Right, so let’s get one thing out of the way: if your idea of a good time is watching Nicole Kidman and Julianne Moore elegantly wreck people’s emotional stability while swanning around in flowing neutrals — Sirens is going to be your next obsession.
And yes, it’s called Sirens, not to be confused with any literal mermaids — although, to be fair, if Julianne Moore suddenly walked out of the sea and hypnotized an entire community into handing over their emotional baggage, I’d say: “Reasonable.”
So, what’s Siren about?
Well, imagine a very rich woman named Michaela (Julianne Moore, doing things with her eyes that deserve their own Emmy) who is married to Peter Kell — played by Kevin Bacon, who appears to have finally shaken off his ’90s angst and found his calling as the smooth-talking, slightly unsettling maybe-villain-maybe-not in a perfect linen shirt. Michaela is… enigmatic. Cult-like. Ethereal. The kind of person you meet and instantly want to follow into a candlelit forest while questioning your own sense of reality.
But here’s the thing: Sirens is not just a “rich people doing weird things” series. (Though there’s plenty of that too. Think Nine Perfect Strangers with better pacing and less aggressive wellness jargon.)
At first glance, Michaela appears to be at the center of some kind of cult — all flowing silks, soulful glances, and passive-aggressive brunches — but as the layers unravel, the story pulls the rug out from under your assumptions. Everyone has a backstory, and everyone is a little bit broken, but not in that overdone “trauma is the plot” kind of way. More like: “Life happened, and here’s how we’re coping — badly, but fashionably.”
Enter Devon, who shows up to “save” her sister Simone from what she’s fairly certain is a linen-wrapped, essential-oil-scented cult. Simone, after all, is now Michaela’s ever-present assistant/BFF/confidante, and something about her serenity feels suspicious. But what Devin finds is not so much a brainwashed sibling but a woman who has… changed. Possibly empowered. Possibly entangled in something deeper. Possibly just vibing.
Simone is no longer the person Devon remembers — and possibly no longer the person who needs her. And that’s the moment the show stops being about good guys and bad guys, and starts being about something much juicier: choice. Who we become when we stop performing for the people who raised us. What we shed, what we keep, and who we might hurt along the way.
What’s clever about Sirens is that it plays a long, seductive game of “Spot the Real Villain,” only to reveal that there might not be one. Or maybe there are several. Or maybe — plot twist — the real villain is the audience’s need to blame someone. (Whoa. Meta.)
Kevin Bacon, by the way, delivers what may be the most deliciously restrained performance of his career. He’s subtle, simmering, and just the right amount of “Are you evil or just a middle-aged white man with authority issues?”
Supporting cast? Excellent. Ethan the middle aged man desperate for the affections of a much younger Simone, Ray- Devon’s boss who’s inconveniently married and also inconveniently attractive, brings a solid shade of grey to the moral colour palette. The housekeeper Jose— male, and suspiciously competent — adds layers that might’ve been overlooked in lesser hands. Every single performance hits the mark without begging for attention.
And Julianne Moore? She doesn’t act. She floats. She descends. She arrives. She haunts. From her very first scene, she grips your soul gently by the throat and whispers, “Stay with me.” And you do.
By the final episode, you’re not quite sure who was right, who was wrong, or why you suddenly want to start journaling in a room with flowing white curtains. The ending is quietly bittersweet, leaning into the truth that people change — sometimes beyond recognition, sometimes beyond needing you. And that’s a gut-punch in designer clothing.
All in all, Sirens is a slow-burn thriller wrapped in silk and served with emotional complexity. It’s part cult, part character study, and part existential therapy session, held in a very expensive-looking garden.
Would I watch it again? Absolutely.
Did I prefer it to Nine Perfect Strangers? Without a doubt.
Will I now side-eye anyone named Michaela for the next month? Unquestionably.
Honest Reviews 