‘Sirens’ Sets Its Sights Too High
This limited series confection on Netflix has ambition, and that is its undoing.
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At this point in our slow civilizational decline there’s almost a defined subgenre of Wealthy Lady Batshittism, where extremely well-off women do monstrous things, usually to other women1. Big Little Lies, A Simple Favor, just about anything else starring Nicole Kidman—these stories center on women who have money and power (usually local in nature) and who misuse and abuse it2. Their targets are often the less powerful women around them—these stories always unfold almost totally independent of the men in these women’s lives, who are either aloof and powerful (often the source of the antagonist’s power) or goofy idiots (often dependent on the scrappy, less-powerful women for survival)3.
I’m not here to parse all that gender and societal stuff. I’m not nearly that smart4. I am but a simple writer, trapped in my own heteronormative idea of gender relationships5. No, I’m here to talk about Sirens, a Netflix limited series starring Julianne Moore, Meghan Fahy, Kevin Bacon, and Milly Alcock.
Sirens is a prime example of Wealthy Lady Batshittism. The premise is classic: Fahy is Devon, a troubled woman dealing with a father who’s sliding into dementia. She is angry that her younger sister Simone (Alcock) for ignoring her pleas for help (the titular “sirens” is a text code the sisters have for an emergency) since she took a job working for a wealthy woman, Michaela (Moore) on an island that is essentially Nantucket (which is to say, filled with money). When she arrives at Michaela’s house to confront Simone, she finds a real cultish vibe and a sister she barely recognizes.
Let’s not linger on why I would watch this trifle6, but rather how the trifle fails. Because it fails interestingly, which is the best way to fail7. It fails because it tries too hard.
Quadruple Your Fucked-Up and Then Climb to the Top of Fucked-Up Mountain
On the surface, Sirens is another show about weirdo rich people and the passive-aggressive staff that enable their lifestyles. Michaela (called Kiki by her intimates) is a casually cruel second wife dogged by rumors that she murdered her husband’s first wife. She’s feared and despised by the staff, who also despise Simone, who has modeled herself after Kiki to an extreme degree8. When Devon arrives, she instinctively sides with the staff, who instinctively see in her working class diction and linebacker-esque gait a fellow traveler in the shitty jobs of the world9.
But the show has aspirations10.
It tries for some mystery. Kiki lords over the tony island community like a cult leader, yes, using a wildlife rescue charity as an organizing tool. Her interactions with Simone and others are punctuated by “Hey hey,” a weirdly perfect phrase to imply cultish thought patterns. She seems to mesmerize both Simone and Devon, and seems to have a magical kind of control over some of the other society ladies. Devon is initially convinced that Kiki has brainwashed her sister, and that something dire is going on, and the show is happy to feed those thoughts. On the one hand, this serves to define the extremely wealthy as Other, a bunch of weirdos who have rituals and behaviors that make no sense to anyone who measures their net worth with actual (and relatively small) numbers. On the other hand, the show hedges this by making some of those mesmerizing powers seem 100% literal, which softens the punch.
On another level, the show is all about identity. Who are you, the show argues, depends entirely on what you’re wearing and what your resources are11. Kiki is eventually toppled and reduced to a nobody taking the ferry home, Simone is raised into her place. Neither outcome makes much sense for the character, but there’s a rhyme there that kind of works. Devon puts on one of Kiki’s approved outfits in an attempt to make nice and go undercover, and finds herself slipping into the role of Simone, brainwashed by Kiki’s charm and lifestyle12.
And on another level, the show wants to lean into the Sirens thing and have Michaela, Devon, and Simone be temptresses who lure men to their doom—including a scene where several men literally follow Devon down the beach, horny and determined to win her over despite her angry orders to leave her alone13. Simone lures Kiki’s husband, Peter (Bacon, agreeably smarmy) after Michaela initially lured him, and simultaneously ruins another man’s life when he falls in love with her. When Devon and Simone’s father (Bill Camp) arrives on the scene, he’s immediately mesmerized by Michaela, following her around like a puppy14.
It’s a lot. But in the end it’s just a soapy drama, and it would have been better served to focus in on that.
Why Does Everyone Look Like an Easter Egg?
