Sirens opens on the majestic image of Julianne Moore, resplendent in white silk, striding barefoot through a forest to a beachside cliff. She sets a falcon named Barnaby free and gasps with joy as he soars into the skies — an ostensibly lovely moment, but through this show’s lens, also extremely creepy. However it all ends, Sirens is starting off on a foot I both recognize and respect as a longtime appreciator of the onscreen art of exploring white-women-on-white-women violence. Let’s fuckin’ go.
Smash-cut to: a scowling woman leaving a police station in a black minidress and the telltale thick eyeliner smudge of A Woman Who Doesn’t Have Her Life Together. This is Devon, a woman struggling to keep herself, her sobriety, and her fractured family together. Meghann Fahy is admittedly my Bold Type girlie of choice, so it takes approximately 30 seconds for her to get me on Devon’s side. Not only has her sister, Simone (Milly Alcock), gone AWOL, but after hearing that their father, Bruce (Bill Camp), has early-onset dementia, she sent an Edible Arrangement instead of any material help. The basic indignity of an Edible Arrangement basket, especially one that enormous and padded out with cantaloupe slices, cannot be overstated.
Devon and her black nail polish, having sent Simone countless frantic “SIRENS!” texts that all went unanswered, can’t believe her sister’s nerve. She grabs the melon monstrosity, tells her dad where to find his beer and Stouffer’s, and hitches a Peter Pan bus to find her sister. It’s a stunning display of how powerful petty rage can be, and I have no choice but to admire the sheer disdain of it all.
While Devon is making her way out to Simone and giving ferry blowjobs (she’s our Bad Cinderella), we get a better look at the sanitized life Simone’s made for herself lately. As the personal assistant to Michaela (Moore), the all-powerful lady of the house, she prides herself on knowing everything that’s going on before it even happens. She lives in “Kiki”’s house, goes on runs with her in matching athleisure sets, and even drafts sexts to her husband. She addresses the landscapers — who rightfully hate her ass — through a megaphone like she’s a sorority president scolding prospies. The only thing that seems completely hers in Michaela’s world is a secret relationship with Ethan (Glenn Howerton), an older rich guy whose spring formalwear includes blazers dotted with rubber duckies. It’s an aesthetically pleasing life, but the second Devon crashes onto the threshold, it becomes even clearer that it’s also very weird.
As Devon and her “no fucks given” phone case sticker point out, it’s hard to consider this life Simone’s own when she “lives at work” and shares exactly nothing about herself with these people she considers to be her friends. Once Devon manages to break out of the guesthouse Simone tries to hide her in and find a sympathetic gardener ally to get her to a safe point for a smoke, she also realizes exactly how much everyone on the compound is beholden to Michaela’s every whim. They’ve all signed NDAs and there are cameras everywhere. No one’s allowed to eat carbs on-site, forcing the ravenous grounds crew to sneak bagels behind a shed.
Most ominous of all is what Devon sees when she finally just forces her way into the weekend’s welcome event that Simone is so desperate to keep her out of. Michaela’s not just hosting some fundraiser for her falcon rescue. She’s presiding over a meeting with an elaborate staff and opening prayer from “patron saint Rachel Carson” that everyone — including Simone — dutifully recites along with her. Now, Rachel Carson was a marine biologist and conservationist who was especially outspoken about the potential harm of pesticides on wildlife and people alike. None of that seems especially #Problematic on its own. But throw in group chanting, billions of dollars, and a hefty helping of MAHA rhetoric? Yeah, I’ve got concerns.
My girl Devon agrees. “Oh! You’re in a cult,” she says, sighing. The way Fahy delivers it, she’s less surprised than relieved. A cult gives her a reason to double down on her disdain for the way Simone has abandoned both her sister and her life in Buffalo — which, as Ethan points out with some concern, isn’t the same as the breezy “upstate New York, in a Westchester or Connecticut way” upbringing Simone’s been lightly faking all along. Molly Smith Metzler’s last Netflix show was Maid, which also explored what happens when the stark reality of poverty punctures the bubble of extreme wealth, so there should be plenty more where that came from in future.
As the first of five episodes, “Exile” is mostly about setting up the game board and its players. Michaela, who used to be a “high-powered attorney” but now relies on a 25-year-old to tell her she’s pretty, is The Beautiful Mystery. Devon, who fought for custody of Simone after their mother died and refuses to abandon their dad, is The Fuckup Who Cares Too Much. Simone, who has understandably complex feelings toward the man who left her in foster care but deals with it by losing herself in other people, is The Golden Child Who’d Rather Not Think About Her Past, Thanks.
Between their stark wardrobes, Simone’s uptight repression, and Devon’s apparent sex addiction, the sisters couldn’t be drawn with broader strokes. But Fahy, Alcock, and director Nicole Kassell are also very good at their jobs, and so even downright bizarre moments like Simone chewing Michaela’s used gum or Devon randomly licking a landscaper’s neck wind up making a strange sort of sense. The scene where Michaela politely banishes Devon from the house with a check for $10,000 — which is, frankly, nowhere near enough for elder care, especially from an apparent billionaire — is the episode’s best, thanks to Fahy’s and Alcock’s nuanced reactions of furious and quiet (respectively) anguish.
If there were any further doubt about who these characters are or what kind of show Sirens is trying to be, “Exile” works in a blunt sex triptych. Devon, in a tight red dress she expensed to Michaela’s comped hotel room, fucks a stranger on a yacht. Simone, in pink prissy lingerie, soothes Duckie Blazer’s worries about her traumatic past. Michaela, though, waits up for her husband (who couldn’t even be bothered to like their sext!), but he never comes. Instead, Barnaby the falcon — who she was so sure was ready to fly — comes crashing into her window, collapsing into a pile of feathers and blood. Quelle horreur!
And yet, it’s still not quite as horreur-ble as the moment when Devon uses the yacht telescope to stare up at the house to see Michaela seemingly staring straight back at her. She yelps in terror, and she’s right to! It’s the only reasonable response to realizing a filthy-rich cult leader has her eyes trained on you — and that your sister, whom you’ll always love in spite of her Edible Arrangement coping mechanisms, may be in waaay over her pretty little head.
• Welcome to Sirens recaps! Please be advised that the dress code is either pastel-Easter-egg chic or ripped black shreds and absolutely nothing in between.
• Cautiously rooting for Jordan (Trevor Salter), the hot guy who meets Devon’s “I’m Christina Grey from Seattle, I’m a tech millionaire” lie with his own. He does not own the yacht they have sex in; Simone’s boyfriend, Ethan, does. “I just fucked my sister’s boyfriend’s boat guy,” Devon moans/helpfully underlines for those of us who got distracted by a ringing doorbell mid-scene. Thanks, Dev!
• I’d love to be entirely thrilled to see The Other Two sweetie Josh Segarra, but since he’s playing Devon’s philandering fast-food boss who only checks in on her dad after she threatens him with blackmail, I’ll have to reserve my judgment.
• Therefore, property manager José (Felix Solis) is this episode’s side-character MVP, both for his perfect response to the neck lick (“Okay …”) and the following exchange: “Bills fan?” “Yeah, go Bills. Why? You?” “Dolphins fan.” “Ah.” “Fuck the Chiefs?” “Fuck the Chiefs. The Chiefs can get fucked!”
• “I feel alive! And also, happiness. :)”
