One of the most complicated texts in recent weeks, in terms of criticism, was talking about a series like Sugar without revealing a specific detail of the plot, which creator Mark Protosevich reserved for the sixth episode. Mentioning it, in addition to being prohibited by embargoes, would have meant spoiling the potential audience’s viewing. It went against the experience as a spectator.
Not talking about it, on the other hand, could also be interpreted in the medium term as a scam: the reader had not been informed about what kind of production he had in front of his nose. And, whether you are for or against Sugar, you have to recognize that Protosevich planned a twist designed to leave viewers with their asses in a twist, at least those who had not been paying attention to the series’ musical choices. .
Now, a week after the episode in question aired, you can comment. Those who have not yet taken a look at Sugar, a less classic noir than it seems at first glance and with Colin Farrell, can leave this article. Or you can take a look at it to understand the noise. It’s a tiny noise, especially from journalists and series fans with an Apple TV subscription, but it would possibly be huge if it belonged to HBO (or, sorry, Max).
The story begins with John Sugar, a private detective with a very defined identity: a tough but empathetic man who, apart from investigating murders, frauds and disappearances, is a lover of cinematic noir. In the pilot, a tailor-made case fell into his lap: finding Olivia Siegel (Sydney Chandler), the missing granddaughter of an influential Hollywood producer (James Cromwell), and with other family ties in the world of cinema.
In the first episodes, however, enigmatic elements were dropped that went beyond Sugar’s case. Ruby (Kirby), a kind of partner, recommended that he not investigate her disappearance for personal reasons: her case reminded him of that of Sugar’s sister, also missing. Of course, the viewer barely discovered new details about that sister mentioned, except for some rear shots.
Sugar, as confirmed in his conversations with drivers, witnesses and acquaintances, had extensive linguistic knowledge: from Arabic to Japanese, without knowing how many other languages ??he knew. Seeing a meeting of Sugar, Ruby and other members of a never-defined network, the viewer was forced to question who they were. An alliance of former international spies? A Soviet cell on American soil? Is he a retired superhero?
Add to that Sugar’s inexplicable tremors, who had some injections ready at home for moments of crisis, and Olivia’s whereabouts weren’t the only mystery. In the sixth episode, after showing special skills when fighting criminals and suffering an injury, she revealed her secret. Colin Farrell as Sugar took on a bluish hue in front of the mirror. That is, Sugar (the character) is an alien and Sugar (the series) is not exactly a noir but a science fiction noir.
Mark Protosevich’s choice not to proceed conventionally is brave. Instead of eviscerating this fundamental detail of the show’s plot and mythology in the first episode, he wanted us to experience Sugar as a very self-conscious noir mystery series that went beyond homage. It was strange that Sugar was so parody and classically noir (because of the costumes, the car, the bearing, her ghosts). Now we know why.
The rules weren’t exactly tricky. Sugar denied us explanations about the most unconnected elements, but like any series with a mystery or conspiracy, this extraterrestrial condition, now that we can look back, was always present. What the creator wanted was to challenge our expectations in such a cautious audiovisual to demonstrate that, as long as it is not the result of improvisation, a work has the right to have fun with genres.
Sugar, curiously, does not become another series after the twist. Olivia’s disappearance and exactly who was behind it still needs to be resolved. It is faithful to noir, to its way of approaching masculinity and femininity (oh, that splendid Amy Ryan), to the tribute to 20th century Hollywood, but with individual conflicts and a mythology that expand (literally) beyond our planet.
How many series allow themselves this whim? And isn’t there merit in a series like Sugar, with short episodes and limited ambitions, which always sells itself as humble entertainment and never does so as a pretentious work? It’s the equivalent of Fringe’s elevator ride at the end of the first season (heading to a parallel reality) or any memorable Lost cliffhanger, but here approached from humility and transformed on several levels.
Sugar is shocking because of the naturalness with which it contemplates the crossover of genres.
