that. Train Dreams' aesthetic is one shrouded in mist, keeping secrets of the past and future at bay while we get lost in the present. The natural landscape of rural America is nothing short of astonishing, essentially becoming a secondary character or member of the Grainier family.

Train Dreams is a story tinged by longing, and I felt my heart and mind open up to something bigger while I was watching. I yearned for my love, my family, my sense of place, and of course to visit the film's gorgeous location, absorbing it with nothing else around me but my thoughts. While the subject matter is often provoking and difficult to process, these hope-filled moments – the kind we spend our whole lives looking for – act as a mental palette cleanser.

There are issues here too. For those who aren't a fan of the slow-burn, Train Dreams takes a noticeable length of time to properly stoke its fires, and that could be to its detriment once its release into the big wide world. I'd have like to have seen Condon's character Claire utlilized more evenly throughout the film (or at least give her more screen time after she's introduced), and I predict people may be left unsatisfied by the way Grainier's life ends. For me, it's the perfect salute to life's natural cruel streak.

Netflix is really hitting a stride of offering us everything in moderation this year, and Train Dreams is another successful string to its bow. In such a saturated release window (we're heading into Awards season, after all), I can see it being lost in the fanfare, but I cannot urge you enough to board this train for a ride that will leave you changed.

Train Dreams releases on Netflix on November 21, 2025.

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Let's not beat around the bush with what director Noah Baumbach is trying to achieve with Jay Kelly, it's a blatant love letter to George Clooney. The new Netflix movie is self-indulgent to the point of rubbing in it in our faces, and I'm as surprised as anyone else that I have no problem with that.

In fact, I think it's this indulgence that means the film can exist and emote in the way that it needs to. Clooney and the character he plays Kelly are basically one synonymous figure, gently poking fun at a sadness that runs through the veins of Hollywood. As they say, you need to be your own cheerleader, and look where that can get you.

Where I was expecting to be emotionally eviscerated by other movies at the London Film Festival (namely Hamnet, as every critic and their dog suggested), Jay Kelly delivered meditative heartbreak where its programmed rivals have failed to. There's nothing too overt or gauche happening to achieve this, merely a lot of sitting in the moment, thinking and processing.

I'd go as far as to say that Jay Kelly is the movie many of us need to see this year. I don't know what kind of permanent Mercury retrograde 2025 feels like it's in, but people are collectively going through it now more than ever. To be grounded is to bring us back to ourselves, and for Jay/George, the answers aren't quite what he'd hoped for.

Jay Kelly isn't just an ode to George Clooney, but regrettable choices

Let's set the scene: After filming his latest big picture, Jay Kelly thinks he wants out of the business. When a longtime mentor suddenly dies, he's brought face-to-face with things in his past that he'd rather forget. With his daughters making their own way in the world, Kelly impulsively decides to follow his youngest to Europe, throwing the lives of everyone around him into jeopardy.

Like him or loathe him, Clooney is the epitome of old-school Hollywood. He's got the voice, charm and physicality of peers gone by, and still never fails to make a group of people swoon at his feet at the age of 64. Is he the best actor around? No. Have all of his films been successful? Absolutely not. Yet he remains golden.

Kelly is exactly the same. By his own admission, he isn't the best actor and hasn't made the best decisions professionally or personally. This leaves him wondering if his 35-year career actually meant anything. Kelly's family life isn't much better, as he's now estranged from his eldest daughter, Jessica (Riley Keough), while his youngest, Daisy (Grace Edwards), is determined to find her own feet. As he soberly tells us, "my memories are all in movies. That's all they are, memories".

This is where Clooney and Kelly differ. While we've got no idea what goes on in Clooney's personal life (and nor should we), Kelly's is violently ripped apart. We follow his life through flashbacks of his youth, adulthood and recent past, all while present-day Kelly watches on in the moment. It's clear that introspection is never something he's considered, running through life like a bull in a China shop.

Truthfully, he's ruined just about everything without realizing. Alongside his daughters, friend and manager Ron (Adam Sandler) believes their relationship is purposeful while Kelly sees it as transactional, and publicist Liz (Laura Dern) is one crisis away from jumping ship. Kelly decides he doesn't really know who he is, and everyone feels the consequences.

But while that's a massive nuisance for literally everybody who has ever met Jay Kelly, it's helpful for us as a viewers. By examining his career, personal choices and parenting in painstaking detail, we have no choice but to be confronted with our own lives in the process. Can you truly have a work-life balance? Will our kids resent us for how much our careers pull us in other directions? Are we making the right decisions for ourselves and our loved ones?

As life likes to remind us, there are no conclusive answers for this. But watching Kelly struggle to comprehend his own accountability packs the ideal emotional punch. As Jay Kelly continues, we become one with him, laughing, crying and resolving his issues as if they are our own. When it comes down to it, they are, and Baumbach knows just how to connect us to that feeling.

