A Perfect Hate-Watch *with spoilers*
With platforms such as Netflix constantly churning out reams of shiny new series, it is beyond almost all of our power to resist binge-watching. We can all admit to committing a dreary/ hungover Sunday to these sickly-sweet shows. But do we actually enjoy them?
When The Perfect Couple appeared on my screen, Netflix assuring me that I would ‘love it’ (double thumbs up emoji), who was I to resist its charm? With a theme song as eerily catchy as that of White Lotus and starring Nicole Kidman as the severe yet stunning matriarch to an unattainably wealthy family, I was successfully hooked and reeled in. I began watching.
I don’t know what it is about watching people live fantastical lives one can only dream of, but it has to be said that many of us find it strangely enthralling - we love to hate them. The incredible popularity of productions like Bridgerton, Succession, White Lotus and Saltburn, for example, seem to affirm this. The Perfect Couple echoes these elements of unimaginable wealth, beautiful people, ‘spoilt rich kids’ prime for the hating and of course, strictly non-vanilla sex scenes. Maybe the problems of the 1% are simply more digestible - we can easily dismiss them, something we do not have the luxury of when faced with atrocities in the real world. The beautiful cast of The Perfect Couple are faced with a range of ‘rich people problems’, namely:
Nicole Kidman and her philandering husband do not approve of their son’s fiancée
Nicole Kidman’s philandering husband is philandering again
I must admit, I really did enjoy the utterly unimaginative character formation of the fiancée in question. The mindless regurgitation of the 00s ‘cool girl’ never ceases to amaze me. She pops up in almost every one of these mass-produced series - as inevitable as London rain. How is she so naturally thin, you may ask? Oh, she doesn’t know, she eats burgers and fries and hates vegetables (salad? Ew! That’s for girls!) How does she feel about the state of the world? Oh, sorry, what was the question? She didn’t hear, she was watching the sunset and was reminded of fixing the engine of her truck (she has a designated outfit for this activity, denim hot pants compulsory). It is truly astounding that in 2024 we are still being fed, or perhaps more worryingly, still desire to be fed, this utterly unattainable, Cosmopolitan concept of womanhood. People say that chivalry is dead, but, not to worry, internalised misogyny is certainly alive and kicking.
So, Amelia, the unwitting ‘down to earth’ fiancée, is thrown into the fabulous world of the Winbury family, meanwhile, she would obviously prefer to throw her hair effortlessly into a messy bun and chase butterflies out of her bedroom, in her underwear. Her future mother-in-law’s reaction to this occurrence is to be as scandalised as a Victorian catching sight of an ankle bone. The whole interaction provoked a silent scream in me - ‘young, beautiful woman is spurned by old, jealous woman.’ Have we not outgrown narrative devices employed by Charles Dickens? (Great Expectations’ Estella & Miss Havisham spring to mind).
The plot continues with the unravelling of a ‘who dunnit,’ as Amelia’s best friend, and as it transpires, Mr. Nicole Kidman’s mistress, is mysteriously murdered the night before Amelia’s wedding to the Winbury’s insipid son (his main personality trait is that he is besotted with Amelia - however, it is entirely unclear what sparks this attraction). At the death of this lovely young lady, the Winburys are thrown into a state of uncertainty and grief - or are they? Their reaction to a death in their home is akin to the reaction I had at the passing of my sister’s particularly blood-thirsty hamster. Most shockingly, Amelia spends approximately twelve hours being shaken to her core, after which, she miraculously recovers from the death of her very best friend, happily lolling by the pool with her catty sister-in-law, Abby. Abby’s character represents the American dedication to emulate the British upper classes within this genre - she is haughty, self-confident, yet recognises and adheres to her ‘place’ within this imaginary hierarchy. Something which is, for Amelia, apparently impossible. Due to what, we can’t quite be sure.
One moment in the series which seeks to define Amelia as ‘other’ to this world, Abby’s husband Tom bitingly remarks to his brother (Amelia’s fiancé): “At least my wife matches the f**king wallpaper.” An interesting line. Let us take ourselves back to GCSE English for a moment in time and dissect that one. Abby ‘matches’ the wallpaper - we can infer from this that Tom boasts at how his wife is well-chosen and fitting to the lifestyle which the Winburys live. So, the intention is to mark out Amelia as an outsider, an illegal alien. I can totally appreciate this might have been the case, should her fiancé have brought home a blue-haired flame-juggler, however, it really has to be noted that he did not, in fact, ‘bring home to mommy’ anything other than an objectively beautiful, well-mannered lady with a respectable job. Granted, her career, from what we can gather, is something to do with caring for penguins, but surely this proves her character to be nothing but thoughtful and giving? Perhaps not. Later in the series, she is caught kissing another man, unsurprising, really, given her total indifference towards her betrothed (he won’t do doggie). No one seems overly concerned about the engagement being immediately called off.
Perhaps my absolute favourite moment of the series was the book launch come classy village fete, thrown for the release of Kidman’s latest novel. Primed and ready to share a few pages of her work with an eager-faced crowd, Kidman stands proudly, in spite of her wig, which is a disagreeable shade of yellow and sits permanently askew throughout the series. But oh-ho, something is a-foot: in bursts Dick Van Dyke! Well, we’d be forgiven for thinking so, for the mysterious man who loudly interrupts Kidman does an absolutely stellar imitation of Van Dyke’s Mary Poppins accent (watch out everyone, he’s a bit rough!) Security hurry him out. But the fun doesn’t end there - there is another dramatic entrance, this time, of Mr. Kidman (Tag), who is drunk out of mind and inexplicably begins to loudly sing a pop song (“Never Gonna Give You Up” by Rick Astley), in a piece of acting which must surely have caused life-changing burns to the eyes of all who witnessed it. The identity of the mystery cockney man is later unravelled, along with Kidman’s ‘true’ identity - in a wild twist, she exposes herself as a former escort, leaving even the hydrangeas blushing.
Eventually, all is well in the world of the Winburys when our killer is identified as the cold-hearted Abby. Her husband seems fairly unbothered at his pregnant wife being carted off to prison. Amelia returns to her own world, and her penguins. The series is drawn to a close with Kidman visiting her at the zoo. She has written a book inspired by Amelia. What exactly Amelia did to inspire a novel is not elaborated upon, but one thing’s for sure, I won’t be in the queue at Waterstones.
Overall, a truly hateful watch. 5 stars.