Film noir was hugely popular during the first half of the 20th century, particularly in the United States, where the genre was born. Its mysterious aesthetic, unexpected twists, monochromatic cinematography, and unmistakable atmosphere of suspense, combined with its fascination with the darker side of human nature, made it one of the most distinctive cinematic movements of its time. And perhaps what makes noir even more fascinating is that it emerged during an era when exploring these uncomfortable aspects of humanity did not necessarily provoke censorship or moral outrage. Instead, audiences were fascinated by them. Why am I giving you this tiny “history of cinema” lesson? Well, for no particular reason, except that it seems like the perfect backdrop for one of Netflix’s most remarkable series of 2024: Ripley, based on Patricia Highsmith’s 1955 novel The Talented Mr. Ripley.
Patricia Highsmith is the brilliant mind behind a character whose story has already inspired several acclaimed adaptations. But I am not here to give you a conventional analysis. I want to tell you what I felt while watching it. Back in 1999, The Talented Mr. Ripley, starring a young but already established Matt Damon alongside Jude Law and an impressive cast, introduced an entire generation to this deeply unsettling story. I remember immediately realizing that I was watching something unusually dark, but also remarkably subtle in its exploration of human evil. There were no obvious heroes or cartoonish villains. The moral ideals we normally expect from crime stories were not the center of attention. Instead, Highsmith gave us Tom Ripley, a con artist with a talent for white-collar crime and a profound existential emptiness. He wants a life far beyond what he can honestly obtain, yet he is fundamentally incapable of escaping the worst parts of himself.
He wants money, power, recognition, and status. They may belong to another era, but let’s be honest: none of those desires have disappeared. They are still very much alive in us today. Imagine Donald Trump with all the vanity and self-confidence, but without the resources and privilege that came with his extraordinary position. That is part of what makes Ripley so disturbing: he is not an alien creature from another moral universe. He is an exaggerated version of impulses we would rather pretend we do not possess. Netflix, in collaboration with Showtime, brings this story back through an absolutely stunning production, filmed in 2023 but deliberately embracing the visual language of classic film noir. Black and white photography, carefully controlled lighting, composed frames, and an almost obsessive attention to visual detail turn every scene into something worth staring at. At the center of it all is Steven Zaillian, the writer and director behind Ripley, and a filmmaker whose résumé already includes the screenplay for Schindler’s List, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, and American Gangster. We are, quite simply, watching a master tell a story through images.
And that mastery becomes particularly evident in the way the characters are explored, especially Tom Ripley himself. I already knew the story. I had read Highsmith, I had seen the 1999 adaptation, and I knew where the narrative was going. None of that mattered. From the very first episode, the cinematography completely pulled me in. Ripley is envious, cold, cruel, psychopathic, ruthless, and frighteningly intelligent, but what makes him truly compelling is how recognizable some of his impulses can feel. The series does not need to scream at us to tell us that something is wrong. It simply places us beside him and allows the discomfort to grow. That elegance is what makes this version so fascinating. It is dark without being visually excessive, disturbing without constantly trying to shock us, and incredibly sophisticated in the way it examines ambition, envy, loneliness, and moral emptiness.
If you love cinema, particularly mystery, suspense, psychological thrillers, and the darker corners of human nature, Ripley is almost impossible to ignore. With only nine episodes, it is also remarkably easy to watch in one sitting, although I would argue that this is a series worth savoring rather than merely consuming. What fascinated me most was not discovering what happens, because I already knew. It was watching how beautifully Zaillian transforms a familiar story into something visually and psychologically different. And perhaps that is the final uncomfortable thought I took away from it: there is no guarantee that justice will prevail when terrible things happen in real life. Sometimes evil simply exists, moves forward, and leaves people wondering what happened. So why should fiction always give us the comfort of a different answer? Think about it.
