Image Credit: Netflix
The fact is that sometimes we have a constant feeling of déjà vu or of being trapped in some sort of bizarre time loop straight out of Groundhog Day (or Palm Springs, to give a more recent example). And the reason is that, unfortunately, many of our reviews of Netflix‘s “average” miniseries are now starting to resemble each other, because their strengths and weaknesses remain sadly unchanged. It’s almost like going back to the most annoying days of the so-called Marvel formula in the MCU, where both movies and TV series were approached with identical timing, characterization, and humor. It’s a very long way of simply saying that His & Hers is an enjoyable, adequate miniseries, but almost perfectly comparable to The Beast In Me, for example, to cite one of the first examples that came to mind. And this has been happening more and more often in recent years.
A murder and an old marriage
But what exactly is His & Hers about? Set in a small town in Georgia shaken by a terrible and unexpected murder, the Netflix miniseries essentially follows the investigation by detective Jack Harper (Jon Bernthal) and journalist and ex-wife Anna Andrews (Tessa Thompson), both closely linked to the victim’s identity to the point of even suspecting each other. The premise is certainly not original, but it is intriguing and, above all, gets straight to the point, without introductions or excessive lengthiness (another trope that has recently been cropping up more and more in series, often in plots that do not require it).
However, the great merit of His & Hers, at least from our point of view, is its brilliant ability to blend its two main registers in just the right proportions: the investigative/mystery aspect and, of course, the more human and dramatic side. Many productions fall into the trap of excessively separating these two components, with the result that at least one appears superfluous or disconnected, distancing itself from the main plot (exorbitant deviations or waste of time that a miniseries, precisely because of its format, should in no way encourage).
This is not the case with His & Hers, at least for most of its duration, which succeeds in the far from easy task of uniformly blending two seemingly distinct and separate realities (helped considerably by the plot itself, needless to say, but this remains a crucial merit for its success). In short, it is a solid foundation, further supported by the excellent performances of its cast, led by the dazzling performances of Jon Bernthal and Tessa Thompson. Every single sequence in which they interact for more than a few seconds is a small joy for the eyes, scenes in which talent and chemistry universally take over (all without forgetting the supporting cast, from Pablo Schreiber to Marin Ireland).
These are details and aspects that are by no means negligible in a show that is well aware of its lack of originality and which, with the exception of one element at the end, is not so interested in surprising the viewer at all costs, preferring to focus on a game of suspicion that quickly turns into a human drama between two characters and their turbulent past. And the game actually worked, with some confrontations serving as highly respectable emotional climaxes, placed at very clever moments (but we’ve known for a long time that Netflix is an Olympic medalist when it comes to keeping its viewers glued to the screen).
The usual recurring flaws
However, the miniseries stumbles over flaws that we are tempted to call classic, starting with its very nature: His & Hers is clearly more of a film than something to be transposed into a series format and, as always happens in such cases, this forcing causes a cascade of problems. First of all, the running time, which, although not at all disproportionate as in many other examples (in the aforementioned The Beast In Me, it is objectively a more serious issue), remains inflated for the story it wants to tell. And, it is always worth specifying, this is not a flaw in itself; there are similar series that have managed to juggle excessive length magnificently, exploring captivating nooks and crannies or situations that would never have found space in a feature film.
His Truth does not fall into this category. The screenplay fails to find compelling angles to put in the spotlight, so we often find ourselves dealing with characters or “dilemmas” that are ultimately nothing more than a waste of time. As a result, the miniseries loses focus, momentum, tension, and appeal in the middle, and the whole thing becomes flat. As usual, we are far from failure, but equally far from being something memorable or even surprising as a whole.
The Truth is somewhat of a classic “average” miniseries that Netflix has been offering for a couple of years now. The plot is not particularly original but is intriguing and immediately captures the viewer’s attention, with top-notch performances (Jon Bernthal and Tessa Thompson in particular), a mystery at the heart of it all, and some moments and sequences that serve as excellent emotional climaxes. It’s a very enjoyable whole, but it suffers from the same flaws we’ve been pointing out for some time now: a plot more suited to a film than a series, an excessive running time to tell the story, deviations that add nothing to the whole, and the annoying feeling that, especially in the middle section, His & Hers essentially squanders much of its potential. We are far from failure, but equally far from having something special on our hands.
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