Inside Man is the perfect Netflix TV show. From the moment you glance at the thumbnail, you’re intrigued by the image of a scruffy and brooding David Tennant. Perhaps like me, you click for more information and saw this is some sort of detective show pairing the Doctor Who star with Stanley Tucci, aka the Italian American who made us obsessed with Negronis before the Sbagliato of it all.
With Tennant and Tucci in my mind, I hit play for the promise of sex appeal alone. And then came that smoky, throbbing theme song crooning about God and damnation. Just like that, I was hooked. I didn’t even realize I was watching a Steven Moffat show yet. Too late. The trap was set, and I couldn’t look away until it was all over.
What’s Inside Man about?
Moffat has made his name re-inventing stories like Sherlock and The Time Traveler’s Wife and resurrecting the Doctor Who franchise, but Inside Man is an all-original creation. Over four hour-long episodes, the screenwriter spins the twisted ale of a brilliant and bonkers new anti-hero: Jefferson Grieff, who awaits execution for the brutal murder of his wife and is known as the Death Row Detective.
Tucci stars as this evil genius, whose past as a criminology professor and present as a convicted killer makes him an unparalleled expert on understanding the dark side of human nature. In a high-security prison’s meeting room, he’ll sit placidly as a flustered senator, a grieving family, and a suspicious journalist (Lydia West) lay out the facts of confounding cases. Sometimes he’ll help them, coolly, calmly, and clearly relishing the power he is able to wield, even while chained to a desk, awaiting news of his execution date.
Meanwhile, Inside Man keeps cutting away from Grieff and his chipper but unnerving sidekick, a cellmate named Dillon (Atkins Estimond) whose criminal past sounds disturbingly like Ed Gein’s, to Harry Watling (David Tennant), a vicar who lives a quiet life all the way across the Atlantic in England. While Grieff interrogates a prospective client, Harry goes about an average day, conferring with a troubled member of his congregation, chatting with his wife (Lyndsey Marshal), and joking with the math tutor (Dolly Wells) for his teen son (Louis Oliver).
Far from the blandsome coziness of those ubiquitous true crime docu-series that paint every household as an idyllic place until violence strikes, Moffat gives texture to the Watlings’ lives with slightly salty quips, from parent to child and priest to parishioner. For instance, when someone cheekily chastises Harry for an edgy joke, calling him a « dark vicar, » he’s delighted. « Dark vicar, » Harry chuckles, « I’ll have that! »
The jolly irreverence of this setting and these people makes Inside Man feel sharply exciting. Moffat’s edged wit creates characters that are not the prim archetypes of priest, teacher, or mother, but are instead playfully prickly. They’re a bit too clever to feel real. But they’re better than authentic; they are fascinatingly flawed.
At first, it seems bewildering how this English family’s story might collide with the American wife-killer. But Moffat won’t make audiences wait long to see the slippery slope that his homicidal Hercule Poirot warns of to anyone who will listen: « Everyone’s a murderer…All it takes is a good reason and a bad day. »
Inside Man gives us another anti-hero we are dared to hate. But can we?
There’s a deviousness to casting Stanley Tucci as a merciless murderer. Sure, he did it before in The Lovely Bones. But in that tenacious tearjerker, he was leaning into the creepy killer of it all. Here, he’s suave, sexy, and sophisticated.
Despite the prison uniform and macabre content of Inside Man, his Grieff seems ever-ready to swan into a chic lounge and wax poetic about cocktails and cunnilingus. He’s a lady-killer in the metaphorical sense too, is what I’m saying. But each time you might start swooning hard, Moffat hits the brakes, dropping another hard-hitting detail about Grieff’s husbandly homicide, each more gruesome than the one before. And Tucci, with that crooked smile and smooth vermouth voice, knowingly toys with our affections, even as he speaks frankly about his murder.
The dizzying effect of this reminded me of You or BoJack Horseman, two Netflix shows with male anti-heroes who are as dastardly as they are wildly charismatic. Despite our best judgment (or better angels), we’re seduced by these bad men and their stories, even as we realize those stories are bullshit and these men are unreliable narrators. With Inside Man, Moffat’s writing plays with our expectations by never having Grieff ask for sympathy or empathy; in fact, he approves of people who are hostile towards him. But all the same, the buttery allure lies there, melting on Tucci’s tongue as he plays our all-knowing, smirking guide through how an average person can become an infamous murderer.
David Tennant as a dark vicar is a must-see.
Netflix throws down big money and creative freedom to pull together incredible casts. Sometimes this means messy movies like Red Notice or Spiderhead. Sometimes it means the titillation of pairing some of the UK’s sharpest actors (David Tennant! Kate Dickie! Dolly Wells!) with the magic of Stanley Tucci. To get into Dickie’s and Wells’s performances would demand spoilers, so allow me to leave it at this: They’re both willing gravitas as if they’ve got tits of titanium. However, Tennant is the wild card.
The Scottish actor played a lover and a fighter on Doctor Who, spinning from playful to mournful to furious depending on the monster of the week. In Fright Night, he was a Vegas buffoon; in Good Omens, a good-hearted devil; and in Jessica Jones, one of the scariest damn villains the MCU ever dared unleash. So, when he pops up with a priest’s collar in Inside Man, there’s really no way to be sure what’s in store.
Tennant hasn’t met a lightness or darkness he couldn’t embrace with mesmerizing frenzy. And this mercuriality of his filmography adds to the anticipation. Who will this Harry Watling be? Will we see Tennant caper, cry, or roar? The only thing guaranteed is that his performance will grab us by the throat and leave us gasping.
Inside Man is addictive, if not entirely satisfying.
A riveting hook and an enticing cast may lure audiences into Inside Man. Moffat’s skill for crafting crackling dialogue and captivating characters — including a wickedly charming killer — could keep them watching. Tucci’s grin or Tennant’s hard stare alone might be enough to keep you coming back. But Moffat sweetens the pot by with a stinging cliffhanger at the end of each episode. While those who watched the English series on its original run had to wait for the next episode to air, American Netflix subscribers can binge one after the other. I did, staying up late into the night because I needed answers, resolution, and catharsis. I needed to know what came next. I needed to know what the Death Row Detective had up his handcuffs.
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In an intense third act, Moffat lets loose twists that are absolutely delicious in their plotting. A clever ticking clock device makes the final episode nerve-fraying, while the mundane elements of a family’s life puncture criminal plots in unexpected ways. Sadly, he undercuts the tension brewing by leaning too hard into the comedy of what happens when a harried mom meets murder. Other Netflix shows have explored this terrain beautifully; watch Dead to Me or the gone-too-soon Santa Clarita Diet for a taste. But the broadness of these bits feels clunky in the cool, macabre company of the Death Row Detective. It’s a wobble in the barreling final act, but not an entirely damning one.
Now, a warning. You’ll want more from Inside Man.
Sure, in four episodes, Grieff and company close the core case (and a couple of others besides). But Season 1 also sets up questions that it hasn’t even begun to answer about its alluring anti-hero’s past. So, even as you savor the heady thrill of witnessing these seemingly disparate threads knitted together into a twisted and thrilling tapestry of love and murder, you’ll crave more. Truly, the most frustrating thing about Inside Man is just that it ends so soon. Of course, that’s perfect for Netflix — keeping us hungry, coming back for more.
