If you’re a scholar of Greek mythology, froth over The Iliad, The Odyssey, and Metamorphoses, couldn’t put Hades or Assassin’s Creed: Odyssey down, or love movies and TV shows like Blood of Zeus, Xena: Warrior Princess, and Disney’s Hercules, you’ll be able to watch Netflix’s Kaos with little confusion. If you’re not up on the major deities of the Greek pantheon or heroes like Odysseus, Perseus, and Theseus (a lot of ‘euses’), the series might have you scrambling to Google who’s who.
But luckily, narrator Prometheus is there to guide you through Kaos. He’s just having his liver pecked out by an eagle as he does.
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From The End of the F***ing World writer Charlie Covell, with directors Georgi Banks-Davies and Runyararo Mapfumo, Kaos is a deadpan, dark, soapy take on Greek myths, staying mildly close to their much-interpreted core stories and taking liberties where it works — often to make political statements, and sometimes just because it’s fun. With a sprawling, talented, mostly British cast (some of whom are deeply underused; hello, Billie Piper), arresting production design, and enough IYKYK ancient asides to sink a galley, Kaos is a nerdy, modern foray into legend, with a tempestuous, sybaritic, divine family at its core.
What is Kaos about?
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In modern Krete, gods meddle with human lives like egomaniacal kids in a worldwide candy store, gathering to watch the mortals’ tribulations on TV over family dinner. Televised human sacrifices are given on the regular to appease Olympian braggadocio and king of the gods Zeus (Jeff Goldblum). Human political leaders like President — not King, but pretty much — Minos (Stanley Townsend) pander to the whims of pescatarian playboy Poseidon (Cliff Curtis). Women voluntarily slice off their tongues to become loyal earthly followers of power player and divine queen Hera (Janet McTeer). Among it all, Dionysus (Nabhaan Rizwan) drowns his daddy issues in excess.
Credit: Justin Downing / Netflix
But not everyone’s happy with the gods, and dissent simmers throughout the streets. Worried about a pesky little prophecy predicting his downfall, and refusing to tolerate blasphemy without consequence, Zeus decides to zap his human underlings with a little divine punishment.
Crucially, there are three humans essential to Zeus’ prophesied downfall: There’s Ariadne or “Ari” (Leila Farzad), dutiful daughter of Minos, who’s crushing on her security guard Theseus (Daniel Lawrence Taylor) and hoping to peacefully sort out Kretians sharing their city with persecuted Trojan War refugees; there’s Eurydice or “Riddy” (Aurora Perrineau), doomed muse of Chris Martin-like pop musician Orpheus (Killian Scott); and there’s Caenaeus (Misia Butler), a trans man who had to leave the Amazons, was murdered, then ended up working in the Underworld.
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Covell’s observational wit and clear love for the Greek myths comes through his ill-fated narrator, Prometheus (Stephen Dillane), who, hanging from a cliff face, gives Guy Ritchie-style commentary about the events — all while his liver is pecked out daily by an eagle. Constant shots back to Prometheus breaking the fourth wall do get a little tiresome, but they’re crucial to keeping the audience aware of the importance of seemingly banal moments.
Kaos plays with figures of Greek myths like toys in a sandbox
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The Greek pantheon is already a heaving soap opera of adulterous, murderous, power-hungry narcissists, so Covell has plenty to work with fitting them into a modern TV series. Kaos plays on recent shows like Succession and The Fall of the House of Usher centred around tyrannical, powerful families, with Covell attempting to bring a little Roy family venom to the Olympian dinner table. The gods were the originals, after all.
Covell wields the major players of Greek mythology as if playing in a sandbox, slightly tweaking well-worn detail for a contemporary-feeling narrative that avoids going full caricature. The series plucks these legendary figures from their reverent pedestals on ancient amphorae and gold-framed masterpieces, plunging them into human bodies in 2024. The show’s depiction of such well-known names as Zeus, Hera, and Poseidon wandering through our world feels very Terry Gilliam and more adult than Percy Jackson and the Olympians.
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Covell’s modern updates often feel like theatrical jests. For one, the entrance to Hades lies in a skip bin at the back of a desert dive bar called The Cave, the crumbling haunt of The Fates (Suzy Eddie Izzard, Sam Buttery, and Ché) owned by Poly (Joe McGann), an eye-patched version of the cyclops Polyphemus. The Underworld itself isn’t a writhing seven circles of Hell as we thought; instead, it’s a boring, bland pit of bureaucracy and middle management, where a disinterested Medusa (Debi Mazar) trains newcomers. Charon’s (Ramon Tikaram) legendary Styx ferry is a crappy fishing boat. The mighty three-headed Cerberus, guardian dog of the underworld, is shrunk down to the cutest platoon of three-headed sniffer dogs you’ll ever see. They’re all clever, thoughtful interpretations of famous figures, brought to life by a talented cast that commits.
Move over, Zeus: The supporting characters of Kaos are the real gods
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The big drawcard and marketing emphasis for Kaos is Jeff Goldblum as king of the gods Zeus, with the promise of the gregarious actor dabbling in various lightning-bolt knee-jerk reactions and narcissistic bad management. And Goldlbum does deliver, playing both the frivolous party god and the brutish, thunderous bully. But the monarch of Olympus is arguably outshone by the other members of the pantheon and the show’s human heroes.
