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Jude Law and Jason Bateman are trapped in Netflix's undercooked Black Rabbit

The actors make for a believable pair of brothers in an otherwise lackluster thriller.

Jude Law and Jason Bateman are trapped in Netflix's undercooked Black Rabbit

Black Rabbit simmers with potential, much like the fictional restaurant that gives the show its title. Jake (Jude Law) and Vince Friedken’s (Jason Bateman) dimly-lit, multi-story Lower Manhattan establishment was a space they once hoped to transform into a trendy hot spot, naming it after their failed indie-rock duo. That was before Vince’s substance and gambling addictions caused a fallout between them, with Jake now managing their beloved business solo. But their project is in jeopardy because the siblings keep getting pulled in confounding, disparate directions. A similar problem plagues the show, which meanders through multiple undercooked storylines. The premiere starts strong, with two masked gunmen robbing Black Rabbit on a busy, big night. As they hold hostages and snatch expensive jewelry, the miniseries sets up some intriguing suspense about who’s targeting a shrewd, smooth-talking Jake and why. The narrative then goes back to a month to when a reckless Vince rolls into town, bringing his usual brand of dangerous chaos with him.

Upon his return, Vince schemes to repay a heavy loan he took from a menacing mob leader (played by Troy Kotsur), putting his unsuspecting, estranged daughter in danger. Meanwhile, Jake seeks to expand his restaurant portfolio no matter what it costs him personally or professionally. And as they’ve always done, the brothers pull each other into their respective messes, and things get bleak. On paper, Black Rabbit sounds like a propulsive ride full of toxic family drama, dark secrets, troubling workplace dynamics, kooky mobsters, and wealthy scum. It’s too bad the execution is so oddly lackluster. The early sheen of this wannabe edgy and prestige drama fades during a bloated run before picking up a little steam again at the end. The eight episodes crawl because the series gets lost in hefty, convoluted ideas about addiction, ambition, and the sacrifices people make to help their loved ones. 

A look into Jake and Vince (and their co-dependent, childhood trauma-defined relationship) is set against the backdrop of various New York City landmarks, which are coolly captured by directors Bateman, Laura Linney, Ben Semanoff, and Justin Kurzel. The latter collaborated with series co-creators Zach Baylin and Kate Sussman on 2024’s The Order, and his creative vision elevates Black Rabbit‘s last two installments. (The scenes set in Coney Island, where the Friedken siblings grew up, look particularly great.) Still, stylish flair behind the camera and appropriately gritty production design from True Detective‘s Alex DiGerlando don’t make up for exhausting tonal changes like switching from Uncut Gems-esque anxiety to melodrama. The series feels made for an audience that devoured Bateman and Linney’s previous Netflix hit, Ozark, but falls more in line with the streamer’s recent bland efforts like Untamed and The Waterfront

But Bateman and Law do make for a believable brotherly act, and the show comes alive when Vince and Jake hurl curses at each other, share poignant conversations about their mommy and daddy issues, and are chased all over town by their vengeance-seeking enemies. Their performances are the reason to soldier through an otherwise boring narrative. Sporting unkempt facial hair, Bateman’s take on Vince is always expressive and enjoyable, and he’s clearly having fun spouting off lines like “I’m a cancer and a one-man pandemic.” And Law (his wishy-washy accent notwithstanding) sells Jake’s smarminess and swagger. (Jake wants to purchase a popular Midtown bar next with no cash to his name, but he manages to fool enough people to secure backing anyway.) The actors convincingly shift from annoying to vulnerable and back again, adding nuance to scripts that don’t have much of it. 

Unsurprisingly, Black Rabbit sags when Bateman and Law aren’t around, despite an efficient but underused ensemble that includes Cleopatra Coleman, Dagmara Dominczyk, Sope Dirisu, and Amaka Okafor. The Gilded Age‘s Morgan Spector plays a fixer who seems to pop up whenever the writers need a convenient, ridiculous way out of a tangled arc. The show is overstuffed with other poorly developed subplots, like a sexual assault incident at the restaurant, a responsibility that Jake shrugs off to his longtime pal and head chef. And then there’s a soapy love triangle between Jake, his investor best friend, Wes (Dirisu), and Wes’ partner (played by Coleman). However, these distracting threads take away from crafting the Friedken siblings’ bond or utilizing the actors’ chemistry. 

At least Black Rabbit explores how Jake and Vince are victims of their own terrible decisions well. Jake isn’t as put together as he lets on. (Don’t be fooled by his lavish house and well-tailored outfits.) He competes with his brother when it comes to lying and making WTF-inducing choices. And an unruly Vince is very much a disaster and doesn’t even hide it. He’s ready to kill someone impulsively or bartend at Black Rabbit despite his ongoing issues with alcohol. But this all makes their downward spiral all too predictable. While Bateman and Law use their collective star power to anchor a wild ride, Black Rabbit relies too much on a story that just falls flat. By the time it adds a dash of excitement and some renewed interest near the end, this multi-course meal has already been a letdown.  

Black Rabbit premieres September 18 on Netflix  

 
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