‘Sirens’ review: a bingeable mystery romp about messy rich people

This scintillating miniseries unfolds at a billionaire’s cliffside compound that doubles as a raptor sanctuary. It’s an enviable stretch of New England coastline where birds of a feather flock together, but don’t always help one another to soar. Driven dropout Simone DeWitt (House Of The Dragon‘s Milly Alcock) has landed her dream job here, working as the live-in assistant to Michaela Kell (Julianne Moore), a high-flying lawyer who remade herself as an avian conservationist when she married old-money mogul Peter Kell (Kevin Bacon).

The two women’s relationship is symbiotic and a little bit sinister. When Michaela’s favourite bird of prey flies smack into her eyebrow window – this show will make you Google “eyebrow window” – she snuggles under the covers with her PA like an overgrown child. In episode one, Simone’s manicured life as Michaela’s confidante, running buddy and stage manager – she gives the staff their orders so her boss doesn’t have to – is interrupted by the arrival of her older sister Devon (The White Lotus season two’s Meghann Fahy). “There’s a transient person waiting at the house for you – she’s carrying hot garbage,” underling Missy (Britne Oldford) informs a less than welcoming Simone.

Devon is a freewheeling agent of chaos with possible sex and alcohol addiction issues who wants Simone to come home to blue collar Buffalo, New York, to help with their dementia-stricken father (Bill Camp). She’s unconvinced by her sister’s glossy upper-class makeover (which includes a little plastic surgery, naturally) and thinks Michaela may be operating a bird of prey-themed cult. Given that Simone’s boss is often flanked by “Cloe, Lisa and Astrid”, three interchangeable lackeys who seem to speak in pre-ordained soundbites, this theory isn’t totally outlandish.

Every morning, the Kells’ head chef, Patrice (Lauren Weedman), prepares an inventive post-workout smoothie that Michaela rejects for no good reason. Sirens creator Molly Smith Metzler (also known for helming Maid), who adapted the series from her 2011 stage play Elemeno Pea, is equally adept at blending ingredients. This show has superficial similarities to The White Lotus, notably a derivative title sequence and a healthy disdain for messy rich people, but it soon establishes its own campy tone. Sirens manages to be a soapy murder-mystery – Devon thinks Michaela may have killed her husband’s first wife – while also making sharp observations about class, patriarchy and the limits of sisterhood. It gets away with some whiplash-inducing tonal shifts because it’s always great fun.

When the pace slackens, which isn’t very often over five hour-long episodes, the performances keep you hooked. Both Alcock and Fahy are brilliant at peeling back the layers of women who are more complicated – and even more damaged – than they appear. Smizing dictator Michaela may look like a schlocky role for Moore, an Oscar-winner who generally works with indie directors like Pedro Almodóvar and Todd Haynes, but she imbues it with her usual gift for ambiguity. Is Michaela a monster or actually a bit less monstrous than she seems? Sirens will keep you guessing until the end as these fabulous birds of a feather really show their talons.

‘Sirens’ is streaming on Netflix now

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