The story revolves around Mikolaj Glowacki, a writer haunted by his past, and his journalist wife, Justyna, as they return to Mikolaj's hometown of Zybork for his father Tomasz’s birthday. Mikolaj, a recovering addict, has gained fame through a novel inspired by the decades-old murder of his best friend, a tragedy he himself survived. His return, spurred by threatening messages linked to his book, is not just a journey back home but an attempt to uncover the truth. Mikolaj believes that the autistic brother of his late friend—convicted for the crime—was merely a scapegoat. Meanwhile, Justyna is drawn into the orbit of her father-in-law, Tomasz, a powerful community activist locked in a fierce battle with corrupt local authorities over controversial urban redevelopment plans.
The show does a remarkable job exploring themes of guilt, corruption, and community decay. One of its most striking elements is its use of the motif of eyes. Zybork is a town drowning in the shadows of gang violence and entrenched prejudice, and this oppressive atmosphere is reinforced by how every character seems to watch. Mikolaj feels scrutinized everywhere he goes—by the townspeople, who despise his book, and by his own conscience, which he cannot escape. The audience experiences this suffocating sense of surveillance through cleverly placed shots focusing on characters’ eyes, as well as the broader sense of unease that permeates the setting. Even Justyna, initially an objective outsider, gradually succumbs to the town’s toxic influence, mirroring Mikolaj’s descent.
This pervasive atmosphere is reminiscent of the fragmented storytelling style of Italo Calvino’s If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler. The narrative unravels through a kaleidoscope of perspectives: past and present, insider and outsider, victim and perpetrator. The audience, much like the characters, must piece together a larger truth from countless fragments, a concept visually reinforced by the intense close-ups on eyes.
The cinematography deserves special mention. Poland’s stunning natural landscapes—flower-filled fields, blue skies, rolling mountains—stand in stark contrast to the grim interiors of the town’s buildings and the physical decay of its inhabitants. This contrast serves as a metaphor: outward beauty masking inner rot, much like the corrupt system at the heart of the story. The jarring, shaky camera work amplifies the unease, making the viewer feel as unsettled as the characters themselves.
And yet, for all its strengths, the show stumbles at the finish line. The first few episodes build an intricate web of political corruption and gang violence, all intricately tied to Mikolaj’s quest for truth and Justyna’s outsider perspective. But in the final episode, this web collapses, leaving the audience with a fairy-tale-like resolution that focuses on the original murder mystery—a mystery that, frankly, had already lost much of its urgency amid the weightier themes introduced. The murder’s resolution feels like an afterthought, and the simplistic ending undermines the complex narrative built over the course of the show.
This wasted potential is frustrating. The drama could have delved deeper into its characters, fleshed out their arcs, and delivered a satisfying resolution to its myriad conflicts. Instead, it settles for a conclusion that feels rushed, hollow, and out of sync with the gritty, morally complex world it initially set out to create.
5/10