Ambition isn’t a bad thing15. Neither is editing. The trick, when telling stories, is to go maximal in the zero draft and then tighten things up later. Sirens could have used some of that, because all those loosely-presented layers don’t work well with each other. This is best seen with Simone’s character: She’s presented as troubled, a girl who’s not taking her anxiety medication, who has a panic attack when her boss finds out about her love affair, who is fleeing a home where terrible, terrible things happened to her. As a girl who clings to Michaela’s affection and warm, organic lifestyle as a life preserver.
But by the end, she’s Full Siren, snatching a much older, incredibly wealthy man from her former mentor and immediately transforming into a younger version of Michaela. Like, immediately. There’s no hint that this was ever Simone’s plan—it just sort of happens. Because she’s a siren, get it? It’s not that this is a bad choice to end her arc, it’s just not very well supported by the rest of her story. When her wealthy lover proposes to her earlier in the show, she’s contemptuous16, but there’s no hint that it’s because she’s got a much richer man in mind. That part comes out of nowhere. Maybe if the show had three more episodes to dig around, this could have all come together nicely.
I’ve been to Nantucket, and let me tell you, if you’re going to set up a cult of wealthy weirdness, that would be the ideal place to do it. Especially when the winter comes and you’re all trapped in some enormous mansion for six months, slowly going insane. There’s so much money in Nantucket I swear the restaurants use dollar bills as napkins.
NEXT WEEK: Mountainhead needs more chaos.
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Usually while wearing lavish outfits and living inside lavish properties that require staff for upkeep, which just seems exhausting. If I had real money I’d spend it on whiskey and self-publishing 1,500-page novels that are just my stream of consciousness without any coherent plot or structure, like a normal person.
I know myself well enough to say that if I became a billionaire it would be about 3 days before I was paying random people to dance for me while I laughed and clapped my hands in delight.
In the latter case, I feel seen.
The days when people thought I was smart are long gone, and I miss them. I miss them so much.
I frequently have to stop myself from referring to female lawyers, police officers, judges, and Star Chamber members as “dumplings.”
We all know the answer begins with The and ends with Duchess.
And, yes, I should know, having failed in just about every way you can, most of which are not very interesting. For example, just today I failed to put on two matching socks and everywhere I go the police are called for a wellness check.
One of the funniest bits in the show is the running gag where ther staff send mean texts to each other about Simone while she’s standing in front of them.
This is America, chum. Everything is class.
Personally, I have adopted the mantra of Homer J. Simpson: Never try.
I have a pair of salmon shorts I bought on vacation 20 years ago and whenever I wear them I become Vacation Jeff, who is more or less the same except shirtless and constantly eating shrimp.
I won’t lie: If a billionaire smiled at me I’d probably be massaging his feet within the hour. I am not a mentally strong man.
That’s … probably every woman’s lived experience, actually. Sorry.
I mean, she is played by Julianne Moore.
It’s exhausting though, which is why I decided I was perfect at the age of 18 and never looked back.
This despite the character being played by Five Star Man Glen Howerton.
I’d already decided to give this one a miss. I’m so tired of these “Rich People Behaving Badly and who badly need time outs” serials. I got sucked into Succession…and the British version, I Jack Wright. Ugh.
I really liked Dynasty way back when. Maybe because we couldn’t binge it and forgot most of it in between. Or maybe because of the elaborate costumes—a 1980s costume drama. Or maybe because the outside of the house was a famous local mansion (that wasn’t anywhere near as big on the inside as the Dynasty house.)
Or maybe because a show that was mostly fluff also developed reasons for the group to pull together and then fall apart again. And it wasn’t just bratty rich people. Some were actually trying to build things and had vision, so they weren’t just floundering around spending money and wanting more. And maybe it was because they knew they needed the “little people” in their lives and were actually sometimes nice to them.
Mostly, my husband and I wished the new ones were murder mysteries because we wanted to kill someone off every show. And we wanted them to get arrested, tried, and get what was coming to them. I think that’s what I like most about British Murder Mysteries. They are almost always about rich people behaving badly who do something stupid but think they can still get away with it because they are rich and titled. But instead some lowly Inspector Japp or Detective Lastrade, with the help of someone smart and witty, puts them away. (Mwah hah hah). And justice is served…until the next episode.
But the whole rich people wanting to be richer and doing it while being bratty with perfect hair? And succeeding? Enough already. Bring on the revolution!