Devs revolves around a mysterious division of a California tech company, doing mysterious research at the direction of its mysterious CEO. As the eight-part series opens, software engineer Lily is celebrating that her boyfriend has been accepted into Devs, and the two are preparing to deal with the secrecy this will introduce into their relationship, him unable to tell her about his work. But it turns out there's already secrecy between them about to be exposed. And the secret of what Devs is actually creating is more profound than anyone could possibly imagine.
Although Devs is stunning on many levels, it's difficult to praise it too much because its surprise twists and turns start coming right in the very first episode, and keep coming right up through the very last. It's a very well-written story that shows what's possible in the format of a limited series; when mysteries don't have to be doled out on an uncertain and open-ended time table, a steady flow of answers (leading to more questions) can be plotted out.
Devs upends expectations with regularity. 10 minutes into episode one, you're unsure where it's heading, but you've been given what you think are enough anchors to set expectations. By the end of that same episode, everything you thought you knew about what the series would be has been tossed out the window. In retrospect, once you've seen the entire series, this unpredictability seems profoundly ironic. Yet it isn't the surprises themselves that are the real trick; it's how the show remains compelling every time it seems to reset the table.
The story doesn't exist only to surprise, though. There are many interesting characters, each with powerful personal motivations that give the story meaningful stakes. There's a potent juxtaposition of the sentimental and the creepy. Back-to-back scenes can draw you in with empathy, or unsettle you and make you recoil. Occasionally, these moments are layered into the same scene.
Visually, the show is a work of art -- as you would expect from the maker of Ex Machina and Annihilation. There's beautiful aerial photography of San Francisco, gorgeous sets with eye-popping colors and evocative lighting, and striking camera framing that routinely makes each scene seem suitable for a gallery wall. The music engages fully in this artistic endeavor; the score is unusual in every way, from its instrumentation to its rhythms to the very moments where music is deployed (or not) and the volume it's played at. Carefully chosen classic rock songs often bookend episodes, the repetition itself a clever means of reflecting on what you've learned over the course of the previous 45 minutes. Occasionally, even the storytelling retreats to a more artistic place. Many episodes open with a teaser scene before the title that's more a tone-setter than an addition to the narrative.
The acting is great, and the casting superb. Relative unknowns like Sonoya Mizuno (as Lily) and Jin Ha (as Jamie) make a huge impact in what should be breakout roles for successful careers to come. Recognizable actors are positioned to play against type in effective ways: there's not a trace of comedy in Nick Offerman's role (as CEO Forest), only alternating anguish and menace; Alison Pill, who used to play the ingenue and more recently has hinted at a darker side (in Star Trek: Picard) is downright villainous here (as Katie). There are also great appearances from long-working character actors, including Stephen McKinley Henderson and Zach Grenier, in layered and interesting roles.
I would have to admit that perhaps the ending of the series doesn't quite live up to the engrossing journey... but only because the bar is set so high. There's certainly no better ending lying in plain sight, and the one we get doesn't undermine what's great about the series. Overall, I'd give Devs an A-. Now that Alex Garland has shown his skill in this medium, I'll be quite curious to see if his next production is a film for the big screen, or a series for the home screen.
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