Matthew Rhys and Claire Danes are two of the last television stars who became synonymous with their most famous roles. While they’ve done interesting work outside of The Americans and Homeland, respectively, those shows were on the air for enough time that the nuances of their performances were assumed to be personal characteristics. Even if “prestige television” still exists as a model, there aren’t many shows that will attain the six-season run of The Americans or the eight-season length of Homeland. It’s not in the interests of networks to expand shows beyond three seasons if there isn’t an expected growth in viewership; even Succession, the most acclaimed series since The Sopranos, had to wrap up at the end of its fourth year.
It’s probably not in the best interest of Rhys or Danes to stray far away from what they became known for when considering the precipitous declines many of their fellow television stars have faced. Jon Hamm will never be more famous than Don Draper, which may explain why he’s been stuck with extended guest roles in everything from The Morning Show to Landman; Bryan Cranston’s post-Breaking Bad has been so disappointing that he’s set to return for a revival of Malcolm in the Middle. The Beast in Me makes sense for Rhys and Danes because it's a merger of Homeland’s paranoia with the “fear thy neighbors” sentiments of The Americans.
The Beast in Me isn’t a true crime series, but it's easy to imagine it was inspired by a real case. Rhys hinted at a dark side as Philip Jennings in The Americans, and did even more brooding and scheming in the underrated HBO reboot of Perry Mason; however, The Beast in Me is the first case in which he’s dropped any pretenses of being an anti-hero in order to revel in pure villainy. His character, Nile Jarvis, appears as an amalgamation of every trait deemed most villainous by contemporary standards; as a privileged, arrogant son of an influential real estate tycoon (played briefly by Jonathan Banks), Nile has used his political connections to avoid speculation about the curious death of his first wife, Madison Ingram (Leila George). Even if it’s clear from the beginning that Nile is a “bad guy,” the central mystery of The Beast is Me is whether he’s the show’s actual villain.
Danes plays a character virtually identical to that of Homeland’s Carrie Mathison, which makes sense when considering the decisions that led her to that role. Although Danes hadn’t popped when given more traditional parts in romantic dramas (Romeo + Juliet), period pieces (The Hours), or high fantasies (Stardust), Homeland indicated she was better at being an unreliable, obsessive loner who may possess genius instincts. Her performance in The Beast in Me is less refined because it's a pulpier show that has only eight episodes, not eight seasons, to scrutinize her profile. Nonetheless, her character Aggie Wiggs is a reclusive author, pained by tragedy, who has suffered from the same mental instabilities that made Mathison such an aggravating character in the last few seasons of Homeland.
Although it's designed to be binged in one sitting, The Beast of Me doesn’t feel like it was taken from a two-hour film script that was expanded and given bloat. The premise is simple enough; Aggie has suffered from writer’s block in the aftermath of a tragic car accident that claimed the life of her eight-year-old son, and prompted her to separate from her partner Shelley (Natalie Morales). Her efforts to write a biography of Ruth Bader Ginsburg (not a joke) have gone nowhere, and she’s further distracted when Nile and his new wife Nina (Brittany Snow) become her next-door neighbors. Although she’s initially interested in writing a profile of Nile out of curiosity, Aggie’s interview with the enigmatic billionaire is given legitimacy when she’s coerced by the FBI agent Brian Abbott (David Lyons) to help solve Madison’s presumed murder.
The twisty plot may include additional government surveillance, political scandals, and a nuanced deconstruction of the “missing white woman” trope, but it’s ultimately a series about two narcissists in search of meaning. None of Nile’s crimes, confirmed and alleged, have given him any pleasure, and the only moment he has a glint in his eye is when his unwanted presence has aroused the outrage of the members of his affluent new neighborhood. Conversely, Aggie isn’t able to absolve anyone for their role in the death of her son, which has given her an excuse to reject and belittle anyone within her inner circle. Although Aggie has to be told that she’s not allowed to be mad at anyone (including the drunken teenager whose car hit her son), she has an excuse to despise Nile, which is why she’s prone to spend time with him.
The Beast in Me isn’t unpredictable, and most television viewers could probably anticipate the way that its ending is wrapped up. Even if its last note is its weakest, The Beast in Me is, as its title would suggest, a successful means to generate empathy for flawed characters. Nile is so upfront about his nastiness that it's hard to not give him some respect, especially when compared to the plastic personalities of his wealthy neighbors. Even if there’s no reason to suggest that Aggie was a particularly good mother, it's satisfying when her son’s killer is met with a brutal fate that’s too pointed to be a coincidence.
Although The Beast in Me is the type of expensive, star-studded limited event series that would’ve only existed in the Netflix era, there’s something charmingly old-fashioned by how resolved it is. Many of Netflix’s other limited series in 2025, including Hostage and Untamed, were given ambiguous conclusions that could seemingly be extended into another season, should audiences care to watch. The Beast in Me doesn’t leave anything up to the imagination in its final chapter, and even Stranger Things-level hype couldn’t result in a second season. The fact that it has a real ending is a reason why it’s worthy of being remembered.