You would expect the king of the gods to have a pretty massive ego, but even by that standard, Zeus is a real piece of work. He swallowed his first wife, Metis, whole. His courtship, if you can call it that, of Hera (who was also his sister) involved transforming himself into an adorable cuckoo bird; he also used the animal trick on mortals, committing rapes in the form of a bull, a swan, etc. Pandora’s box? That was all Zeus. In the Netflix series KAOS, premiering Aug. 29, Prometheus—who was famously condemned by Zeus to be forever bound to a cliff and have his infinitely regenerating liver pecked out by an eagle—calls him a “transcendent, unmitigated bastard.”
[time-brightcove not-tgx=”true”]
This kind of gloriously polysyllabic insult is a trademark of British comedy, and in this case, it comes courtesy of screenwriter and showrunner Charlie Covell, who created the cult teen dramedy The End of the F***ing World. With KAOS, Covell updates Greek mythology for a contemporary world where Jesus never arrived to chase away the old gods. In this telling, which mixes elements of comedy and political thriller, the Olympians are a sort of divine crime family; Jeff Goldblum, that master of oleaginous creepitude, stars as Zeus in a lightning-bolt-bedazzled tracksuit. It’s a clever, if not wholly original, premise, elevated by smart casting, sharp dialogue, and world-building that makes inspired use of some of Western culture’s most enduring lore.
The series opens with a threat to Zeus’ long reign. One morning, in his own personal palace in the clouds, the deity glimpses a wrinkle in his forehead that shouldn’t be there because he isn’t supposed to age. So begins the patriarch of patriarchs’ spiral into a panic over the suspicion that an ancient prophecy portending his downfall is about to come true. He may be fixating on the wrong sign, but he’s right to worry. Prometheus (Stephen Dillane, Game of Thrones’ Stannis Baratheon), who Zeus calls his best friend but still keeps chained up on the cliffside in between hangouts, is plotting to use a trio of humans to knock the problematic god off of Olympus.
A sprawling story ensues, with intertwined subplots set in the heavens, amid mortals in the earthly state of Krete, and in a drab, corporate underworld rendered in black and white. Over the course of several patiently unfurled episodes, Covell reintroduces witty updates of familiar mythological gods and heroes. Janet McTeer’s Hera is glamorous, imperious, and far cannier than her narcissistic husband knows. David Thewlis plays Hades as a mousy but well-meaning bureaucrat; Persephone (Rakie Ayola) serves (consensually, this time around) as his girl Friday. Bored of the party circuit, Dionysus (Nabhaan Rizwan) starts bugging his dad for more responsibility. Debi Mazar is a no-nonsense Medusa, snakey hair wrapped in a scarf when she isn’t weaponizing it. Suzy Eddie Izzard appears as one of three wonderfully arch Fates.
As above, so below. Krete is gripped by civil unrest, as members of the oppressed Trojan minority rise up. When ruler Minos (Stanley Townsend) and his daughter Ariadne (Leila Farzad, as great here as she was in I Hate Suzie) unveil a holy monument, they’re shocked to find it covered in excrement and decorated with blasphemous graffiti: “F-ck the gods.” This act of vandalism doesn’t exactly soothe Zeus’s anxieties, so, as they’ve done so many times before, the Olympians set about interfering in human politics. Meanwhile, in a reimagining of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, the latter is Riddy (Aurora Perrineau), a woman falling out of love with her famous singer-songwriter husband (Killian Scott), smothered by his wife-guy form of affection. Everywhere, humans are growing bolder in cursing and defying their divine overlords.
It’s a huge cast of characters—and that isn’t even all of them—albeit one with which most viewers will be at least somewhat familiar. Covell keeps it manageable by moving slowly through the story and inserting pithy narration from Prometheus when necessary. The pace is a mixed blessing. Unlike most recent genre epics, which cram too many characters and plot twists into their premieres in a misguided effort to hook viewers inundated with streaming options, KAOS is never overwhelming. But it takes about half of the eight-episode season to get all the players introduced; by the finale, Season 1 starts to feel like an extended preface to Season 2.
At least it’s a fun preface, though, and one that builds anticipation for what’s to come. And while the infusion of pagan mythology into the secular present isn’t so novel (see also: Marvel, Anne Carson, and, notably in this vein, Neil Gaiman), Covell makes the microgenre their own with the same angsty, comic sensibility that made The End a thrilling twist on teen tropes. They excel at blending ancient customs and archetypes into the modern world; a closeted trans boy poses a dilemma for an Amazon mom, who must exile any son at puberty, and a routine government ceremony includes a routine human sacrifice. Funny bits abound. In one scene, Zeus calls his many estranged Olympian offspring, one after the other, and they send him straight to voicemail (“Hermes! Pick up the phone!”). A human in the underworld wants to know why she glimpsed Medusa’s snakes but didn’t turn to stone. “Because you’re f-ckin’ dead,” the Gorgon snaps.
Grounded in contemporary observations about the corruption, capriciousness, and entitlement of society’s most powerful families, KAOS has the bones of a political thriller but the heart of a character-driven dramedy. Not quite profound or biting enough to trenchantly satirize our world, it nonetheless provides something people have always sought in the stories we tell about superhuman beings who love, rage, and scheme just like us: a thoroughly enjoyable escape.
Leave a comment