Jay Kelly isn't just about Jay Kelly

As you might expect, Clooney is a duck to water when it comes to his performance, but he's not the only person behind the fractured man. Sandler returns to a comedy-drama balance as the long-suffering Ron, laying his heart on the line for it to get openly beaten by Kelly's self-delusion. It's the perfect blend of stern and soft, and we're rooting for him to stick up for the quality of life we know he deserves.

Liz doesn't suffer fools, which is the counter-balance needed to an industry intent on telling Kelly what he wants to hear. While I absolutely hated watching Jim Broadbent die for the 137465th time in a movie (playing Kelly's mentor Peter), Riley Keough is my standout supporting performance.

As a woman in a lot of pain, where she is in life and how she's choosing to live it has the most significance for understanding who Kelly is. She is desperate for her dad to listen to how she feels, yet direct about not wanting to be in his life on a permanent basis. It's a case of too little to late for Kelly, and an emotionally excruciating phone call scene hammers that point home.

Sure, Baumbach isn't doing anything exciting or fresh with his vision and direction, and there's a part of me that's annoyed with myself for loving a film about the most-documented genre of all time (men in Hollywood). But I loved how Jay Kelly left me examining my own life, reassessing what's going on around me and reminding me it takes a village to be a decent person – it's surprising how easy it is to forget self-reflection.

Jay Kelly is available on Netflix from December 5.

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As the biggest Conclaviac (that's a fan of director Edward Berger's movie Conclave) around, I was always seated for Berger's next movie before it had even been filmed. Now I've seen Ballad of a Small Player, it's clear that it was never going to live up to the hype.

Really, we're wrong to pit the new Netflix movie against Berger's previous work (which includes All Quiet on the Western Front), yet it's inevitable. Each of his last three projects exist in their own right, not sharing any characteristics outside of Berger's outstanding personal vision.

If you're coming to Ballad of a Small Player hoping for cinematography that will blow your mind, you're in the right place. If you're hoping Colin Farrell bares his acting soul in the portrait of a tortured gambler at war with his addiction, he charmingly delivers.

The downside is that the movie suffers from the classic problem of waning at the two-third mark – in a nutshell, the fatal moment where you're itching for things to wrap up and draw their conclusion, checking your watch in the process.

But besides this, I fell in love with Berger's end goal, flaws and all. While I wonder if being streamed on Netflix does the film's artistry a disservice, we should be thanking out lucky stars for such immediate access to thoughtful, quality craft

Ballad of a Small Player's visuals are the real star of the show

Macau is a city where, by Berger and his team's own admission, is unlike anywhere else in the world. A beast with two distinctly different identities, it's the perfect place to reflect big-time gambler Lord Doyle's (Farrell) inner demons, struggling to get himself out of a hole he makes deeper with every decision.

Without giving too much away, he's a man who owes a lot of people money (or has flat-out stolen it), spending anything he has left on the next game of Baccarat. When Cynthia Blithe (Tilda Swinton) begins to tail him for the life he's left behind, Doyle turns to Dao Ming (Fala Chen) in his hour of need. What follows is the ultimate test of his character.

Where there are big-scale locations like Macau and Hong Kong, there's big-scale vision. Doyle is accurately reflected as the flea in a circus of lights and power that he is, lost in an environment he's tricked himself into thinking he understands.

That's bad news for Doyle but excellent news for viewers, who'll be entranced by visuals that'll leave their eyes blaze in wonder, like a child seeing light for the first time. We see repetitions of Conclave's cinematic framing, meaning you can easily pause Ballad of a Small Player from time to time and find a freeze frame worthy of gallery installation.

In this respect, Berger is playful. Light plays against dark, overwhelm contrasts against stillness and chaos manifests under many different guises. As far as artistry is concerned, both he and the movie are at the top of their game.

Should Ballad of a Small Player have been picked up by Netflix?

Obviously, there are very few films in existence that are objectively flawless, and Ballad of a Small Player comes with its issues. Fans of the original 2014 novel of the same name might be horrified to realize quite a few key details have changed.

For example, Dao Ming is now directly tied to the Rainbow casino thanks to a switch in occupation, and Swinton's character has been entirely invented for the adaptation. Subjectively, I have a separate gripe here – a film without Swinton in every conceivable shot is one that doesn't have enough seasoning, offering up yet another chameleonic performance that stands uniquely on its own two feet.

But even if you're okay with the above, you'll likely feel the dreaded narrative lag that hits around the two-thirds mark. It was almost a given considering how much mental anguish Doyle puts himself though (which the storyline relies on), but we find ourselves frustrated with his lack of personal progress. It comes in the blink of an eye towards the end of the movie, making the journey from zero to hero unconvincingly rushed rather than thoughtfully mapped out.

Most importantly, though, Ballad of a Small Player being a Netflix release doesn't feel like the right fit, and that's for two reasons. The advantage of its stylistic visuals means it needs to be seen on the biggest screen possible, and I fear the average living room TV won't do the scale of what's been achieved true justice.

