If Only Someone Had Overthrown The Regime

HBO’s latest limited series is desperate to say things about fascism but can only get as far as noticing them. Photo: Miya Mizuno/HBO

After an episode or two of The Regime, the new HBO miniseries from The Menu writer Will Tracy, a resemblance to another notable HBO series begins to emerge. Not Succession, also a very dark comedy about people in positions of privilege, or Veep, another explicitly satirical depiction of a ridiculous, powerful woman. Unfortunately, The Regime is more than a little like The Idol, the HBO series about a pop star seduced by a mysterious Svengali and convinced to abandon her advisers so she can become a more authentic self. Both share the basic plot device of a famous woman becoming suddenly obsessed with a new man, but more frustratingly, they share a fundamental misapprehension about the stories they’re trying to tell.

Of course, where The Idol intends to be a deep character-based exploration of American stardom and seduction (and fails at this), The Regime is designed as a satire of political spectacle and the slippery slope of authoritarianism (and also fails). Kate Winslet stars as Elena Vernham, the chancellor of an unnamed central European country who comes to rely too heavily on the advice of her bodyguard, Corporal Herbert Zubak (Matthias Schoenaerts). His first job is to follow her around with a hygrometer, testing the palace’s moisture levels in order to protect her from her fixation on poisoning via black mold. Gradually Zubak’s role grows into adviser, nudging Vernham toward folk remedies, insular nationalist policies, and hawkish anti-protest stances to quash the growing rebellion among her ignored, starving citizens. With an inevitability that should feel like a creeping doom but instead feels like mere predictability, things go badly for Vernham and her unspecified country.

Lest the point of comparison become too unfair, it’s worth noting that Winslet is a much stronger center for The Regime than Lily-Rose Depp for The Idol. She holds her face in a constant, perfect balance between uncertainty and utter confidence, and that alone provides some of the six-episode series’ most effective commentary on the political situation it wants to depict. Vernham is simultaneously totally confident in her own wisdom and completely lacking in any real guiding ideology. She needs to feel loved. She wants to make her own decisions. She wants someone to tell her what those decisions should be. Winslet achieves a portrait of a megalomaniacal baby throughout the series, shades of Trump with the wardrobe of Melania, even when the mechanisms of the story around her don’t live up to the character she’s trying to create. There’s more detail in her performance of Vernham’s unnerving and deliberate lisp than there is in the world-building of the country she’s swiftly destroying.

The emptiness of that country is likely by design. It has a flag, it has a palace, and it has both a traditional crop (sugar beets) and a natural resource (cobalt mines) that would actually make it a meaningful part of the global economy. But there’s little beyond that Model U.N. level of world-building, which allows The Regime to speak to a certain kind of authoritarian figure without getting lost in the weeds of any specific country’s political or historical framework. The series’ visual approach attempts to do some of the heavy lifting, imbuing everything with doom-laden close-ups, coldly harsh lighting, and unnerving jewel tones set against dark gray backdrops. Yet the superficial slick of uneasiness isn’t anchored to anything deep. It’s a satire built out of gestures, full of sweeping indications of vague insight into spectacle and anxiety and social unrest: a one-size-fits-all story of power and corruption.

As any good Model U.N. student knows, though, the real story is always in the details. The idea that every shift into fascism can be condensed into one very general outline (stoke nationalist fervor, suppress marginalized populations, eliminate any democratic means of handing over power) may be appealing as a theory, but broad strokes don’t make for arresting storytelling. It’s part of why Tracy’s The Menu works where The Regime struggles. The Menu focuses on a hyperspecific kind of dining culture, clearly informed by a specific restaurant and filled with guests and employees with distinctive character backstories and motivations. The Regime, conversely, is only interested in Elena Vernham’s decisions and desires, and beyond that is too much of a blank slate. She’s surrounded by advisers who lack distinctive qualities or are boiled down to one blunt-force motivation; the broader citizenry of her country is barely represented at all. For a series about a rise to power, details of that rise go weirdly unspecified. She’s apparently in a democracy but her previous elections seem to have been rigged, and it’s unclear if she’s now changing the mechanisms of her power or just the tonal expression of it. Even Zubak, who could be a foil for Vernham’s privileged isolation, doesn’t amount to as much as he should. He’s a simple, violent man who grew up in relative poverty, learned folk medicine from his mother, and enjoys autoerotic asphyxiation. Is he bumbling or canny? Is he just striving for power or does he actually want to right wrongs? Is he victim or perpetrator?

In a more assured series, ambiguity like that could be fruitful. Instead, it’s the source of the most frustrating parallel between The Regime and The Idol. Both shows lack a consistent underlying point of view, making it hard to tell how much of the muddiness is intentional complexity and how much is miscue. Some tonal swings are effectively off-putting, especially in the disconnect between Vernham’s mood and that of Agnes, played by Andrea Riseborough. Whether Agnes is a housekeeper, chief of staff, majordomo, or something else entirely, the series declines to clarify — her costume says servant, but her proximity to power says close personal adviser. While Vernham cheerily ignores her desperate cabinet ministers and fondly tweaks the chin of Agnes’s young son, Agnes is frantic about how to protect him from Vernham’s dangerous whims. But other big dramatic elements, including Vernham’s obsession with her dead father and the scenes of her despair as the country starts to turn against her, are just perplexing. She’s a figure of tragedy, yes, but the tragedy is poorly prioritized, with no clear through-line about whether the mockery or sympathy is meant to win out.

Ultimately The Regime is a series desperate to say things but can only get as far as noticing them. It observes and reflects back the hypocrisy of well-heeled leaders who costume themselves as rural salt-of-the-earth plebes. It depicts the cringe-inducing scene of everyone applauding a powerful person’s terrible attempt at artistic performance. It sees the cowardice of the surrounding advisers. It even recognizes and illustrates the unwinnable trap of a country caught between nationalistic right-wing fervor on one side and coercive submission to a United States–led global order on the other. By the end of its run, a great deal of violence and loss happened for almost no gain, loss, or larger purpose. It’s all seeing with nothing to show for it.