Content saturation is one of the problems that television series creators in the Golden Age of television had to confront. It appears this phenomenon will first manifest in the crime genre, which, as one of the oldest, has accumulated far more specific characters, motifs, and plotlines than any other genre. For its creators, it is increasingly difficult to devise something original, so it is perhaps unsurprising that many contemporary crime series are remakes of shows previously produced for relatively limited markets. In such circumstances, it is no surprise that, in seeking to craft something original—or at least sufficiently distinct to capture the attention of a jaded audience—screenwriters are increasingly turning to the past, calculating that stories and plots deemed banal today may appear strikingly different when viewed through the lens of long-gone decades and centuries. At first glance, The Alienist, a ten-part crime miniseries produced by American network TNT, seems to embody such an attempt.
The series is based on Caleb Carr’s eponymous and award-winning 1994 novel. The unusual title refers to a 19th-century English term for a psychiatrist, the era in which the narrative is set. The setting is New York in 1896, which, even at that time—before the United States had established itself as the leading global power—appeared as an impressive metropolis. Its grand structures, including the recently erected Statue of Liberty, drew millions of immigrants from across the world, eager to seize a fragment of the American Dream. For most, however, that dream had morphed into a nightmare of overcrowded tenements and increasingly perilous streets. Among the few genuinely striving to alter this reality is the young, energetic, and idealistic politician Theodore Roosevelt (Brian Geraghty), recently appointed head of the New York Police Department. His commitment to progressive ideas is evident not only in installing telephones in police stations but also in the then-unthinkable employment of women as officers, including the young Sara Howard (Dakota Fanning) as his official secretary. When New York confronts an unimaginably depraved and brutal serial killer targeting boys engaged in male prostitution, Roosevelt is compelled to seek assistance beyond his department. Fortunately, among his university acquaintances are John Moore (Luke Evans), an illustrator for The New York Times, and Dr. Laszlo Kreizler (Daniel Brühl), a renowned psychiatrist convinced the perpetrator can be apprehended by deciphering the true motive behind the crimes. Roosevelt agrees to let the pair, with Sarah as intermediary, conduct a discreet investigation, assigning them two young Jewish detectives enthusiastic about pioneering forensic techniques such as fingerprinting. This team must not only uncover and stop the killer but also contend with sabotage and pressure from corrupt officers hostile to Roosevelt, as well as influential elites and religious figures fearing the investigation might expose uncomfortable truths about New York’s upper class.
The central plot device—the hunt for a twisted and evidently embittered murderer—has been so overused that executive producer Cary Joji Fukunaga, who gained fame years earlier with HBO’s thematically similar True Detective, clearly recognised the issue. Consequently, minimal emphasis is placed on this aspect of the script; the investigation proceeds relatively routinely, and viewers are not particularly invested in the culprit’s identity. When the perpetrator is finally revealed as a pathetic loser incapable of holding a candle to figures like Norman Bates or Hannibal Lecter, most viewers will scarcely feel let down. What the crime plot truly offers the audience is an excuse to explore the fascinating late-19th-century world, simultaneously alien to us yet disturbingly familiar in certain details. This primarily concerns the portrayal of urban industrial civilisation, which had achieved marvels previously unimaginable—such as the telephone and electricity—yet these remained accessible only to an infinitesimally small elite, while everyone else grappled with unbearable poverty, pollution, disease, and crime. The victims of this crime were far from the sight and hearts of duty-bound caretakers, who barely concealed their utter contempt for these masses. The Alienist further incorporates religious, ethnic, racial, sexual, and other prejudices but, unlike many similar Hollywood productions, avoids devolving into cheap “politically correct” agitprop or triumphalist celebrations of progress over the past twelve decades. On the contrary, The Alienist emphasises the parallels between 1890s New York and the modern world, particularly in how both eras regarded the city as the most progressive and “cool” place on Earth, yet each harboured an indescribably dark underbelly. Much like its literary source, the series skilfully blends fictional and historical figures to create a vivid tableau that holds viewers’ attention even when presenting repulsive or unsettling content.
What works best in The Alienist are the protagonists, each written as exceptionally complex yet captivating characters battling personal traumas or societal prejudices in their own way. John Moore, the closest to the traditional macho hero and portrayed superbly by British gay actor Luke Evans—often relegated to thankless roles—must grapple behind the facade of an elite dandy with the consequences of a failed romance. Kreizler, played by the prolific German actor Daniel Brühl, conceals beneath the mask of a progressive scientist the insecurity stemming from an unhappy childhood and the prejudices he endured as a Catholic in predominantly Protestant America. Sara Howard faces similar struggles, constantly subjected to sexist belittlement; Dakota Fanning excellently conveys her frustrations and determination to overcome them in one of the most memorable roles of her career.
Nevertheless, The Alienist is far from flawless. As a predominantly American series (though filmed in Budapest studios), it demands an unusually thorough knowledge of American history from the turn of the 19th to the 20th century, particularly Roosevelt’s career. In reality, Roosevelt was an exceptionally vibrant figure, yet Geraghty’s portrayal renders him utterly uncharismatic and difficult to envision as the future president and architect of modern American imperialism. Additionally, the somewhat irritating need to stretch the narrative across ten episodes disrupts pacing, wasting time on superfluous subplots, such as those involving Kreizler’s maid Mary (Q’orianka Kilcher), whose performance occasionally veers into hamminess. Despite these and other shortcomings, The Alienist emerges as a refreshingly high-quality variation on themes that have otherwise grown rather worn-out. In 2020 a sequel under title The Alienist: Angel of Darkness was released as eight-part miniseries.
RATING: 7/10 (+++)
(Note: The text in the original Croatian version is available here
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