Curtis pretty much steals every scene he’s in as the bored, indulgent Poseidon, lounging about on his superyacht The Trident and providing the infusion of humor this show needs — a talent Mazar shares as the deadpan Medusa. David Thewlis is perfectly cast as Hades, a tie-wearing bureaucrat who’d probably bore you to death before anything, and Rakie Ayola gives Persephone an amiable practicality lacking in the other gods. McTeer’s Hera, a steely queen giving Claire Underwood energy, gets the lion’s share of the characteristically bonkers Greek god activities: shapeshifting into Zeus for a human sexual tryst then turning his lovers into bees, slicing off the tongues of her followers and using them as macabre listening devices. The usual.
Although he’s given ample screen time and brings credulous, romantic sweetness to the god, Rizwan feels relatively safe as Dionysus, the PG god of wine, madness, ecstasy, and hedonism. A fine True Blood purveyor of Bacchanalian excess, this Dionysus is not.
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On Earth, the supremely talented Billie Piper is criminally underused as Cassandra, making an impact despite her small role as the prophet who’d never be believed. Farzad and Perrineau are compelling and earnest as Ariadne and Riddy, two smart, strong women who are simultaneously put on a pedestal and undermined by the men in their lives, and who are determined to reclaim their agency. Butler is an understated treat as Caenaeus, making romantic even a place as morose as the Underworld. And though Scott brings the right lovelorn theatricality to Orpheus, the show crushed his characterisation for me with one overwhelmingly cheesy song performed at a concert right from the start. This man’s musical talents need to be able to pull his wife out of Hell. That “Eurydice” song is not it.
The trustiest supporting stars of the series are those who dwell in The Cave, with Izzard and her fellow Fates making me want to join whatever band they’re forming. Similarly, the justice-delivering Furies (Cathy Tyson, Natalie Klamar, and Donna Banya) bring a consistent, swaggering Western vibe to the series.
For me, a mythology nerd, the series slightly suffers from its extremely limited pantheon, with Dionysus the only one of the “kids” to show up to Zeus and Hera’s family barbecues. It’s possible Covell is keeping the rest of the gods and goddesses for next season, but Olympus feels empty without a trace of Demeter, Aphrodite, Athena, Artemis, Apollo, Ares, Hephaestus, and Hermes — all rife for comedic characterisation of their own.
Kaos leans little on CGI, instead making every last physical detail count
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Greek myths are often difficult to depict, challenging ancient amphorae painters and Renaissance artists alike. But Kaos leans away from too much CGI (though there is a little; three-headed dogs don’t just draw themselves) and toward opulent, theatre-like production design from Dick Lunn for the various environments. Covell developed Kaos from a short play called The Company Project, so that tracks. Eurydice’s pain at not being able to submerge in the River Lethe is beautifully done, with Perrineau seemingly walking on water through hidden, old-school production tricks. If you label a simple door as “Earth” and want your audience to believe it’s a portal, it takes a lot of work around that option to make it make sense — and Kaos makes it happen.
By no means is set decoration and design in Kaos an afterthought, with meticulously detailed and tongue-in-cheek Easter eggs hidden through every scene. Costuming by Rebecca Hale and hair and makeup by Vickie Lang is sleek and subtle, with lightning-bolt trimming for Zeus’ leisure suit and Medusa’s snake hair kept at bay with a headscarf. The set design and decoration includes miniscule references to people and places of Greek myth — a Tyndareus Gasoline petrol station; cereal aisle full of Gaea’s Granola, Achilles’ Heels, and Spartan Crunch; stores selling toy versions of Poseidon’s trident and Zeus’ lightning bolt; and sports teams named for beings like the Satyrs. There’s ample amount of foreshadowing of characters’ fates in fly-by references, like Eurydice buying Underworld fave the pomegranate at the supermarket.
Set-wise, Kaos is a sumptuous feast on one hand, an intentionally soulless pit on the other. Mount Olympus is a palatial, verdant complex with elegant fountains, gilded baroque dining sets, casual peacocks, and gluttonous feasts on the lush lawn. In the Underworld, Kaos joins Loki, Good Omens, and The Umbrella Academy in the insistent trend toward fantasy realms as mid-century modernist, with all-powerful deities inexplicably using chunky telephones and outdated technology to communicate with each other. Much of the action takes place in the Underworld, where Kaos relies on a black and white filter to represent the lifeless realm; it works from a budget perspective while lending an easy elegance.
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The future for Kaos is left on a cliffhanger, teasing a second season and leaving a fair few storylines unaddressed at the close. Narrative-wise, the story seems to be leading to more of its titular chaos, so we can probably expect more Greek mythology-level bonkers pandemonium in Season 2. As for the first season, lovers of Greek myth will inevitably spend the eight episodes smugly pointing out references, while newcomers might feel slightly adrift as to who’s who. But it’s an entertaining, soapy, surreal series that plays well with the gods, wrath be damned.
How to watch: Kaos is now streaming on Netflix.
