Humans Make Bad, Captivating Decisions
Review: The Beast In Me on Netflix
This eight-episode limited series is a high-profile project reuniting Homeland‘s lead star (Claire Danes) and showrunner (Howard Gordon), co-starring the celebrated actor Matthew Rhys (The Americans). It immediately cuts to a terrifying universal truth: we all harbor a dark side, a capacity for both good and bad deeds.
The Netflix miniseries, The Beast In Me, which references this theme through its title, is a complex psychological thriller that asks viewers to confront their own moral limits. (A necessary spoiler warning: the series does have a gruesome scene or two that are difficult to stomach, so queasy viewers should be prepared.)
The show is visually captivating, evoking a lush, anxiety-provoking East Coast atmosphere—one defined by endless greenery, changing seasons, and expansive, dark houses that isolate its characters. It’s in this wealthy, ill-defined suburb set in the Long Island/Westchester orbit, called Oyster Bay (a minor, yet confusing, continuity flaw), that we meet Aggie Wiggs (Claire Danes), a grieving and blocked non-fiction author. Aggie lives alone, struggling with the emotional aftermath of losing her pre-teen child in a traffic accident caused by a local young man, Teddy Fenig. Danes, notably excellent in the 2010 HBO miniseries Temple Grandin, is masterful here, portraying Aggie’s trauma with visceral tension and unsettling emotional fragility that makes her uncomfortable to watch, functioning as a raw nerve exposed to the world. We also meet Aggie’s ex-wife, the artist Shelley (played by queer actor Natalie Morales), who provides a necessary, grounding contrast to Aggie’s spiraling obsession.
Aggie’s shattered peace is completely broken by the arrival of her new neighbor, Nile Jarvis (Matthew Rhys). He’s an infamous, wealthy developer and heir to a corrupt real estate empire, already suspected of murdering a previous wife. Rhys, a Welsh actor who ironically perfected his American accent in The Americans, embodies the central, defective villain (and you’ll probably notice subtle differences in hairstyle, length, or color saturation between scenes, sometimes even within the same episode—this minor inconsistency briefly breaks the illusion of his seamless control). The contrast with Danes is the magnetic source of the series’ tension: while Aggie is exposed, Nile is entirely contained, all calculated composure and ruthless charm. Nile, believing he is right and entitled, embodies a man whose power is absolute. His initial interactions are deeply unsettling. When Nile’s dogs bark aggressively and brazenly wander into Aggie’s yard, we see the passive-aggressive man who believes he can do no wrong. This establishes the central, agonizing dilemma: Are you entitled to peace against a man protected not just by a fleet of lawyers, but by nefarious connections and the brutal actions of his thug uncle and fixer, Rick Jarvis? Aggie might even think she should move, knowing Nile will never bend.
Aggie initially resists him, squeamish and flummoxed when he tries to steamroll her to sign an easement for the construction of a rural running track in the neighboring woods. Yet, Nile knows how to exert pressure. Nile ultimately traps and convinces Aggie to go to lunch, where he doesn’t follow traditional conversation rules; he keeps digging deeper, subtly moving the interaction past standard fare and forging an unnerving connection. Driven by her need for money and her dark desire for vengeance, Aggie casually agrees to write Nile’s biography. This journalistic pursuit provides a horrifying outlet for her inner beast. Nile, in turn, weaponizes her fragility. The tension is amplified by the fact that Nile’s current, younger, ambitious wife, Nina Jarvis (Brittany Snow), is revealed to have been the best friend and employee of Nile’s outwardly stunning but inwardly broken, brutally murdered previous wife, Madison, adding layers of tragic intrigue.
While the overarching plot is admittedly somewhat predictable—by the end of the first episode, viewers quickly intuit Nile is the villain—the series wisely compensates by making the story nuanced.
The actual dramatic arc is not what happened, but how the psychological game plays out, keeping us asking: Where exactly is this going? Is this a traditional ramping up of hostilities, or something far more sinister? The hostilities escalate, culminating in the chilling sequence when Nile summons Aggie to his Manhattan Jarvis Yards development. It is there, on the exposed, unfinished 24th floor of the building—with the majestic NYC skyline looming as a symbol of his absolute power (despite the project’s likely location now being erroneously placed across the river in Jersey City)—that he delivers his final, psychological blow before framing her for the murder of Teddy Fenig.
The final two episodes, where backstories begin to fill in the hunches we viewers have mulled, drive the terrifying conclusion. It is Nina—the accomplice who was Madison’s best friend and employee—who finally breaks, secretly recording Nile’s confession.
This leads to the satisfying reckoning: Nile is arrested, but not before his father, Martin Jarvis (Jonathan Banks), suffers a catastrophic health event from the shock of hearing news about his son’s uncontrolled behavior. Aggie publishes her book, The Beast in Me, in which she confesses her own moral decay and complicity, while simultaneously detailing the fate of the Jarvis empire. The final, crucial moments of the series are narrated through excerpts of Aggie reading her book aloud at a launch event and signing. It is through her words that the audience learns Rick performed a mercy killing on his brother Martin to spare the family disgrace, and then ensured Nile was executed in prison.
Despite a few flaws here and there, this is still a must-watch series with first-rate acting. The inconsistencies include several pacing flaws (regarding the running track easement) and continuity errors (such as a contradictory scene involving Teddy’s body and a minor dog-naming mistake). This series is so engrossing, however, that you barely notice the production flaws as they fly by.
The acting and the psychological depth of the moral conflict elevate this thriller far beyond its minor inconsistencies.
Ultimately, Aggie’s confession proves that the scariest monster isn’t a fictional boogeyman, but humans who make the wrong decisions.