Marissa Irvine, the protagonist of the Peacock thriller “All Her Fault,” bears a superficial resemblance to Siobhan Roy. For one thing, both characters are played by Sarah Snook, the Australian actor who broke out as the ambitious, oblivious heiress on “Succession.” Both women are wealthy, although Marissa — a wealth manager based in Chicago — is self-made. Both favor a quietly luxurious wardrobe heavy on tasteful neutrals and cocoon-like outerwear.
But the similarities end there. Marissa is defined by her motherhood, a phase of life Shiv was only beginning to contemplate at the end of “Succession.” The series, adapted by creator Megan Gallagher from the 2021 novel by Andrea Mara, begins when Marissa tries to pick up her 5-year-old son Milo (Duke McCloud) from a playdate, only to realize he isn’t there. What follows is a kidnapping drama that’s every parent’s worst nightmare — although for a performer like Snook, who executive produces her first series- leading turn after the HBO hit wound down two and a half years ago, it’s a custom-built showcase. “All Her Fault” (not to be confused with “All’s Fair,” the other female-focused hour with “All” in the name to debut this week) does allow Snook to emote with all her might, sobbing with panic and gasping in horror as Marissa’s quest to find Milo takes its inevitable twists and turns. Yet the laboriously paced, clunkily plotted series can’t hold a candle to Snook’s most famous role, and seems unlikely to replace it as her signature.
“All Her Fault” is another entry in the “Big Little Lies” school of mysteries centered on wealthy women that mix conspicuous consumption with attempted social commentary. When Marissa runs through her house, frantically searching for Milo, the scene doubles as a tour of the Irvines’ palatial lakefront home as captured by directors Minkie Spiro and Kate Dennis. (“All Her Fault” was filmed in Australia; the ample outdoor space is a dead giveaway it wasn’t actually made in a place with Midwestern winters.) Jake Lacy, who plays Marissa’s husband Peter, also starred as a finance bro in “Apples Never Fall,” another Peacock production based on a novel by “Big Little Lies” author Liane Moriarty. Rich families, buried secrets, the gender dynamics of heterosexual marriage: Gang’s all here!
“Big Little Lies” sets a sky-high bar, of course. But even “Apples Never Fall” had a breeziness that’s sorely lacking in “All Her Fault,” which doesn’t land any incisive points about parenting, class, codependency or hired child care but does get bogged down trying to make them. With the help of the lead detective assigned to their case (Michael Peña), the Irvines quickly deduce that Milo was likely abducted by Carrie Finch (Sophia Lillis), the 21-year-old nanny of Marissa’s new friend Jenny (Dakota Fanning), a publishing executive. Carrie, a pseudonym, makes no ransom demands, forcing the Irvines to search for her motive by scrutinizing the people around them: Peter’s siblings Lia (Abby Elliott), a hotheaded free spirit, and Brian (Daniel Monks), who was disabled in a childhood accident; Marissa’s best friend and business partner Colin (Jay Ellis); Jenny, visibly wracked with guilt; and even their own nanny Ana (Kartiah Vergara), who’s out of town when Milo goes missing and mysteriously left her phone behind.
The anxiety of inviting another person into your intimate family life, especially a less fortunate one who might covet some of your hard-won comfort, has driven previous thrillers like “The Hand That Rocks the Cradle” (and its recent straight-to-Hulu remake). There’s no reason “All Her Fault” couldn’t update this repressed paranoia for the having-it-all age, and for a few episodes, it tries to. The title refers to the blame placed on working women tacitly assigned responsibility for their kids as well as their jobs, an assumption that becomes explicit in a time of crisis. Peter faults Marissa for failing to check that the phone number used to propose the playdate matched Jenny’s listed one in their school’s parent handbook; Jenny’s husband Richie (Thomas Cocquerel), faults her for not double-checking Carrie’s references.
It goes without saying that these couples’ employees don’t get such an in-depth exploration of their own plight — Carrie because she has to remain an enigma until the end, Ana because the show simply isn’t that interested in what makes her tick. Fair enough, but as “All Her Fault” delves deeper into the two primary marriages, both Peter and Richie come off as cartoonishly awful. The former is a control freak whose obsessiveness extends to the people he loves; the latter is a man-child who demands “me time” at the expense of Jenny’s professional obligations. The asymmetry between them and their well-meaning wives is so extreme it saps the takedowns of any satisfying bite. The proper counterpoint to “All Her Fault” is not that, really, it’s just all his fault.
The silliness of this analysis could at least be matched by a silliness in tone. But the middle stretch of “All Her Fault” is slow and somber, especially a detour into the Peña character’s home life as he works the case. And when the reveals finally arrive, in rapid succession and with little room to breathe, they’re often out of left field. This is especially true when it comes to the central question of why Carrie has taken Milo, which hinges on a vital piece of backstory that’s been withheld for so long it feels both deceptive and random.
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What “All Her Fault” makes room for by crowding such pivotal elements to its periphery is many, many scenes of Marissa in acute distress. Snook shines moment to moment; of course she does — she filmed the show in between the West End and Broadway productions of “The Picture of Dorian Gray,” in which she commanded entire theaters alone on a stage and picked up both an Olivier and a Tony. But in the aggregate, Marissa is a bit fuzzy. I ended the series knowing little about her besides her devotion to her son, because I’d mostly watched her endure the worst moments of her life at the hands of other people. It’s not fair to say a woman’s problems are all her fault, but at least that sentiment affords her some agency.
All eight episodes of “All Her Fault” are now streaming on Peacock.
From Variety US