On top of this, the movie is going up against huge Netflix releases like Knives Out 3 and Frankenstein within weeks of each other. Out of all originals movies dropping on the streaming service, I think Ballad of a Small Player is the most likely to be glossed over (if for no other reason, purely because it's the smallest IP).

As Netflix hits its fall of back-to-back movie stride, my plea to you is to not overlook this one now that it's arrived. Granted, it's no Conclave, but what Ballad of a Small Player lacks in narrative nous it more than makes up for in cinematic scope, taking us to locations and circumstances we cannot access in reality.

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Wayward is the title you need to keep your eyes on most of all when looking at the line-up of everything new on Netflix in September 2025. Brought to us by Feel Good creator and comic Mae Martin, they've even bagged Toni Collette for her most explosive horror role since Ari Aster's Hereditary in 2022.

But this is just scratching the surface of why Wayward is so good. The new Netflix series tells the story of the small town of Tall Pines, Vermont, which is home to a school of delinquent teens that get shipped off to study under the watchful eye of Evelyn Wade (Collette). Leila (Alyvia Alyn Lind) and Abbie (Sydney Topliffe) are two teens caught up in the school's mysteries, alongside cop Alex (Martin) and wife Laura (Sarah Gadon), who return to Laura's home town to settle down before the birth of their new baby.

Their two points of view converge over the course of the eight-episode run, giving us a multi-dimensional look at what it means to be a brainwashed youth incarcerated against your will. The town's decisions (and I won't spoil what these are) aim to rebuild Tall Pines from the ground up, but instead break down and fracture every part of its infrastructure. Not that this seems to matter, though as Evelyn's got her metaphorical hooks into almost everyone around her.

Between Alex, Abbie and Leila, it's up to them to get to the bottom of what's actually going on in Tall Pines. As a result, we're taken on a journey that resembles something between Twin Peaks and Stranger Things, and boy, is the outcome satisfying.

Of course Netflix's Wayward is brilliant, Mae Martin created it

Viewers should have known Wayward would be an instant addition to their watchlist the minute it was clear the series was coming from Mae Martin. Feel Good is still regarded as one of the greatest comedy-dramas to come out of the last decade, and not just by me. Even though veering into sci-fi supernatural territory isn't an expected direction for Martin, it almost doesn't matter.

Why? Good TV comes from getting the basics right: we're talking structure, characters, setting, as well as peaks and pits to hold the audiences attention. It's Martin's craft that's always elevated anything they've been a part of, even though their character Alex could be seen as another extension of their own personality. But we're rooting for Alex every step of the way, and that paves the way for some effortless LGBTQIA+ representation.

Instead of overtly stating that Martin's character is a trans man, the ensemble use he/him pronouns without hesitation, and when they fumble it feels authentic, rather than clumsily wedging inclusion in to tick a diversity box. It's incredibly refreshing and makes us buy into Alex's personal experiences on a much deeper level. If you're looking for someone more shouty about their sexuality, Leila is your girl, with her blossoming bisexuality proudly worn as only a naive teenager can.

Then there's Toni Collette. As one of the most talented actors that seems to be continuously unappreciated (especially by the Academy Awards), I hope viewers will tune in merely to see her shine (though I already know they will). She raises the game of everything and everyone around her when she signs onto the project, and there's no doubt that Wayward is what it is because of her. It's Evelyn's world and we're just living in it, making even the most skin-crawling of scenes enjoyable.

Stick with Wayward after episode 1 – I promise the payoff is worth it

For the most part, Wayward is well structured, holds its intrigue and has enough mystery wrapped in suspense to sustain us for the rest of the year. I'm a biased fan of anything to do with sketchy communes, strange towns and schools for dysfunctional children, but its subject matter is incredibly compelling even for the uninitiated. I should have felt as though I'd seen this play out 1000 times over (and better), but I came away from Wayward with a fresh perspective.

That said, there are a few minor downsides. With such a strange ensemble cast of characters in Tall Pines, not all of them get their backstories explained outright, particularly those relating to Laura's past. Laura's own journey has an ironic symbiosis with Evelyn's and it would have been helpful to see more of how she actually functioned in her alma mater.

Looking back, episode 1 was the biggest stumbling block, and that's not helpful when it's the make-or-break point of a viewer deciding if they'll stick or split to something else in Netflix's expansive back catalog. It's worth point out that all events that occur in Wayward are happening in 2003 rather than being split across different points in time, with it initially unclear how Abbie and Leila's story will cross paths with Alex and Laura's. It gets there pretty quickly after in episode 2, but the first 40 minutes require a bit of patience and push-through.

But these are small prices to pay for an ultimately satisfying and well-rounded eight-parter. Touching on themes of identity, motherhood, loss, community and trust, anybody who loves unpicking the crux of a story will be fed well-timed mouthfuls at every turn. There's an interesting feeling of pride that comes with working out the subtext of something, and that's a uniquely enjoyable experience in Wayward. Tall Pines has a lot of its own lore, both directly through the phases of the school, and hidden in plain sight among its residents.

If you want my advice: invest your time, trust nobody, and hope to God that you don't get selected for The Leap.

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