Here are the things I can tell you about the new Netflix conspiracy drama, The Madness. It is a descendant of The Fugitive, where a man is framed for murder and must investigate the truth himself when the authorities won’t or can’t. Each of the eight episodes flows like chapters in a thriller novel. And its star sparkles. Colman Domingo could have stepped into the role of Kang the Conqueror so seamlessly that Marvel could have taken its time casting Doctor Doom and left Iron Man intact. What I can’t tell you is whether or not I’m enthralled while I am intrigued.
THE MADNESS
Okay, like almost everyone in The Madness, I lied. I can and will tell you more. Domingo stars as Muncie Daniels, a sharp-tongued TV pundit who trades his cushy studio gig for a cabin in the Poconos to write a novel, only to stumble into a murder that makes him Public Enemy Number One. Suddenly, our man Muncie is on a wild chase through a funhouse mirror of fake news, real danger, and the wrong kind of body count. Desperately trying to clear his name, he unravels a conspiracy that might undo him and everyone he loves.
Domingo is the king on this chessboard. His Muncie is a work-in-progress, a man whose evolution is triggered by mistakes, murder, mayhem, and a rabbit hole full of madness. But he doesn’t play the game alone. His wife (Marsha Stephanie Blake), son (Thaddeus J. Mixson), and daughter (Gabrielle Graham) become proponents of his survival as much as their own. They aren’t plot bunnies but players with their own stakes.
So much of showrunner Stephen Belber’s series is about family: Muncie’s, the loved ones of his supposed victim (Tamsin Topolski), and the familial ties of various perpetrators. Furthering those dynamics, through Muncie and characters like Isaiah (Stephen McKinley Henderson) and Franco Quinones (John Ortiz), Belber and the writing team speak to the impact left from failing your family or them failing you. Part of the appeal of The Madness is that the past becomes as much of a villain to overcome as the shadowy conspirators behind Muncie’s downfall.
Anybody in this much trouble needs a wingman; The Madness features a few. McKinley Henderson has uncle-gangster vibes, Deon Cole shows up as a best-brother-friend, while Quinones is making a career of being that guy—from Will Trent to Bad Monkey and now here. Graham’s Kallie is another one, the kind of woman you want guarding your back.
Disappointment and how, if it goes unchecked, it unravels us over time is one of the subliminal themes here, but it’s propulsive. As we get to know these characters we realize how much resentment they carry and that shapes their actions.
But why is it called The Madness? It isn’t hyperbolic to say almost everyone is out of their fragile minds. So very volatile, truly bananas, and explicitly violent. That’s what makes their decisions impetuous and yet understandable. But are they logical? Maybe not. That’s why I’m unsure whether my thumbs are up or sideways. The Madness is intense but sometimes stiff; despite its dark humor. And so much is going on that you doubt the rules, like playing Monopoly with chess pieces. After reviewing all eight episodes: Would I watch it again? I’m not sure.
Here’s what I appreciated most—alongside the cast and themes of regret—The Madness suggests the best place to hide the truth is behind a conspiracy theory because, like Keyser Söze, no one will believe it exists. With everything happening in the world, that might be the series’ checkmate.
The Madness premieres globally on Netflix now
