There’s something about a noir detective story. Since the publication of Dashiell Hammett’s Red Harvest in 1927, and the release of Stranger on the Third Floor in 1940, widely recognized as the first film of the genre, these hard-knock crime dramas have captivated us with their gritty realism, morally ambiguous heroes, and dark urban settings that mirror the characters’ internal struggles. They pull us into a world where desire blurs the line between good and evil, and where a hardboiled detective is tasked with making things right while grappling with his own troubles. This genre continues to captivate because it has been brilliantly remixed over the last twenty years, as seen in films like Rian Johnson’s Brick (2005), which transposes classic noir motifs to a high school setting, and Nightcrawler (2014), where our lead is a ruthless freelancer hunting for the most gruesome scoop. Like Sugar, the upcoming Apple TV+ series, these films take the essence of film noir and infuse it with modern perspectives, creating new hooks alongside the genre’s classic appeal.
Premiering on April 5, Sugar begins in black & white with a rescue that shows us how our protagonist operates. But we soon realize John Sugar (Colin Farrell) isn’t our typical hardboiled investigator. He specializes in finding lost people for wealthy clients. And there’s something about the way he moves coupled with his restraint, as though he knows he could ignite the situation if he loses control. It’s this quality that sets Sugar apart, making you question: What is really going on here? What am I missing? What’s underlying? And while there is a big reveal coming, Sugar is also an exploration of the human condition.
Set against the glittering cityscape of Los Angeles, the series unfolds through the eyes of Sugar himself. His latest assignment? To locate Olivia Siegel, the missing granddaughter of a high-profile Hollywood director—a man Sugar idolizes. This seemingly straightforward task, however, quickly spirals into a complex web of intrigue. As the series unfolds, each episode pulls us deeper into the mystery. It’s not just about finding Olivia; it’s about unraveling her family’s secrets, understanding the circumstances of her disappearance, and navigating the high-stakes world of Hollywood’s elite. It’s also about John Sugar and his inner circle. As we journey alongside him, we begin to understand that his life is complicated in ways we don’t at first understand.
This show takes its time to immerse us in an intricately built universe. From the elegant mansions of Bel Air to the grimy backstreets of Downtown LA, the city serves as more than just a backdrop—its history and its current reality are a character, an entity that shapes the story and the characters within it. This glitz and grit are reflected in John Sugar too, as we realize he’s an agent of chaotic good.
Central to the story, underpinning than the increasingly layered mystery, is the relationship between John Sugar and Ruby (Kirby, formerly known as Kirby Howell-Baptiste). This is the pillar of the series. Their chemistry is terse but tender, forming an interesting dynamic that keeps you guessing whether you can trust in their bond. And if you can’t, the whole thing falls apart. It’s a delicate dance that Farrell, Kirby, and the rest of the stellar cast—including Amy Ryan as the rockstar Melanie and James Cromwell as auteur director Jonathan Siegel—perform superbly.
As a character, John Sugar is a cocktail of sudden violence juxtaposed with “grace and sensitivity.” Ruby is more enigmatic. As she tries to hold their community together, we wonder if she’ll resort to “by any means” tactics. Kirby plays this duality like a violin, there’s a musicality to her performance that hinges on the idea the strings could snap. Every performance works well for this genre-bending drama, which seamlessly combines elements of altered reality with a distinctive visual style and the tropes of film noir. Tight close-ups and canted angles create a mood of uncertainty, keeping us on edge.
Sugar is about the corruptive nature of humanity, the immorality that can consume us but also the qualities that redeem us—like art and connectivity. Here, humanity is skillfully shown as both an infection and a cure. These themes are so vivid that when the big reveal hits, you feel like you should’ve known because the clues were there all along.
