Ivan Radford | On 29, Dec 2024

“You are who you are. You couldn’t change if you tried.” “Ain’t that what makes me fun?” That’s Alberto Falcone (the always-brilliant Michael Zegen) to Oswald Cobb (Colin Farrell), the right hand man of Carmine Falcone, who was killed in 2022’s The Batman. The fact that Alberto says it to Oz, who’s being played by Colin Farrell under a whole heap of prosphetics, makes it aptly true.

The Penguin, a spin-off series from Matt Reeves’ 2022 film, picks up in the wake of that movie and charts Oz’s rise to power, before he becomes known as the slippery kingpin of Gotham’s criminal underworld. While there are lots of touchpoints between the two – including the epic flood that devastated the city, and the Riddler’s lone-wolf-harnessing wave of terror – it’s telling that Batman himself doesn’t appear anywhere in this series: it’s a gangster drama that just so happens to be set to in the Reeves Bat-verse, and Oz is very much the star attraction.

From the off, with that showdown with Alberto, the series plays things with a surprising level of gravitas and complexity – and it’s rooted in Oz himself, who isn’t merely power-hungry, but respect-hungry. A flashback to his childhood shows us the chilling degrees he’s willing to go to in order to get the full attention of his mother, Francis (Deirdre O’Connell). Their relationship is refreshingly free from easy clichés – it’s a messy tangle of open secrets and hidden lies, a repricocal balance of sincere concern and cold manipulation.

That ambiguous mix of nature and nurture is deftly contrasted with the story of Sofia Falcone (Cristin Miloti), who arrives fresh from a 10-year stint in Arkham Asylum. Known as “the Hangman”, due to a string of gristly serial killings, she’s the heir apparent to the Falcone throne, but is no stranger to being passed over and undervalued by those around her. Unlike Oz, she’s a genuine victim of exploitation and injustice, but she also comes from a place of privilege and wealthy – where Oz carries a chip on his shoulder about coming from nothing and being a man of the people.

The fact that he used to be Sofia’s driver only adds to their warped connection, one of mutual respect and a wary distrust, as each of them know what the other is capable of – and, perhaps, what the other also deserves. Neither of them want to be overlooked or powerless, and there’s a gimpse of a partnership there that could help them both achieve their goals. But they’re also both caught in a game that’s already written the rules for them. Cristin Miloti is utterly magnetic as the show’s disturbingly violent antagonist, at once delivering us a narrative that is as empowering as it is unsettling and poignant. It’s a tour de force of how to turn a comic book character into a character first and a comic book figure second.

And so the stage is set for an uneasy fight for authority and control, with a superb supporting cast of players being moved across the board – including Clancy Brown as sharp rival boss Sal Maroni, MIchael Kelly as the coolly ruthless Johnny Viti and Theo Rossi as the intriguing Julian, an Arkham psychiatrist who is also Sofia’s love interest. But the heart of the saga is undoubtedly Rhenzy Feliz as Victor, a young teen whose family and home were destroyed by the Gotham flood.

Oz spies the potential in Victor for a useful number two and immediately recruits him to be his driver. Their relationship is wonderfully heartfelt, with Feliz pouring a soulful earnestnes into the desperate innocent, who is seduced by the riches and chance to be somebody in a world where he has nothing left. He looks up to Oz, even as he’s allowed to see the frail state of Francis, and they grow from boss and employee to something more akin to family. And yet we also know that Oz has no room for family in his worldview, and there’s a running undercurrent of bullying and belittling behind ever gesture of possible kindness.

Directors Craig Zobel, Helen Shaver and more present all this with a gloriously gritty quality – there’s an immedately lived-in quality to this Gotham that builds on The Batman’s grounded tone and expands it to give us a view of the city from the gravel up. Showrunner Lauren LeFranc colours within the lines of the franchise’s bigger picture, but never feels creatively hamstrung, delivering unexpected and emotional twists and turns that keep the focus on the people in the story rather than how the story fits between The Batman and The Batman 2. We know that Oz is destined to claw his way to becoming the Penguin, but it’s a journey punctuated by constant cliffhangers – each step of the way is at risk of him being discovered as a double-crossed or, worse, of him succeeded at betraying everyone around him.

All this wouldn’t work without a flawless leading man, and Colin Farrell is impeccable. While many would say he’s unrecognisable beneath the costume and make-up, Farrell’s recognisable charisma and understated, natural delivery are reassuringly present throughout – he digs deep into Oz’s human frailty and toxic self-awareness, repeatedly bringing everything back to the boy we briefly see in his youth. It’s a study of heart-wrenching, stomach-churning, nail-biting almosts: we watch Oz evolve into almost a powerful ally, almost a loyal friend, almost a loving son, almost a good guy and, despite everything we witness, almost unlikeable. Farrell’s take on the Penguin is a man whose strong but vulnerable to a fault, and knows that all too well: above all, he doesn’t want to be vulnerable, and at every stage uses that to justify violence and cruelty as repeated choices, even when it isn’t necessary. The result is a fascinating addition to the Batman canon, one that turns the franchise’s familiar rogue into a genuinely scary villain, who can delude himself all he likes but can’t change who he is – and that makes watching him in action even more fun.

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